Photo by Tom Fisk.
By Melissa Nightingale
“On behalf of the CEO, the company, myself, I want to apologize…”
Stop.
“What?”
Stop. I need you to stop.
I have done your job. Well, I used to do your job. Not so much anymore.
I have had the day that you are having right now and you’re about to apologize for something that in no way was your fault. This isn’t your mess though you are the person tasked with cleaning it up right now.
I don’t know for certain, but my guess is that this mess is one you could have predicted and probably did. You’re about to apologize that your company didn’t have the good sense to listen to you. And while that’s lamentable, it’s not your fault.
You are about to fall on a sword that is not your own. You’re about to apologize for someone who doesn’t even know you’re doing it. Because it sounds good in the moment. Because you don’t know what else to do. Because you are genuinely sorry that your company didn’t listen to you. Me too.
I can’t see the woman on the other end of the phone but I know she’s a she. More often than not, PR people at tech companies are shes. And more often than not, they are young. Too often they are sent in to clean up a mess they didn’t make. With an executive-sponsored apology that they don’t have the authority to invoke.
If your CEO were sorry, your CEO would be on the call.
I’m sorry your CEO didn’t step up when you needed him to.
I’m sorry your company didn’t listen to you.
I’m sorry for the day you had.
I’m in a conference room at my last startup and I’m sitting with the head of HR. We’re working through messaging for my departure. I’m leaving to co-found a business and someone else could have sorted out my exit comms. But no one has gotten around to it and my departure date is coming up. I can’t help myself.
I type up a few bullets. I reorder the words on the page. I smooth out some of the language. There, that ought to do.
She looks at me as though I have three heads. We’ve been in the conference room for about 10 minutes.
“How are you so fast at that?”
I smile.
It used to be my job. Banging out messaging in a crisis is a funny life skill, but it means I’m fast even when things aren’t on fire.
She smiles back. We’ve got the conference room for a little bit longer. She wants to know why I put down PR.
“You were good at it and it’s obvious you enjoyed it. Why stop?”
I answer honestly.
I got tired of cleaning up other people’s messes.
