Worst meeting ever.
It’s not that the attendee list is wrong. All the right people are there and they’re bright and they’re the decision makers. It’s not that the topic is boring or poorly defined. It’s a big deal. The problem with this meeting is that it’s never going to end.
See, about a year ago, one of our senior engineers was reading our contract with our application server. He read, “Support ends in two years. We’re done. You’re on your own.” He freaked out, called a meeting, and freaked out again in the meeting to make sure we knew it was a big deal, so we agreed it was a big deal. To-do lists were generated, follow-up meetings were scheduled . . . it all had a pleasant “look what we can do when the sky is falling” vibe. Love it when folks scurry with purpose.
Present day. It’s a year later and we haven’t made the switch. The senior engineer who raised the red flag a year ago is, surprisingly, actually in this version of the meeting, although he is a shell of the engineer he was a year ago. I guarantee he’s not going to say a thing because he knows what I know . . .
. . . this is the worst meeting ever.
We knew nine months ago what we needed to do to make the transition to the new server application, but the problem is, it’s really fucking scary. It’s one of those “We’re not going to know half of what we need to do until we start” scenarios, and starting means betting the company. Once we begin the transition, there is no going back and this scares the hell out of everyone, including the VP who will not make a decision.
Each month for the past 12 months, we have had the same meeting. This is the problem, these are the risks, this is what we know, this is what we don’t know. All that preliminary crap takes 30 minutes, and since it’s been a month since we last heard it, everyone needs to be reminded of all the intricacies. Heads nod while I slowly dig my nails into the conference room table. We then begin the chasing-our-tail portion of the meeting, where all the same questions are asked and answered again. This is why the senior engineer is no longer engaged. He’s tired of repeating himself.
Meetings are composed of people, but more interesting, meetings are composed of creatures. These are the roles, traits, and quirks of the people who show up in your meetings, and after you’ve sat through a couple thousand, you’ll see the same creatures keep showing up. Knowing who they are can help you understand your meeting. Knowing what they do can save you time.
The Anchor
Slogan: “It’s all about me.”
The anchor is the big cheese. This is the person that everyone is talking to and this is the person who will decide on whatever needs deciding. When this person talks, everyone in the meeting is listening.
Meetings are power struggles between those who want something and those who don’t want to give it to them. If you’re walking into a meeting and you need something, your first job is to identify this person. This person is the reason the meeting is happening, and if you don’t know who they are, you’re missing essential subtext. It’s actually pretty easy. Just wait for someone to say something controversial and see who everyone looks at.
There are two major things to be wary of with your anchor. First, make sure they know their job. For standing meetings with the usual suspects, the role is obvious, but for one-time meetings, you can’t assume the anchor knows it’s all about them. A clear agenda that anoints the anchor right out of the gate is the best way to make sure everyone knows who the decision maker is.
Second, you’ve got to know what to do when there is no anchor present. You’re 15 minutes in and you know the senior VP who is actually going to help here is not present. Sure, there are eight other people here that like to talk, but the best move is a reschedule. You’re wasting time.
Laptop Larry
Slogan: “Pardon me, what?”
Larry is easy to identify. He’s got his MacBook in front of him. That’s him right there. If the MacBook somehow isn’t enough, just look for lots of intense nodding from Larry . . . that’s him not listening.
Larry pisses me off. He goes to regularly scheduled meetings that he knows are going to be 75 percent irrelevant to him, so he brings his computer so he can work. Turns out he doesn’t work because he’s spending half his time half-listening to the meeting proceedings. Go read that last sentence again. He’s not working and he’s not really listening which means he is actually a net negative when it comes to productivity.
Ask Larry to put his computer away. I mean it. If you can’t vivaciously participate in a meeting you were invited to, you should not be there. “Rands Rands Rands . . . I take notes on my computer.” No, you don’t. You take notes and when I use some proper noun you don’t recognize, you surf Wikipedia. If notes must be taken, designate one person to do it; I want you asking me what the proper noun is . . . not consulting Wikipedia.
A useful meeting is not a speech; it’s a debate. If I’m up there flapping my lips and you disagree or don’t understand, I don’t want you to nod, I want you to yell at me.
Mr. Irrelevant
Slogan: “I’m just happy to be here.”
Why is Mr. Irrelevant here? He doesn’t have anything to add, he’s just all smiles because someone took the time to include him in what must be a very important meeting. He is mostly harmless.
The problem that needs solving with regard to Mr. Irrelevant is figuring out who invited this guy to the meeting. What were they trying to do? Why is it that you’re paying Mr. Irrelevant to sit in this meeting, nod a lot, and take notes? If you uninvited him, he’s not going to be pissed, but the question is, who is going to be pissed? Why did they invite Mr. Irrelevant? Is he a mole? Is someone gathering essential information because they can’t be there?
There is a reason Mr. Irrelevant is in your meeting and you need to understand that reason before you punt him.
Chatty Patty
Slogan: “I don’t shut up.”
Another easy identification. This one never shuts up. Ever.
Your main issue here is time. Chatty Patty is incapable of conveying thoughts in a concise manner, which means every time she opens her mouth, everyone else is checking out.
