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186    Carrots and Sticks Don’t Work





                          Story from the Trenches

           Nancy worked as my first graphic artist at ColorMe Company.
           As you can imagine, this is a highly critical role in a company
           whose entire product line is based on digitizing children’s art-
           work. Although the rest of the office used computers loaded
           with Microsoft Windows, she insisted on using her own Apple
           laptop—which I completely understood and supported. My only
           request was that on Friday afternoons she back up her work on our
           computer server. (You know what’s coming.)
              It was Christmas 2005, and we had decided to invest nearly all
           of our time and resources into a single marketing campaign. This
           was a big deal for a small company that counted on Christmas to
           generate more than 50 percent of yearly sales. Two days before
           the artwork was due to the printer, Nancy’s hard drive crashed.
           She had not backed up her work in three months. I did not ask her
           why; doing so would have been like asking a four-year-old why she
           hit her three-year-old brother—there is simply no good answer.
              To say that I was angry and upset at her was an understate-
           ment. Despite my extreme irritation and disappointment, I realized
           that firing her at this moment would do more harm than good. It
           would be impossible to hire another graphic artist and get him or
           her up to speed before the end of the Christmas season, and there
           was still work that needed to be done. So I gritted my teeth and
           began to do what I could to salvage the season.
              A few days after this catastrophe while I was working alone at
           night in the office, I found myself checking Nancy’s computer to
           see what she had accomplished in the last few days. I went home
           that night with a sick feeling in my stomach; I had to admit to
           myself that I simply no longer trusted her or her work ethic. The
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