"Stupid is as stupid does." Forrest Gump, 1994
Anyone who worked for any kind of business - big or otherwise -- during the past couple of decades was likely subjected to some form of individual psychological assessment. And, not with your express approval.
If not that, then you probably have at least one book in your business library that was given to you by a mission-driven H.R. manager. For the fulfillment of "Strategic Plan Initiative #6," or some such thing.
You might have "Who Moved My Cheese?" If everyone at your office was told to read this one by Friday, you could be headed to trouble. Or, downsizing, whichever comes first. You might be in the middle of "The Five Dysfunctions of a Team: A Leadership Fable" at this very hour.
Ah, yes. I remember it well. I worked for a company that required reading of this book, along with a weekly staff meeting to "discuss."
Yuck. Interesting, isn't it, that people with the worst behavior can lift passages from some guy's fantasy and label co-workers with the fictional outcomes. And, it is not only permitted by a top manager, it's encouraged. On company time.
Along the way, thanks to Myers-Briggs, I was forever labeled "ENTJ." Uh-0h. The extreme, lower right square in the 16-piece box of psychological chocolates known as the "Type Indicator Instrument."
Extraversion. Intuition. Thinking. Judging. Just the recipe for an all-out catfight with an INTP.
The reading, testing, poking and prodding had begun before I was even out of business school. I can only imagine what torturous rigor ensues in today's academic environment. I remember the "ideal career" test from my last year at USC. Not surprisingly, it predicted that I had a brilliant future in marketing. I practically had the word "marketing" tattooed on my brain by that point. That, after having scrubbed most of the word "journalism" off to make room for it.
My results assessment listed law as my second choice. Sales and a few other gregarious targets made the list, but were rated behind the Big #3.
Undertaker.
I'm still wondering just what might have been. By ignoring #3, could I have truly missed my calling? I suppose time still remains for me to pursue this field. Unlike many other professions these days, undertaking seems to be steady work.
Not making a living today in my chosen profession? Check. Not making a living in my former major, journalism? Check. Not taking inventory of the embalming supplies? Check.
Meanwhile, I am exhausted from mustering outrage these days. I am grateful for the writing of people in my social network who are actually paid for it. Thanks to Andrew Breitbart, I don't have to actually write anything today about the disgusting double-standard in our political universe. Just about the time I started to really respect Hillary, she again proved that power trumps principle.
I guess that clarifies for me why "politics" didn't show up on my career profile in 1979. Even then, the test reader sniffed my righteous indignation and correctly concluded that I just wouldn't have the stomach -- or, the skin -- for it.
Today, Andrew speaks for me. I won't be surprised if he speaks for me tomorrow, too:
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