A Comparison of Management Styles

Yesterday, my boss was eating a lemon tart. The uber-boss of our department (the one who feels compelled to declare "don't they know I'm a vice-president?" on a near-daily basis) grabbed my boss's hand, and shoved the tart into her face. She got icing in her eye.

Then later that day, he was bad-mouthing our entire department to others in the company. In earhsot of the people who work for him. (I wanted to tell him that scapegoating everyone you manage, doesn't make you look good.)

My impeding unemployment made me feel a bit brave (and relieved), and so I sent around a little comparison of management styles.

There's this guy.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Dr_Evil.jpg

Whose inspirational speeches include:

"Why am I always surrounded by fricking idiots?"

and then, there's this guy.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Henry_V_Branagh.jpg

Known for saying such things as:

What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmorland. No, my fair cousin:
If we are marked to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will, I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It ernes me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires:
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England:
God's peace, I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more, methinks, would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more.
Rather proclaim it presently through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart. His passport shall be made
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the Feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a-tiptoe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall see this day and live t'old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say "To-morrow is Saint Crispian":
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars
And say "These wounds I had on Crispin's day."
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now abed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
(Shakespeare's Henry V, Act IV, iii)

Allen

P.S.: Fortunately, I had a wonderful time after work. I met up with old friends, watched some Robin of Sherwood (including Guy's humiliation in "A King's Fool"), my Rocket Robin Hood clips and a little bit of Brideshead Revisited, because I had never seen it. Of course, the true highlight of the evening was my friend's 4-month old daughter who is without doubt the cutest baby I've ever seen. Then again, watching her parents with her, it's not hard to figure out why she's so joyous and inquisitive.