He said nothing more. He patted me on the shoulder and went back out to look at the inventory.
I’ve been a manager for almost a year now.
I still call my mom when I don’t know how long to cook chicken. Some things don’t change.
But now, when one of my newer guys looks scared about something, when he’s dealing with an angry customer or a broken truck or a schedule that won’t come together, I lean on a shelf beside him and ask him a question.
“Hey. Quick question. What would you do if a supplier sent the wrong order?”
He answers. I tell him, right then, whether he got it right. I tell him he’s good at this. Out loud. To his face. I don’t make him wait. I don’t make him wonder. I don’t turn anything into a test.
