That dreadful day had finally arrived. I had finally reached that point in my career where I was resigned to a future of staff work. No longer could I take pride in the accomplishments of my Soldiers. My days of leading patrols were a long-distant memory. I didn't yet work in a cubicle, but they were near enough to remind me what foreshadowed my eventual retirement.
I was facing the career apocalypse that awaits us all one day.
I make a mean pot of coffee. Hell, I even learned how to program a Keurig. I get excited when my Jedi-like PowerPoint abilities produce briefing slides that are the awe of lesser staff officers. I stand proud when I can edit an information paper down to a single page. My staff knife-fighting skills are honed to precision, and I can defend my position on the conference room table like a cornered honey badger.
If Clausewitz had lived just a bit longer, I'm certain he would have dedicated a thirteenth chapter of On War to the staff. Jomini was a narcissist, devoid of any appreciation for the poor staff monkeys who toiled away their existences in support of the commander. Douhet? He would never allow himself to descend to the levels of the unwashed masses of the staff peasants.
But Clausewitz? Dead Carl? He knew we mattered, he really did. He was one of us. Okay, he might have been a lot smarter than the rest of us, but he was definitely one of us.
So, as I looked ahead to another year on staff, I wondered aloud, “What would (Dead) Carl do?” What are the enduring tenets of life on the staff? Well, if it were left up to me, there are a few pearls of wisdom I’d add to my own thirteenth chapter of On War.
1. Never assign me a task before noon. I work best under pressure, so always wait until after 1700 and then email me everything in your inbox on your way out the door. Make sure to suspense everything for the following morning, too. That way, even if I want to spend time with those people in my house I call a family, I can forget about it.
2. I am a staff ninja. If you have any guidance or special instructions for a task, by no means should you share those with me. Instead, wait until the task is almost complete to have your “A-ha!” moment. I prefer not to be confused with useful information.
3. I do my best work in the dark. Always set my suspense early in the day, typically after a weekend or a holiday. Make sure I know you need an answer “first thing in the morning.” Nothing makes my wife happier than staring at the back of my laptop all night long. I don't have a life, anyway.
4. Everything is a priority. If you assign more than one task to me, don't prioritize them. Half the fun of being overworked is trying to read your mind. I am a psychic, anyway.
5. I need a lot of supervision. If something is really important, call or email me every ten minutes to ask for a status update. This helps me to focus. Or, better yet, hover over me while I work and provide in-progress editorial support. My speed and efficiency will increase exponentially.
6. Coaching and mentoring are overrated. Don't bother counseling me or giving me advice. Instead, wait until my evaluation is due and then explain your expectations. Go ahead and give me a mediocre report. I'm in it for the money, after all.
7. I am Oprah in Camouflage. Tell me your problems. I don't have anything else to do, so feel free to spend an hour or more in my office complaining about your job. I’m sorry you were tasked to write that white paper. No, I won't write it for you.
8. The headquarters is my prison. Do your best to keep me in the office long after everyone else leaves. Keep me in the office while you drone on about “that one time, when I was at NTC.” This place is my personal Guantanamo Bay. Waterboard me while you're at it. I could go on a hunger strike and you'd still hover over me like a deranged prison guard from Shawshank.
9. If you like my work, tell no one. Keep it a secret. Lock it away in the vault. It’s not like I have any career aspirations. This is, after all, my dream job.
10. If you don't like my work, tell everyone. There’s nothing I enjoy more than being the subject of conversation. Beat me, whip me, make me look stupid in public. I was born to be ridiculed.
Okay, I may not be as wise or as insightful as Dead Carl, but I do have an inherent appreciation for the challenges of life on staff. And when I start to think that life might get a little better, I need only recall the planning guidance I received prior to the invasion of Iraq in 2003: “The facts aren't important. Just make sure the graphics look right.”
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