managing management training

This week has seen me on a management training course. Our trainer is a pretty motivational and very snappily dressed diminutive successful Turkish businessman. And he is a showman with a capital ‘ow’. It is possible to sit and listen to this man speak for 5 hours not get bored and leave almost believing that you can shake the world, change your organisation and get your manager to listen to your requirements for personal growth and fulfillment. He is amazing at bolstering confidence.

It reminds me of that magical childhood time when parents try to convince their offspring that they are not gap toothed/big eared/chubby or dim, and then deposit them at the school gates the next morning to endure hours of being called ‘fatty thicky wingnuts’ and have their lunch money stolen.

I can just imagine myself striding into the office tomorrow and telling my bosses that I need one on one personal mentoring from them, that their management style is all wrong and that they need to work with me on their personal failings (which include not giving me more management training from the aforementioned businessman). Not only will my free canteen lunches be seized, but my house, my health insurance and my payroll.

So as great as he is, a percentage of his ideals are really cut from the same cloth as tooth fairies. Yes you can see how they can be profitable, but the reality wears slippers and puts the food on the table.

However I am having a whale of a time. There is not a coffee break which goes by in which our trainer has not failed to mention his Ferarri, his two boats or flash his Phillipe Patek watch with a smooth but practiced flick of the shirt cuff. Although I am not sure who is sadder - him for flashing or me for noticing.

On day one I stood with the boys discussing the prospects of Fenerbahce football team, when he told us of Turkey’s most amazing striker in history who only had size 36 feet. ‘So it shows’ he proclaimed, ‘that size does not matter.’ ‘Who said that then darling?’ I said drawing from my camel light.

On day two I mentioned that I lived in Yenikoy, mentioning this area I have found, never fails to impress the Turks. That’s cause it costs a fortune around here. Said trainer has already offered to pick me up on his yacht from Yenikoy port one day so we can ‘fish and….. sunbathe’. Well just fancy. One wonders if the tanning oil comes from him, the fish or the bottle.

However, being a woman of limited intelligence, I will give him my card at the end of the course, smile sweetly and tell him how much I can’t wait to meet him and his wife for cocktails on the deck, and see if he ever calls (of course not being surprised if he turns up without wife in tow). One thing is for certain, he trains the guys at DHL, Coca cola, Unilever, our competitor Turkcell, and I love contacts. Plus he is entertaining, and I can swim if I have to.

Besides, if my career in politics taught me nothing, it's that when it comes to professional advice, inspiration and information, there is no better santa claus than a married horny old codger. And contrary to the stereotype, you don't even have to sleep with them. Genuinely being interested in what they have to teach you is enough. Massaging ego is their biggest turn on and in exchange you get absolute gems, and if you are clever they not the kind that you lock up in a box.