Photo by Christina @ wocintechchat.com M on Unsplash
The year is still young, and January is usually a busy month for me. I do quite a bit of payroll consulting, so the new year inevitably brings technical changes, updates, and challenges. That part is expected.
What I didn’t expect was how suddenly very human issues would surface—right in my immediate work environment, and seemingly out of nowhere.
In our weekly tech meeting, it was decided that a new security feature needed to be installed across the system. As an IT company, having state-of-the-art security standards isn’t exactly optional.
One coworker, who usually works from home, objected immediately:
“This slows my entire system down. I can’t work like this. I’m uninstalling it.”
The colleague responsible for IT security was—unsurprisingly—not amused. But since this is a home-office setup, he has no direct access to enforce the installation.
Which raises the obvious question: if someone works from home on our servers, doesn’t he still pose a risk? And doesn’t he still have to comply with company-wide instructions?
Yesterday, that coworker showed up at the office, confronted the IT security colleague, and demanded “a solution.” The response was less dramatic: there was a customer issue that needed immediate attention first. So the IT security guy left to deal with that.
Later that day, from home, the coworker sent an Outlook invitation to the entire team calendar—signing himself off for the rest of the year with the note:
“Working from home, as work at the office has been made impossible for me.”
Excuse me?
I manage that calendar. After consulting with my boss, who also happens to be my husband, I ignored the entry. A conversation to address several issues is scheduled for Thursday.
Today is Wednesday. As expected, he didn’t show up.
I called him once to clarify a client quote. I deliberately avoided the larger issue; it’s not my responsibility to referee this. Later, I forwarded a simple request: could he call a client to help resolve a problem? I even mentioned that we were short-staffed due to illness and other commitments.
His reply:
“I’m sorry, I’m unable to help. My phone app doesn’t work. I guess someone did something and is unwilling to help me.”
Wow.
Still trying not to step into the crossfire, I suggested he use his personal mobile—the same one he submits as a monthly expense.
His answer:
“I won’t do that, on principle. You are preventing me from doing my job. Give it to [IT security colleague]. If he doesn’t want to help me, he should do the job himself.”
I was speechless.
Refusal to work. Defiance. Unprofessionalism. All words that came to mind.
He’s been with the company for over 15 years. There have been ups and downs; many linked to what one might diplomatically call impulse control issues. At the same time, he’s highly efficient, extremely structured, and generates a significant number of billable hours.
Good people are hard to find, especially in IT.
So I’ll leave you with this cliffhanger. Here's my question:
How do you know when enough is enough?
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