The secret is audience participation. I divide them into small groups, give them a sheet of flipchart paper and a couple of coloured felt tips, set them a task, and Bob’s your proverbial. There’s nothing like a bit of competition to bring them back to life. It can get out of hand, mind you, and I’ve had some tricky situations in my time, but with the right handling, it can all be dusted down and put to bed without too many broken bones. It’s all to do with enabling. I enable them to own their feelings and then re-direct them towards me. That way, they don’t carry things back to the work place. It seems to be successful and I’ve had no trouble persuading them to focus their resentment on me.
It was touch and go between Red Group and Yellow Group at the catering staff refresher course last time. Cheryl from Red accused Trevor from Yellow of cheating. She reckoned he had the procedures manual in his duffel bag.
‘He’s always ducking and diving,’ she said. ‘He never does anything properly, but he still manages to get all the bloody credit.’ Then she yelled at him across the room. ‘You’re a creep, Trevor.’
‘Okay, okay,’ I said, all nice and calmly. ‘Let’s un-pick this and see what’s going on. And remember Cheryl, I’d like you to give any negative feelings you may have to me, not to your colleagues. So, if there’s going to be any creeps around here today, it’s me.’
‘Yeah, well that goes without saying,’ she said, and made a very dignified departure through the fire exit. After reading up on the theory, it was really satisfying to see it work smoothly in practice.
I can offload incidents like that to Jeffrey, of course. Well, not directly to him. He’s got me doing the empty chair routine for the first part of my session. I’ve progressed a lot with it. You feel such a fool at first, talking about personal experiences to an upholstered recliner, but now I just let it all pour out. Jeffrey doesn’t even stay in the room with me these days. He says he feels that I’ve reached the stage where I can self regulate my need to share. He does pop back in to tell me when time’s up, and we have a brief de-briefing. He’s very popular and in great demand, Jeffrey is. He’s usually got two or three other clients there at the same time as me, in different rooms. I only see them if we happen to arrive at the same time, and have to wait for a few minutes in Jeffrey’s front room. There’s a woman who gets very fidgety.
‘Have you cracked it yet?’ she asked me once, and told me she found the hypnosis helpful. ‘Trouble is,’ she went on, ‘it only lasts a few days, and then I’m back craving my ciggies all over again. Still, these things take time. When d’you have your last puff?’
I explained that I was a smoke-free zone and started to tell her about my affirmations, but she had to go outside for a cough, and left me to sit and marvel at Jeffrey’s multiple talents. It was the first I’d heard about him being a hypnotist. He had such wonderful dedication to easing the lives of others. In my own small way, I hope to spread enlightenment and awareness, but I’ll never be in the same class as Jeffrey.
I’d got myself well prepared for the telephone induction week. I borrowed some decent books from the library on presentation skills, went through my own self-help manuals and of course, studied the bible as usual. What I like to do is accumulate as much knowledge as I can, and then deliver it to my audience in a different form. In bite-sized pieces, you might say. In a similar way to Jeffrey, I’m trying to widen my skills and pass on a variety of information to help them answer their phones effectively. I steer clear of the physical end of things though, what with my glands, and I leave all that to the folk running the morning sessions. No, I’m more concerned with the psychological and problem solving side of things. And building up their confidence so they feel enabled to do the work. I get them to do all sorts of things out of my books. There’s a bit of stress management, a bit of time management, a few listening skills, recognising their inner child, colour therapy, communication techniques, dream interpretation as a tool to improve relationships, psychotherapy, and I’m just starting to include some Feng Shui. It pays to be up-to-date in this game, otherwise you’ll only get caught out. The beauty of it, as I’ve tried to explain to Mum, is that I learn a lot myself as I’m doing all this research.
‘Sounds like a lot of nonsense, Kipper,’ she said. But she doesn’t understand. Her days of working in haberdashery at the department store didn’t include personal development for the staff. All they ever got was a hand-me-down tape measure and black looks from Queenie Wince, the manageress, if they spoke out of turn. I tell her things are different now, but she still asks when I’m going to get a proper job. And she will keep moving the pot plants after I’ve placed them in the correct positions for harmonious living.
My training programme for the week is almost ready. I’m going to start them off with introducing their neighbours. Get them to sit and talk to the person in the next chair and then feed back about each other. This gives a good indication of their ability to absorb information, and shows how much they actually listen to what someone else is saying. We had a woman called Phoebe getting very hot under the proverbial when her partner introduced her as ‘Doing a bit of decorating in her spare time.’ Phoebe went all red, and when it was her turn, said that actually, she was an artist and had exhibited in the local show. You get that a lot though.
‘Put yourself in the other person’s shoes,’ I tell them. ‘Walk in their footsteps for a while and see what life’s like for them.’ And of course some bright spark comes back with a clever remark about not knowing you could even get shoes like mine these days, and I have to settle them all down again. Still, while they have a go at getting to know each other, I get the chance to sort myself out and weigh things up a bit. I have a good look round to see if there are any faces I recognise, just so I can be on my guard for disruptive types.
