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I am a Manager and I want to tell you what my Job actually is.

Background:
I've been in management pretty much my whole career of 9 years. I'm 30 now so I can tell you from way back when I was 21 till now, my definition of 'manager' has changed A LOT.
The industries I have been involved in include textile manufacturing, steel manufacturing, the navy, grocery/convenience stores, the USPS (was a union rep), and even the gym industry which is where I currently reside.
So when I say I've been around bad managers.....let me tell you the USPS is probably about as bad as it gets.
What do I do:
My main goal is to create the most autonomous environment possible, so I can do the least amount of work while still generating a positive increase in metrics every month.
The Metrics:
Profit, Surveys + Social media reviews (NPS), KPI, Decrease in turnover, etc.
How do I do it?
  1. Training properly and not holding someone accountable until I am satisfied that I have given them all relevant knowledge.
  2. Demonstrating the benefits of organic contact with customers rather than solicitating approaches. (It's easier to get a positive review if you're interacting with customers that are actively coming to you to express their positive experience rather than giving every customer you see a holler to come get a survey done.)
  3. Getting to know my crew - I want to know if you're having a rough week, I want to know your aspirations, I want to know if you're uncomfortable with your responsibilities, I need you to know that unless you communicate with me.....I can't give you the proper advice!
  4. Proper delegation of tasks.
  5. Being honest. (Over the years I've discovered that being honest to my employees is the best way to keep operations moving smoothly. Especially when it comes to their chances of advancement, or if I think they should seek employment elsewhere because I know for a fact that they'll receive higher compensation if I can't get them the compensation they deserve for their efforts.)
  6. Not sucking PP. (I'm one of those types of people that refuses to kiss-ass which is why after 9 years as management I've only been up to regional once and I hated my COO (VP of operations) so much I quit for a lesser paying job.
Am I a General Manager that constantly creates positive results no matter the situation? YES!
Does that mean I'll rapidly advance? HELL NO! I don't suck enough PP!
Why not?
Because I'm a college freshman drop out that decided to join the navy and NOT pursue a degree, then I decided to explore different career paths to learn about new industries because I'm an idiot.
Why the hell are you telling me this?
  1. I'm butthurt.
  2. I became the way I am because I had the good fortune of meeting some stellar human beings that were managers who truly cared about their employees.
What would you call Managers like that?
Servant Managers.
Our philosophy is to create leaders through honesty, diversity, and true accountability.
I'm here to make YOU into a leader.
We are rare, but we do truly exist. And I believe that is the true spirit of being a Manager.
If I train you properly, allow you to develop your own methodology with some guidance, and show you that I trust you enough to risk letting you make mistakes to truly gain experience...eventually you'll be doing my job for me and I'll have created another leader for whatever flavor of the year company I'm working for.
If you're out there working under some asshole and inhaling some real god damn suck all day. I'm here to tell you that it really isn't your fault. If you feel like your managers are truly the reason that whatever institution you're employed to is failing, you're ALLOWED to bypass the chain of command and tell their manager's what is really going down.
Trust me. Whenever a regional or director gets a direct complaint from an employee about a GM you can bet your ass that they'll look into it ASAP, because 99% of the bottom level employees quit before saying anything and you can bet your ass again that the GM blamed the terminated for his poor performance.
submitted by l2evamped to jobs

7

Deadlier of the Species - Chapter 3

My Patreon page: http://www.patreon.com/hewholooksskyward
Link to the Wiki page, with additional links to Clan information and background Lore.
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Chapter 3: To Make Rabbit Stew You First Need A Rabbit
Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea, Samara thought to herself, surveying her options.
She’d arrived at the colony world of Hishah two days earlier, renting cheap quarters with a view of the spaceport after a long if uneventful journey. She’d spent the trip sequestered in her compartment feigning illness, which wasn’t far from the truth given her condition. While she’d gotten somewhat better at anticipating her attacks, as she called them, her control was still spotty. There seemed to be a correlation between the length of a shapeshift and the likelihood of having an episode, but it was far from certain. Best to just avoid the problem entirely and stay out of sight.
The Kikush colony had seemed her best option to…borrow...a ship, but it looked as if her information was a little out of date. Only two vessels sat on the pad: a dilapidated freighter in desperate need of an overhaul, and an intersystem transport far too small and short-legged for her purposes. She could wait for a more desirable vessel to turn up, but the longer she stuck around the greater the risk. She had to decide...either sit tight and hold out for something better or pull up stakes and try again elsewhere.
