The problem with most jobs is that they involve actual work which is tedious and difficult and dull. That’s why they have to pay you to do your job. Even without understanding the details, small children realize that most adult careers have all of the dynamism and excitement of mandatory nap time. That’s why little kids always talk about exciting occupations like astronaut or fireman or circus performer.
Somewhere along the line, most of us trade our shiny dreams for lackluster respectability, a decent dental plan, and a few bucks in our pocket at the end of the month. Employment holds all the appeal and excitement of a bicycle with two flat tires and a missing seat; you can’t get anywhere fast and the ride is pretty uncomfortable.
The truth is, work is what you make of it. With a little mental effort, you can trick yourself into having a good time each and every day. Imagine your office as the most interesting, amazing place on Earth. That’s right — pretend you really do work for the circus.
It’s not that hard if you put your mind to it.
After all, your boss probably dresses in a spiffy suit, enjoys barking out orders, and likes to crack the whip over you. Isn’t that what a Ringmaster does? And if your boss can be the Ringmaster, surely your coworkers all have a role as well.
Think about your sales team. They’re out there day after day, making noise, drawing attention to themselves, and putting on a good show for the paying customers. Every time your company launches a new product there’s probably a HUGE public event. People are invited in from all over the country and the sales team falls all over themselves. Every member of the team tries to upstage the others. Eventually they trip over each other and wind up looking foolish.
Clowns are exactly like that, except they tend to have more credibility than the average corporate salesperson and never make promises that the rest of the circus can’t deliver.
A disappointed customer can be dangerous; they’ll growl their frustration to their friends who will become annoyed-by-proxy and before long you’ll have a serious problem. The only way to deal with an unhappy customer is to pick someone from the office (preferably someone expendable) and send them out to engage with the customer. (Aside: Engage is a business school word for “talk to and possibly be damaged by”.) If the person you send is good, they’ll sooth the customer and quiet the situation. If they’re not good, they’ll be eaten alive and you’ll have to find the next-most-expendable person to send in after them.
Lion tamers work under exactly the same conditions, but they get to carry a gun. Lion tamers also receive more applause. To be fair, though, corporate lion tamers rarely have to feed their clients raw meat. It all sort of balances out in the end.
Circuses sometimes feature strange acts like the Human Cannonball. This guy struts around the center ring in a shiny outfit, hands held high begging for applause before he’s even done anything. After a lot of build-up, he’ll eventually get to his actual performance which involves a less-than-exciting bang, some smoke, and a trip that is shorter than the average sneeze. Other than waving his arms, he doesn’t actually do anything. If he wasn’t wearing a tinfoil flight suit in a circus, he’d be wearing a pinstripe Brooks Brothers suit in a Business Consulting Firm.
Juggling is as common in the corporate world as under the big top. Keeping projects, clients, deadlines, budgets, and appointments moving along in an orderly fashion is an art that many people try and few master. When a juggler fumbles, a few balls, clubs, or (on occasion) knives clatter to the ground. In the office the debris includes contracts, payments and (on occasion) careers.
The people responsible for keeping on eye of the bottom line tend to work at the top of the company. In the accounting office they pay close attention to the account balances and make sure that nothing gets dropped accidentally. When it comes to being careful, tightrope walkers have nothing on the company accountants.
A circus just wouldn’t be a circus without monkeys. No matter how down you feel about your own life, you can’t help but laugh when a troop of primates tumbles into the ring and starts cavorting about. At times, the little critters seem almost human and you catch yourself expect to hear them say something intelligent.
Most seasoned corporate types feel the same way about the annual influx of college interns; dressed up in their brand new button-down shirts and faux-silk ties they convincingly impersonate real employees. It would be a mistake to try to pay them in bananas, though.
Once you realize that you really do work for a circus, you’ll seem similarities everywhere you turn. That enormous glass-and-steel structure on the corner of Main Street and Commerce Avenue may as well be a giant red-and-white striped tent. Every morning there’s a parade through the front doors as people trudge in under the watchful eyes of the CEO for another day of whatever-it-is-your-company-does. You might not have three rings on the ground, but I’d bet there are at least a dozen things going on at once all the time.
There are a few differences, though.
At work your only audience is probably your coworkers and they aren’t that impressed with what you’re doing because they could do it themselves if they just weren’t so busy with their own work. You never get to see the really weird acts like sword swallowers or snake charmers and the cafeteria doesn’t serve corn dogs, cotton candy or snow cones. On the bright side, though, you probably also don’t ever have to sweep up after the elephants.
