It’s 12 o’clock somewhere

“It’s five o’clock somewhere” is long-standing happy hour wisdom on Saipan. It’s probably wisdom in a lot of places. The phrase was also the title of a song performed by tropical-good-times icon Jimmy Buffett in a duet with country singer Alan Jackson.

If we’re going to enjoy happy hour wisdom, we should balance it out with some work wisdom. After all, without work, you won’t be able to afford happy hour. So here’s a management tip: It’s 12 o’clock somewhere.

And here’s the story that goes with it:

I knew a guy who took a management job in a venue he didn’t know much about. The day after he settled into his new office he walked into the general working space. He thought he’d spend a few moments getting acquainted with the clerks in the administrative department.

He couldn’t get acquainted with the clerks, though, because the clerks had vanished.

The switchboard started ringing from an incoming call. Twenty seconds later, the ringing stopped. After that, the only sound was the faint hum of computers.

The new manager’s first reaction was that some disaster was in the works and that everybody had fled.

So was this the apocalypse?

Nope. It was lunch.

In that particular area, and there are many like it, noon means “lunch.” As soon as the clock strikes 12 the pencils are dropped. The chairs are wheeled back. Work ceases. It doesn’t taper off, mind you. It doesn’t limp along at some reduced rate. No, it just stops.

An hour and a quarter later (the exact timing being a function of the specific venue in question), the chairs will be rolled back to the desks. The pencils will be picked up again. Work will restart just as abruptly as it had stopped.

To the new manager, who had spent a career arranging meals (and everything else) around work, instead of the other way around, having an entire department drop dead every day seemed crazy. Wouldn’t it make more sense to keep the department staffed at some minimal level, so that, for example, phone calls could be answered?

This was the question presented to my pals and I, since we all had hands-on management experience in that particular locale.

In fact, I’ll pose that same question to you. You can come up with your own response. I’ll pipe in some toe-tapping music from a TV game show so you’ve got a little time to think it through.

Got your answer? OK, let’s proceed.

My pals and I were unanimous on this one: Don’t mess with the 12 o’clock factor. The discontent you’d sow when changing this deeply-ensconced routine would be more costly than any minor gains you’d hope to achieve. In the great fabric of life, there are some loose strands that aren’t worth pulling.

Of course, we’re talking an administration department, not a sales department. If the sales line goes unanswered, that’s a disenchanting thing. But if somebody selling copy paper to the supplies clerk winds up going straight to voice mail, well, the world probably won’t end. Sometimes, you’ve got to pick your turf and your battles.

This “pick your battles” outlook runs contrary to some of the slogans I’ve seen in management books. I have no quarrel with that stuff, though I don’t use it either. There are, after all, different ways of looking at these things, and a lot of stuff depends on context. They’ve got their world. I’ve got mine.

As for the 12 o’clock factor, the bigger picture, of course, is larger than mere lunch. Lunch is the example, but lunch is not the issue.

The issue is that every place has its own habits, its own customs, and its own outlooks. From my experience, the most productive way to approach things is to get a feel for them first, without trying to “fix everything” immediately.

With every passing year, I either know directly, or I hear from, a few folks in the mainland who are heading for exotic places to try to make a run of things. I don’t like to say much, but I’m expected to cough up something that’s useful. So I pretty much tell them what I just told you.

Beyond that, well, I’m sorry I can’t be of further assistance; I have to be running along now. The clocks says 4 pm, so you know what to say. I’m dropping my pencil and, of course, searching for my lost shaker of salt.