One more day, she thought to herself. She could survive that much, as none of the locals had shown much interest in her. Just stay in her room, watch the port, and see what developed. Only staying too long in one place was bad tradecraft, as it raised your profile with those you came into contact with. She’d refused the cleaning service, brought her own food, and kept her contact with the indigenous population to a bare minimum, but even that was no guarantee. Staying put was only marginally a better option than shifting to a new location, so biding her time was the only choice left open to her. But if nothing better arrived in the next twenty-four hours…
A soft ping on her tablet drew her attention. She tapped into the Traffic Control network as a matter of course, monitoring the ships entering and leaving the system, though there had been little information as of late...but as she watched a new vessel logged in an itinerary that would have them landing right in her lap eighteen hours hence.
She bolted upright as she perused the ship’s data. The KS Ghidhi Ji was an expedition yacht with overpowered engines, extended cruising range, and the latest navigational upgrades. An executive’s toy designed to be operated solo or packed to the gills with guests and crew, she was almost as fast as anything else out there. Granted, it was a local design, but while the Kikush were an avian race, their size and biochemistry were fairly compatible.
In other words, she was perfect.
Samara leaned back in her chair, considering her options. According to the itinerary they’d filed, the ship would be at port for two days before taking off once more. Her maintenance records were up to date, and the ship’s master had already ordered their consumables to be topped off upon arrival. Assuming she could sneak on board once its captain departed; she should have no problem filing an updated flight plan that would have her departing much sooner than originally scheduled. By time the owner returned to find her missing, she’d be long gone.
Obviously, it wouldn’t be quite that simple. She’d need to infiltrate the port and board the ship without being detected, access the computer system and alter the security program, and then escape the system before they sent the Kikush Navy after her. Still, none of those problems were insurmountable, and with a little luck…
Pulling up her files on Ghidhi Ji’s make and model, Samara got to work, familiarizing herself with the ship’s specs while setting up a program to piggyback onto Traffic Control’s signal. Even if it didn’t grant her the access she hoped, it should still give her a better look at the ship’s computer system. If she could hack into the ship’s network before it even landed, her mission suddenly became much easier.
“All right then, let’s see what we’ve got,” she said to herself, as she got down to business.
Twenty-four hours later, Samara found herself growing more and more apprehensive by the minute. Everything had gone like clockwork...and that was the problem. Her penetration of the ship’s computer system had been textbook, the ship’s owner already disembarked, boarding transport for a location a couple hundred kilometers distant. The port’s services were en route, fulfilling their part of the contract, which meant all she had to do was gain entrance to the tarmac and board the ship.
Only, it wasn’t supposed to be this easy.
Well, easy in the subjective sense. Most individuals, including representatives from most of the various alien races, would have found the job impossible. It was due to very specific training by her former masters that had allowed her to crack this nut, but still. She’d pored over every program aboard ship and in Traffic Control and found nothing. There were no worrisome transmissions she’d been able to detect, no sign of increased security presence. Everything looked as if she’d pulled it off down to nine decimal places, and yet she hesitated.
You’re letting your paranoia get to you, she snorted. In her profession paranoia was like fire; a little judiciously applied was a lifesaver, but let it burn out of control and the flames would destroy you. There was nothing wrong with being a trifle overcautious, but if she would continue her fight, she couldn’t allow it to paralyze her into inaction. She’d checked and double-checked and triple-checked and found nothing she could put her finger on to justify calling off the mission.
Maybe it just all seemed too good to be true.
And maybe I deserve a break, after all that’s happened, her mind-voice countered. It was accurate enough, but that thought was a dangerous one, a seductive siren eager to lure you to dangerous reefs. You couldn’t let your guard down, not even for a second...not if you wanted to survive.
But she’d done everything she could think of, checked everything possible. If there was a threat she couldn’t find it, the most likely reason for that being because there wasn’t one...and with the sun now down she didn’t dare wait a moment longer.
Her bag was long since packed, and after a thorough spray down that would render useless any DNA she’d shed, Samara closed the door behind her, stepping into the waiting cab. She’d toyed with going in over the walls commando style but dismissed it immediately. First, that wasn’t her area of expertise, and second...driving through the main gate bold as brass was the last thing anyone would expect. It was the easier of the options, and with an explanation of looking to hire a charter they were waved inside.
Once she arrived at the Operations building Samara dismissed her ride, informing the driver she would likely be several hours making arrangements. That detail handled, she found a dark corner of the structure and studied the route to Ghidhi Ji. The problem was that spaceports were built on the flattest terrain possible, for obvious reasons. Any depressions had been long since filled in, any spots of higher elevation leveled off and graded. Bright flood lights illuminated the field, while various vehicles trundled about their business. Getting to the ship unnoticed wouldn’t be easy.
She did, however, have a trick up her sleeve for just such occasions.
Peeling down to bare skin, Samara closed her eyes and focused, calling upon the unnatural gifts her alien benefactors had given her. Shapeshifting was a handy skill for infil- and exfil-tration, yet there was still another feature she possessed, difficult to control, that she drew on now...the option she called “Chameleon Mode”.
