you get on my back. What’s to stop you from stinging me?’
“The scorpion says, ‘Look, Frog, I have no reason to sting you. I don’t eat frogs. Plus, just think about it. I can’t swim. We’re halfway across the river, I sting you, what happens? We both die. Of course I’m not going to sting you.’ The frog sees the logic in this and agrees to take the scorpion on his back.”
“I can see where this is going,” said Amanda.
Luigi ignored her. “So the scorpion jumps on the frog’s back, and the frog starts swimming across the river. They get halfway across, and all of a sudden the frog feels a sharp pain in his back. ‘What the hell?’ says the frog. ‘You stung me! Now we’re both going to die! Why would you do that?’ The scorpion shrugs —” Luigi held up his hand. “And before you tell me that scorpions don’t have shoulders, I mean that figuratively. The scorpion shrugs and says, ‘I can’t help it. It’s my nature.’ ”
I broke the silence after a moment. “I hate to admit it, but there’s something about that story that rings true.”
Amanda was nodding. “I hate to admit it even more than you do, Will, but I agree. Even though it makes no sense, even though the end result is bad for both of them, the scorpion still goes ahead and does it.”
Leslie added, “It’s also important that even though the frog knows it’s a bad idea to carry the scorpion, he listens to logic and does it. And then dies.”
Sheila spoke up. “So, what? We’re not supposed to do any favors for anyone? Being nice gets you killed? What? I don’t get it.”
“Or,” I said, “is the lesson that you can’t change someone’s nature? That scorpions sting, it’s what they do, and there’s no point in pretending any different?” I paused. “I don’t see how that can be the moral of the story. We deal with difficult situations all the time. Nothing is truly hopeless. There are always ways around it.”
“Yeah,” said Mark, “but maybe the story means you can’t take the obvious path. We’re saying that we’re the frog and the union is the scorpion, and they’re stinging us even though they know they’re sinking the company.”
Stu frowned. “To be fair, I don’t think you can say we’re the frog. I think the union guys would say we’re the scorpion.”
Everyone started to talk at once, which confirmed for me that both mole whacking and the frog and scorpion saga were striking a nerve. As the babble continued, I went to the whiteboard and wrote down two things:
1. What is our mole infestation?
2. What does the scorpion’s nature have to do with all of this?
I tapped the board to get everyone’s attention.
“Here’s where we are, people, and I have to say, we’ve made some progress.” I pointed to the first question. “We know we have to take a step back, stop whacking at moles. Otherwise more will just keep popping up, and we’ll get nowhere. We have to figure out what our mole problem represents, and then we have to find a solution that wipes out the moles entirely. Or at least one that leads to a major die-off.” I tapped the second item. “At the same time, we have to figure out the scorpion’s nature. I know Luigi told the story relative to the union, but my guess is it applies across all the major issues we’ve identified. Our salespeople, our internal performance management system — they are also examples of the scorpion stinging the frog, even though it’s clear to both parties that stinging will sink them both.”
At that moment, Hal Wilson, one of the shop floor supervisors, burst into the conference room. “We’ve got a serious problem,” he said, breathing heavily from his dash down the hall.
“Don’t kill us with suspense,” Stu said. “What is it?”
“Strike,” said Hal. “Well, sort of. The guys on the shop floor just walked out.”
FIVE
Will Consults with the Family
I SAT IN THE living room, staring moodily at the fire. It isn’t a gas fireplace, it’s a real wood burner, and sometimes I imagine that wastefully consuming our diminishing wood supply in a ball of flame helps me to think. That’s how my daughter looks at it, anyway. Which explained the discussion I found myself having instead of doing the thinking I was hoping to do.
“Seriously, Dad,” Sarah was saying. “How can you burn up old-growth forest like that? It’s not like that fireplace is even efficient at producing heat. Not to mention the greenhouse gases you’re creating.”
I hate to admit it, but my kids can really push my buttons if I’m not careful. “Honey,” I said in a level tone, “this is not old-growth forest, and you know it. It’s from our trees out back. An old-growth log wouldn’t even fit in this fireplace.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. Truly, one of the most annoying things in the world is the teenage eye roll. “Whatever, Dad. It’s not going to have a chance to become old-growth now, is it? Fireplaces like ours are wasteful. It’s bad enough that you work at that nasty factory, polluting the world. Why do you have to burn wood on top of it?”
“Sarah,” I began, much more sharply than I’d intended, “that nasty factory is what allows us to spend the money that supports your environmental habit. It’s what allowed you to go off to build houses in Costa Rica last summer, and it’s what’s going to pay for you to go to college next year, now that you’re spending more time on the environment than on studying and won’t be getting any scholarships!” That last bit came out more as yelling than the light conversational tone I was going for.
Sarah stood up. “Jeez, Dad, tense much?” She stormed out of the room as only someone infused with teen drama can do.
Jenny passed her as she came into the room. “A little quality father-daughter time?” she asked as she sat down. “Sounds like it went well.”
I shook my head. “Beautifully. I believe getting angry at your kids instead of having adult conversations with them helps prepare them for the real world.”
Jenny pursed her lips. “You do seem a little more tense than normal, honey.”
I shrugged. “Maybe it’s the fate of five hundred workers resting on my shoulders. Fifty of whom decided to take a four-hour vacation today to make their feelings about management clear.”
“Uh-huh,” she said. “And perhaps a little overly dramatic. I can see where our daughter gets it from.”
“What?” I spluttered in protest. “Are you kidding me? I don’t have a dramatic bone in my body!” Jenny just looked at me, which was far more infuriating than anything she could have said. I got up and angrily stirred the fire. “OK. Maybe I’m a little tense, but I really do feel as if the future of the plant is in my hands and I’m not making anything happen.” It sounded like a good title for a depressing book: Special Techniques in Not Making Anything Happen. I was an expert.
“Is it the walkout?” Jenny asked.
I scowled. “No, that’s just a blip. It was just a few guys grandstanding. I got them back to work the same afternoon, once I promised to listen to their concerns. But it’s a sign of things to come.”
“So
