For a start, it was obvious that it was a pretty scruffy approach to the property, to be greeted by a domestic garden building amongst the subdued evergreen sweep that concealed the house and the rest of the garden from view. Subtly planned, so that it all revealed itself suddenly as you reached the corner, and it felt like the sun had come out.
We had a number of staff who worked in our kiosk, all paid low seasonal wages, and who were mostly involved as paid volunteers, because you certainly couldn't make a living at it, either on the wages we were offering or on the hours available. Tuesdays were staffed by one couple who always came together, and seemed to me to be the ideal that I wanted in the role. They always dressed colourfully but tastefully. (Not Michael Portillo in his national flags of the world jacket and trousers ensembles). They looked bright, and their demeanour was bright. They were the nicest people you could imagine. In this case nice was good. You don't need extreme descriptors for kiosk staff. You want people that everybody likes. When the husband of this pair died, his funeral filled the Cathedral. That's how nice you need to be. Fine people. They set the standard I tried to repeat with every future appointment. In this I was not always successful.
There were also other reception staff who were not so good, and after failing over a prolonged period to stimulate improvements through sensitive management, including home visits offering psychological support, I was forced in the end to be robust and put an end to the collective distress. I hate being robust. I hate being a manager. I want everybody to get along. And like any of us, I just want to be loved. But, come on, that's a naïve approach to management. In the end someone always wants to depose the king. So, robust it was. As infrequently as I could.
The other person involved in Visitor Reception was a more regular employee, responsible for Membership Recruitment. Membership is more beneficial to the organisation than ticket sales, because it encourages repeat visits, so in the target-driven world I had just unwittingly entered, membership sales were paramount. A lot of properties had a bad reputation for press-ganging people into joining, and I was desperate to avoid anything which might put people off favouring us with a visit, so I declared this to our man at the gate. His response was, 'watch me'. He was an ex vacuum-cleaner and brush salesman, which you might imagine would signify aggressive door-to-door practices, leading with the front foot to ensure nothing gets slammed in the face. He was interesting to watch. He met people on entry, let them buy their ticket, and didn't try to sell them anything. He never mistakenly approached anybody who was already a member, but he noted carefully who wasn't. Some of these he would engage in pleasant conversation about something completely different, and they would go off round the garden having had a pleasant greeting. But he had their face in his memory, and on the way out he would speak to them again, asking if they had enjoyed their visit, and so gradually leading them round to the benefits of membership. He made most of his sales on the basis of offering the benefits to people who had already been hooked by what we had to give. This became the approach which I adopted for all future employees. It was also the reason why it was so important to me that all staff and volunteers should be friendly and welcoming. We all had to work together to achieve results. A year or so later, I can't be precise, we received an award for being the most improved small property for Membership Recruitment, a small property being one with below a certain number of visitors.
Our Recruiter took me under his wing, and resolved to teach me all he knew. Sales wasn't my thing. I needed all the help I could get. We didn't agree on everything, however. I was a gardener and dressed accordingly. He thought that when we were open I should look like a manager, and bought me two ties with the organisation's logo on them. I never wore them, but it did become clear that visitors needed to know when they were speaking to a person with authority, so I arrived at an uneasy compromise. I began to change after lunch into clean clothes, but my taste wasn't conservatively managerial. I used to wear what I called 'fast' shirts. A visitor was directed to me with a complaint one day, and I dealt with it, thinking that would be the end of the matter. A short while later a letter came in addressed to the Administrator, raising the same complaint, and protesting about having been dealt with by someone who was inappropriately dressed. Of course, the letter came to me. What the hell was I going to do? Well one thing I can do is write a convincing sentence, so I wrote a fobbing-off letter and heard no more about it.
Fast shirt? Not management material.
The trouble was, I just couldn't do the garden work I needed to be busy with, wearing a jacket and tie. And I had well-dressed people doing the front of house work. Eventually I opted for dressing as a gardener and swallowing my pride when uppity visitors looked down their noses at me. I had greater things to worry about.
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