The times they are a changin'

I was talking with my friend Pete, who has returned to the venerable original Dairy Queen that was my employer on and off for 5 years. He said it "just isn't the same" as it used to be. What he was lamenting is the fact that there is virtually no sense of community or pride among the workforce like there was when I started there in high school. Despite its less-than-glamorous fast food associations, I think a lot of people that I worked with took pride in their job at DQ. I know I did. We were a tight knit group that tried to a do a good job. We wanted to succeed. Being a manager was easy because everyone wanted to do a good job. A good team at DQ was a well oiled machine that worked well together, had a good time and made customers happy. I actually didn't mind going to work. I made lasting friendships with my co-workers and I had a relationship with the store. In fact, on the way back from a recent bike race, I complained about DQ changing the name of the Mr. Misty to some marketing-eze like "Arctic Slushpile" or whatever the crap.

So, to continue my old man "in my day" revelations, I realized that in my day, people just cared more. Especially young people. I think my generation was the last of those that didn't feel as if they were entitled to everything. We had a work ethic and we had social cohesion. Now the job is just the paycheck the person deserves. The co-workers are just people you deal with to earn your money. You put in your time, you don't try to enjoy it nor concern yourself with the quality of your work, and you make sure to complain about it no matter what. In my day, DQ was one of the best places to work. Now, it is just a job.

The relationship goes both ways. I think the existing DQ staff had a cohesion that gracefully brought in newbies. Now, more than ever, everyone is a cog in the wheel. I'm sure the change of ownership that DQ underwent changed the culture, but the generational gap was already apparent with the new employees that started during my summers home from college.

This is just like the corporate world, where a good relationship with your employer often meant a lifetime of employment. At Sprint, name badges at workstations used to be made out of molded plastic. The name was embossed on this, a veritable plaque with all of its connotations of nobility and permanence. If you want to fire somebody, you at least have to eat the $5 sunk costs of the namebadge.

Now, each cubicle has a plastic holder that holds a little slip of paper with a name laser printed on it. They are so easily changed that they are a common tool of the practical joker. The company's investment in your identity is 1/3 of a sheet of paper.

The old guard still hangs onto those plastic name badges from their old locations, though I doubt they give them much comfort. Placing them to display is a subtle form of protest, staking out a little more ownership to your piece of the profit floor than the company would care to give you.

Of course, it will only take an extra 10 seconds to pull down the plastic namebadge and throw it in the trash. Lets hope the slips of paper that replace them don't suffer from the same problems that destroyed what it meant to make Blizzards with pride.