Lying on her belly, she began slithering through the field like a snake, her body altering its patterns and coloration to match the ground beneath her. It wasn’t perfect; and if she moved too quickly it destroyed the illusion, but even up close a casual observer wouldn’t notice anything unusual. It was slow going, rough on the skin, and then there was the slight matter of having to drag her meager belongings behind her as she went, but bit by bit she made her way towards her objective.
It took almost three hours...and one or two close calls...before she finally arrived at the base of the ship. The ramp was down, simplifying matters, and after a few more minutes she’d crawled her way to the top, taking a quick glance to ensure she had drawn no unwanted attention to herself.
So far, so good.
They had locked the entrance hatch, just as she’d known they would. It was a standard security measure, but unlike structures built on solid ground, a spacecraft couldn’t simply padlock the door. Safety concerns outweighed those of security when it came to locking down key access points. While perhaps a mild inconvenience parked on the field, it suddenly became a very different scenario when your suit was leaking oxygen and getting back inside the ship was the only thing that would save you. In those situations speed and simplicity of access trumped everything else, which is why the hatch’s lock was a simple one to bypass. While docked or on the ground the ship’s captain and crew relied on the port to provide security, and other than military installations they weren’t as difficult to breach as you might expect.
She disabled the lock in seconds and then slipped inside, logging onto the ship’s network with her tablet before she went any further. While the hatch might be lightly secured, hijacking and piracy were all too common in the Perseus Arm, and a ship like this had several features designed to prevent both. But since she’d already gained access to the system long before the ship had landed, the computer greeted her as a long-lost friend as opposed to an interloper. Lights and computer systems flickered to life as she made her way through the deserted vessel, before finally arriving on the craft’s bridge.
Samara spent the next few minutes familiarizing herself with the ship’s controls. The Kikush used a format that differed somewhat from what she was used to, but any ship traversing the cosmos had to follow the same laws of physics. For that reason they fell into certain categories when constructing a ship, and Ghidhi Ji was no exception. While no Corsair herself she had been handling various craft for years, and once she’d fixed firmly in her mind the helm’s physical arrangement, it was time to get to work.
Getting the language and likeness programs up and running had priority, but she’d done most of the preparation while the craft was still in orbit. It didn’t take long to create a likeness good enough to fool Traffic Control, and while the two systems booted up, she ran a quick diagnostic of the ship’s systems. Everything looked good.
It was time.
Double checking to ensure she looked like a big bird to Control and not a fleshy human, she gazed into the comm system’s pickup and said, “Control, this is the Ghidhi Ji, requesting port clearance and an orbital vector.”
They must have been caught off guard, as it took them almost a minute to respond. “Understood, Ghidhi Ji. We are clearing the field for takeoff and routing data is being forwarded to you now.”
The flight instructions appeared on her display. “I copy Control,” Samara answered. “Starting the clock, five-minute countdown to liftoff,” she continued, tapping the control to start the engines.
Nothing happened.
She stared at the console in confusion. The diagnostic had been textbook, there was nothing wrong with the ship and absolutely no reason the engines shouldn’t be coming online. Samara hit the control again and got the same result. Irritated, she tried it once more, and this time she got a reaction…just not the one she’d been expecting.
Emergency bulkheads slammed into place, sealing off the bridge, as the computer systems and controls suddenly went dark. “What the…?” she said in shock, before frantically trying to bring the ship back online, but the vessel stubbornly refused to cooperate. Moments later, a message appeared on the main viewer:
Anti-Piracy Protocols Activated Emergency Lockdown In Effect Local Authorities Contacted
Shit!” she screeched, as she searched desperately for the cut-off. Obviously, she’d missed something, and unless she could override the lockouts she was in big trouble. None of the controls would respond to her commands, so in desperation she ripped off an access panel and tried to trigger the helm manually, only to discover the power had been cut to all Bridge systems.
Life Support included.
Okay, don’t panic, she told herself. There was enough air in the compartment for several hours of normal breathing, and by then they would resolve the situation...one way or another. There had to be a way out of this, she just needed to find it. As she focused her attention on the problem at hand, she realized that her earlier assessment hadn’t been entirely accurate. There were in fact two components receiving power: the main viewer and the lights, neither of which was particularly well shielded. She might not be a Tinker like Maggie, but she still knew a trick or two. If she could reroute that power to the computers…
Cable...she needed cable. Back to the disabled systems, tearing free any spare wires she could find and splicing them together, suffering a few painful shocks as she fought to reconfigure the Bridge. Neither the lighting array nor the viewer provided enough juice on their own, but if she grafted the two together there might be just enough power for the job…
She was so intent on her impromptu hack she realized the hatch was opening a split-second too late, looking up in time to see a grenade thrown through the open portal...before everything went black.
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submitted by Hewholooksskyward to HFY