Doing the Hard Thing

“You’re too much of a coward to fire me.”

I’ve always thought of myself as brave. Integrity, transparency, and clear communication are extremely important to me. Yet here I was, on the receiving end of an emotional resignation because I had been afraid of doing the Hard Thing. It only got worse as I realized that he was right.

How did this happen??

After an unexpected reorganization (and equally unexpected promotion), I had been given the opportunity to recruit and develop my own team from the ground up. This meant, of course, that I was the only member of a one-man team until I did so. At the same time, my “team” was expected to maintain the same output as the previous group, which was fully staffed.

I tried to move as quickly as possible and started by hiring Tom* on a six-month contract. Tom had substantial experience and made an immediate positive impact on the backlog of work, but I could tell within the first week that he wouldn’t be a good long-term fit. That being said, I had every intention of honoring the full contract and my team’s success was relying on his continued productivity.

The next month, I began to recruit for a permanent position that would replace Tom’s temporary role. I was transparent about this opening to Tom, going so far as to invite him to apply for the position. This certainly seemed like the right thing to do: Tom had been vocal about wanting the security and benefits of a permanent position; and I knew that if I told him not to bother applying at all, he would leave earlier than I planned. When I said “your application will be considered along with all other qualified applicants”, the words were true…but I knew that I already had considered him for the position and decided against it. This is where I experienced a gut feeling of the Hard Thing. I know at some level that the right thing to do was to be open with Tom and let him decide what to do. At that point though, my goal was to keep him working as long as possible until I could recruit and train a replacement. It wouldn’t do politically for me to have my first hire resign within two months, and I desperately needed him if I wanted to keep up with the production schedule. So I kept leading him on, and avoided the Hard Thing.

I spent the following weeks contacting and interviewing candidates (including Tom) for the full-time position. Every week Tom would ask for an update, and every week I told him that we were taking our time to ensure we had seen the best possible candidates. Looking at this in the rearview mirror with some experience, I am embarrassed that I thought that might work. Obviously if there is a permanent position is being created from what had been a temporary opening, the person filling the temporary role should be hired right away — unless there are significant red flags. To put it another way, as soon as Tom realized I didn’t think he was a shoe-in for the permanent role, he must have known that he wasn’t going to get the job.

This explains why the final months of our time together were so antagonistic. Here I was, naively shocked that someone who had been a willing team member “suddenly” developed a poor attitude and started to alienate people. And here Tom was, having to come into the facility every day knowing that as soon as I found a better candidate, he was out the door. A few weeks before his contract ended, I met with him to talk about his attitude. I went into the meeting confident that if I spoke clearly and listened actively, I would find the right words to win him over and finish the position on a high note. That confidence evaporated in the first thirty seconds of the conversation.

Tom: “I know you’re not going to give me the permanent position. You’ve been leading me on for weeks.”

Me: “Like I said, this is an important role and I need to make sure I’ve executed a thorough recruiting process.”

Tom: “We both know I’m not getting the job. Why don’t you just fire me already?”

Me: “Why would I fire you? You’re doing a great job — ”

Tom: “If I’m doing a great job, you should offer me the full time position.”

Me: “…OK Tom. You’re right. I don’t think you’re the right person for the role. Is there any way you could finish out the contract and get back to the attitude you had a few months ago?”

Tom: (silence)

Me: “If you don’t think this is working out, it’s probably best if we part ways at this point.”

Tom: “If I quit, I can’t collect unemployment. The only way you’re getting rid of me is to fire me, and you’re too much of a coward to do that. You’re going to keep paying me for the next six weeks while I look for a new job, even though I’m going to come in late, leave early, and have a bad attitude.”

Me: (shocked silence)

And wouldn’t you know it, Tom was right. It took me another month to find a permanent replacement, and in the meantime Tom and I had a cold and dysfunctional relationship. I had to put in extra hours on the production floor to make up for his tardiness, and the rest of the manufacturing team commented on how unpleasant he had become. When I finally told Tom that I had filled the position, he nodded and continued working. He stayed on the payroll through the end of his contract and left on his last day without saying a thing to me.

No Hollywood ending. I wish I could say we met up a few years later and talked through our disagreements, but no.

At the end of the day, I had managed to keep my department’s output up during a challenging period. I ultimately hired a permanent engineer who grew within the company and was a great asset. On paper, things looked like that had worked out well. I learned though, how terrible it feels to take advantage of someone’s trust and be disingenuous for my own benefit.

Doing the Hard Thing — that’s what matters.