Your first job is to figure out whether Chatty Patty is actually Ms. Irrelevant. Fortunately, getting her talking is no issue. Your job is to figure out whether the signal-to-noise ratio is acceptable. Once you’ve determined if she actually needs to be there, you next job is containment and, to do that, you’ve got to play her game.
Containing Patty is a simple process of asking questions in a manner that she wants to hear, meaning with lots and lots of words. Questions for Chatty Patty must be precise so she can’t verbally wander. Rather than ask, “How is QA?” you ask, “Patty, I’ve read your test plan, your current test results, and I understand you have a brief assessment for us regarding the quality of the product. Could you please give us a brief assessment?”
You’re going to feel silly constructing these lengthy, repetitive requests, but not only are you giving Patty a well-defined space to wander in, you’re also saving time for everyone in the meeting.
Warning: Don’t ever, ever argue with Chatty Patty in a meeting setting. Combining Patty’s natural loquaciousness with emotion is a recipe for disaster. Remember, she already doesn’t know how to end a thought. Throw some emotional in there and she might never stop.
Translator Tim
Slogan: “I know every acronym ever. FTW!”
Tim is the first of two utility creatures. His role is simple: he speaks the language of everyone in the room. When hardware and software get together to talk about the issue, Tim is the guy who translates software acronyms into hardware acronyms. Tim is essential when you’ve got groups of folks who come from very different parts of the organization.
You need to be wary if Tim isn’t neutral with regard to the topic that he’s translating. If he’s biased, he’s translating in his favor, which means if Tim is on your team, you’re in a good shape. If he’s not, you might want to go find your own Tim.
Sally Synthesizer
Slogan: “What he’s saying is . . .”
I love Sally because Sally’s job is to end meetings. As our second utility creature, Sally grabs the conversation, no matter how messy it might be, and derives the basic truth of what was just discussed.
In large group meetings with a diverse set of personalities, you must have a Sally in the room because she’s not missing a thing that’s being said and, more importantly, she’s aware of the relative significance not only of what is being said, but also who is saying it. She knows who the anchor is, she knows how to shut Patty up, and while it might appear that she’s just stating the obvious, she’s providing essential forward momentum to the meeting.
Like Tim, if Sally is biased in a meeting, she’s synthesizing in her favor. Also, Sally can get drunk with power because her skill is invaluable. When she starts to think she’s an anchor, you’ve got a problem.
Curveball Kurt
Slogan: “The sky is pancakes.”
Kurt is easy to identify. You have no clue what he’s talking about.
The first order of business once you’ve identified Kurt is figuring out if he’s Mr. Irrelevant. This can be tricky since whenever you ask him a question, you see his lips move, he’s clearly speaking English, but you have no idea what he’s trying to say. Hopefully, Translator Tim or Sally Synthesizer is in the room to help out here.
Your absolute worst situation is when your anchor is a Curveball. It happens more than you’d think. The most likely case is combining groups on vastly different parts of the organization chart. Think of executives brainstorming with engineers. Every executive wants to think they can chum it up with anyone in the organization, but when it comes to their day-to-day job, they literally speak a different language. This means you’ve got Curveball Kurt on both sides of the table. This is an impossible meeting without some type of translator and synthesizer in the room.
The Snake
Slogan: “I’m actually the anchor. Ssssssh!”
Some anchors like to hide. It goes like this:
Big meeting with the executives. Sally gets up, sets the agenda, asks Larry to please, for the last time, put the laptop away, and then the meeting begins. Curveball Kurt gets up and says something unintelligible. Translator Tim jumps in and translates for Kurt, but he translates to the executive in the right corner. Aha! There’s your anchor. Pay attention to the right corner.
The meeting proceeds. Mr. Irrelevant says something funny, everyone laughs and then wonders when someone will remove this boob from the meeting. Finally, we reach the crescendo of the meeting and the decision needs to be made and all heads turn to the anchor. We wait for a second and he says, “Snake? Your thoughts?”
The snake is the anchor in hiding and he’s in the left corner. For some reason, he’s got the fake anchor out there taking the heat while he sits there taking it all in. Maybe he doesn’t like the spotlight. Maybe there is some strategic advantage to the room not knowing he’s the man, but he is. Fortunately for everyone, the snake move only works a few times within a company before word gets out who the real anchor is.
Back to the worst meeting ever. It’s the last one on the server issue I ever attended because when I walked in, I knew what the problem was. We all thought we had an anchor in our VP of engineering, but, the problem is, he wasn’t willing to assume the anchor role. Since we had a bet-the-company decision on the table, we should’ve grabbed the CEO the moment it was clear the VP couldn’t anchor the meeting.
You might think we were also missing Sally Synthesizer—someone to capture the essence of what happened—but that was me. I was trying to move the meeting forward by capturing the major thoughts, repeating them for everyone to hear, but it was a useless task since the anchor didn’t want his job.
Forty-five minutes after the meeting began, I did something I’d never ever done before. I walked out of a meeting where I was a key player because I simply couldn’t waste any more time on this uselessness. Stood up, walked out, and slammed the door. Yes, it’s an emotional move that is almost always a bad move in business, but near the top of my list of professional pet peeves is the following:
Do not waste my time.