‘It’s a power thing,’ Jeffrey says. ‘Assert yourself before they do.’ Metaphorical throwing your weight about, he calls it.
‘And let’s face it, Kipper, you still have a lot of weight to throw. I really think we need to tackle this eating disorder of yours.’
I have to admit that I get a bit disappointed when Jeffrey talks like that – you’d have thought someone like him would know about problem glands. Still I suppose even he can’t be an expert on everything. Anyway when they’ve finished with the introductions, we’ll get on to goal setting and mission statements, before we move into the more delicate areas of interpersonal skills, and the benefits of touch in the workplace. All this has to be carefully planned, right down to what clothes to choose for each day’s topics and the type of aftershave I’ll be wearing. A themed approach is important in getting the message across.
Mum used to be a big help with the outfits. We’d have a little trip into town and pick out one or two shirts and ties, then go and have a pot of tea and a couple of scones in the supermarket cafe, while we debated the merits of plain blue against a small beige check. More often than not, we were unanimous and she’d treat me to the tie to go with the shirt we’d chosen. Then there were the evenings when she would sit and judge two or three different outfits for me.
‘Go on Kipper, give us a twirl,’ she’d splutter between mouthfuls of butterscotch or humbug cushions. Oh, we had such a laugh. Yes indeedy. I even used to practice some of my presentations on her, but she’d usually nod off then. Still, it was handy for me to go over things with Mum rather than do it in front of the bedroom mirror. She’s not keen now though. What with the visits to Mr Shelby and her little comments about me making it up as I go along, it’s taken the edge off things. There’s more than a bit of coolness about the meal time situation as well. I make it a rule always to leave one potato these days, but Mum goes all tight-lipped, snatches the plate away.
‘You’ll be back to the doctor with your weak chest before long if you start wasting away,’ she says. ‘Just you wait and see.’
I remind her that there’s been nothing wrong with my chest since I was seven years old, but she sniffs and walks away. Anyway, I usually mak
e up for the left potato later in the evening, when I have a little treat after my self-help books. All the books tell you to do that. Have a long relaxing bath, they say, or go for a nice walk. I don’t have the bath because Mum gets huffy if I use too much hot water, but I do have the little walk, and pop round to the late night shop for a few bars of chocolate.
I do get more nervous now I can’t do the practice run with Mum. She didn’t know what I was talking about but at least she could tell me things about how I looked or point out my little habits. Now I keep wondering if I’ve got my label hanging out or if I’m waving my arms about too much, or pulling funny faces without realising.
‘Don’t keep pushing your lip out with your tongue, Kipper,’ she used to say. ‘It makes it look like there’s something wrong with you.’ She’s more interested in Mr Shelby lately, and talks about him all the bloody time. Its Mr Shelby said this and Mr Shelby said that. He’s even taken it upon himself to comment about my career.
‘Mr Shelby thinks you’d be better off getting a job doing something else. Why don’t you join the police, or hand out shopping baskets in that new hypermarket? They have a lovely smart uniform.’
She’s always had a thing about uniforms. Dad was a security guard, and she thinks if you don’t have to wear a jacket with a number on the shoulder, you haven’t got a proper job. She used go on about me being in the police before, but it’s been quiet on that front for years. Until Mr Shelby, that is.
Neither of them seems to appreciate the level of work I do. It’s specialised, this sort of thing. It’s all very well being in some organisation where you do the same thing as all your colleagues, but I’m out there on my own. It’s a big responsibility, moulding and shaping new recruits so they can perform to high standards. I haven’t got a manager to fall back on, or a training manual to turn to. No indeedy. I’ve got my books, that’s true. But I don’t think Mum, or Mr Shelby for that matter, have got the first idea how much work is involved in adapting them. Like Jeffrey says, you have to have a holistic approach. Mum might fancy the idea of me in a policeman’s helmet, but it takes a lot more to carry this work off properly. It’s all in the bible. I’m selling myself every minute of the day. As soon as I stand in front of a new group, I’m selling myself. Not my company brand, or my uniform, but me. I’m selling them Kipper Flipchart. I only have to make one small mistake and they will see straight though me. And they can be cruel, oh yes indeedy.
‘It’s all that power and authority you represent, Kipper,’ Jeffrey tells me. ‘They want to see you fall. It’s human nature.’
And he should know if anyone does. He’s done his fair share of Facilitating in his time. He gave it up because of the stress. But I’ve never had any of that. Perhaps I’ve just been lucky with the people who have passed through my tender loving care – good old TLC, number one ingredient in the people game. You’ve got to have a feel for this job, and Mum can’t seem to see that I’ve got something out of the ordinary.
All set for the big week, now. I think of myself as an athlete in training for a big race. In the final stages of preparation, I like to cleanse my thoughts and my body so I’m ready to give my full attention to the task ahead. I drink gallons of cola to flush out the system – low calorie, of course. I try a few chants in the evenings as well, but it never works quite so well when I do it on my own. With Jeffrey, we make what he calls pure sounds, from the core of our beings. When I give it a go on the bedroom floor, I always end up humming the theme tune for ‘Neighbours’. Still, I suppose it all helps to concentrate the mind. I get plenty of sleep, and I eat all the right foods – lots of pasta; all the books tell you to bump up the carbohydrate. I get Mum to steam heaps of vegetables and cook up masses of spaghetti, and I have it with a couple of jars of that nice creamy sauce. There’s no red meat during my training – that’s one of Jeffrey’s golden rules.
‘Keep to light dishes and give the heart a rest,’ he says.
Mum keeps offering to make me a shepherd’s pie, and she gets a bit muddled with the spaghetti, but I’m quite disciplined about it all. I eat what she gives me, telling her it’s just right even though it’s usually stuck together in rubber ribbons, then I do myself another couple of bowls when she pops round to Mr Shelby. It’s important to keep the nutrition levels up. I treat myself to real organic chocolate, so I don’t contaminate the internal system. And I get all my outfits ready, each one colour co-ordinated and hung on the back of the door. Then I check that my little minty breath spray, my pack of tissues, my indigestion tablets, and my prompt-cards are all in order. They fit discreetly in my pockets, and it gives me that extra little boost, knowing I’m covered for every proverbial. With all the practicalities taken care of, I can focus on the final touches for a Kipper Flipchart production.
The latest trend I’ve cottoned onto is touch. Yes indeedy. Not an easy area to get into, I know. All that British reserve and stiff upper lip stuff we’re so used to in our everyday dealings – but some of the books I’ve been looking into are really hot on this touch thing. It’s not something for the inexperienced Facilitator to get to grips with, and is best tackled by the big boys who know what they’re doing on the people front. I’ve used it a bit in some of my recent short courses, but now I want to go into it in more depth. The theory seems to be saying that touch helps us to understand each other better, that we pick up signals better and quicker if we make contact with each other, and that there is less chance for crossed wires if we get hold of the person we’re talking to.
I’ve had a few goes, to test it out. It’s been a bit hit and miss so far, but then I haven’t had a chance to use it properly. It probably wasn’t the right time to try it with the milkman, what with him being in a hurry to get on with his round, but at least I did lay my hand on his arm for a few seconds as I paid him for our gold-tops. With a bit of time, he might become more receptive, and we can have a more meaningful exchange. The woman in the library blushed and pulled away sharply when I closed my palms over her hand, which demonstrates just how much work there is to do in this field. I had better success with that nice old man in the corner shop, who grabbed onto my hand and said how much he used to enjoy my visits when I was a lad.
‘I never knew why you stopped coming to see me, my fine young fellow. Not many boys are as good with their hands, you know.’
I used to help him look after his ferrets, but Mum stopped me going in the end. It was all a long time ago, but he’s definitely someone who isn’t afraid of a hands-on approach.
What do they say in that song? What a Difference a Day Makes? What a difference, indeedy. Two days to go before the big week of training, and it all falls apart. Just like that, finito. It started with a phone call from Gloria. She’s the personnel manager from the telephone sales place. She’s a bit on the formal side but we usually get on all right. Anyway, today she had this really clipped voice, and told me that the course had been unavoidably altered. She said my input would no longer be required. They would be sending me a good-will payment for half the agreed fee, to cover my expenses and compensate for any inconvenience. I pressed her for more info, but she wasn’t at all forthcoming.
‘Gloria,’ I said, ‘I’m a professional; I can take the good with the bad. Is it financial constraints? Is it training budgets being cut back?’
There was a pause. I tried to picture Gloria as she struggled with her reply. She was always impeccably turned out, and had a nice eye for a classic suit and matching scarf. I saw her in my mind’s eye, dressed in that neat navy-blue number with a splash of lemon chiffon at the neck.
‘Come on, you can tell me, I’m a Facilitator,’ I said to try and make her laugh. Then I asked, ‘Is it a matter of no money in the kitty, a deficiency in the dosh department, a tightening of the old proverbial?’
‘No,’ she cut in, ‘it’s a matter of you keeping your hands to yourself. We’ve had a complaint. We’ve had several complaints from women on previous courses you’ve done.’
Before I
could explain, Gloria had put the phone down.
She said, ‘You’ll be hearing from us in writing,’ and put the phone down.
I’d never needed my mentor more. I rang Jeffrey immediately and when I couldn’t get an answer, I went round there. I had two packets of crisps and a couple of chocolate bars on the way to settle my nerves. I ran through a few affirmations as well, trying to do the right thing for mind, body and spirit, just like Jeffrey always taught me. The combination gave me heartburn, which I tried to override with positive visualisation techniques. I wasn’t too successful, and just kept seeing a chewed up mixture of cheese and onion chocolate, tied up in Gloria’s scarf. By the time I arrived at Jeffrey’s, my chest felt as if it was in a vice, and I was sweating buckets. Yes indeedy. I was desperate to see him. Even a good chat to the armchair would have helped. But Jeffrey wasn’t there.
It was his wife who finally answered the door, just as I was about to give up and turn back down the path. I never knew there was a Mrs Jeffrey. I had never seen her before and Jeffrey hadn’t mentioned her.
Grave Misgivings Page 18