I am not sure anyone loves the seagull. They’re only really known for being very loud, stealing chips, and dive-bombing people and pooing on them.
Now, Seagull Bosses, they’re only famous for doing one of those things, and surprisingly, it’s the stinkiest one.
What is a Seagull Boss?
A Seagull Boss is, put simply, a manager of any level who walks into a room, meeting or situation, tells everyone what they don’t like, and then leaves. In other words, they swoop in, mess all over the place, then leave. And worst of all, they leave it for everyone else to clear up.
Right now, I am almost certain that you’re picturing someone very specific. It might be someone you are working with right now, or someone you’ve worked with in the past. Either way, Seagull Bosses exist. And I am sorry to say that if you’ve never experienced one, then the rest of this article might be for you.
Not helping. Not fixing.
Observation is a key part of management. A boss sits on a higher branch of the tree. Not in terms of seniority, power or salary, although those can all be true, but rather in terms of perspective. A couple of weeks ago I talked about perspective in a different way – today perspective means how much of the company you can see, and the higher you are the more departments and challenges you can see. This is a brilliant and necessary thing that most companies love having. The problem comes with the attitude with which it’s wielded.
If you are a manager who believes it’s other people’s job to solve a problem you’ve identified, you’re a Seagull Boss.
If you love pointing out the flaws and then walking away, you’re a Seagull Boss.
But, and I hate to break it to you, everyone, his gran, her mother, their dog and yes, even me, can be Seagulls at some point or another. Most do it with love and care and attention, but they do it, and the people it’s done to feel like they’ve been pooped on, and sometimes from a great height.
The key phrase that stops you dumping on people.
“I’ve found a problem. Can I help fix it?”
Why it works
Eight words, and they do two jobs without announcing either.
The first is that the finding and the offer arrive in the same breath. A seagull does the first half beautifully. The phrase just refuses to let you stop there.
The second is the missing word. Not “can I help you fix it”, which leaves the problem sitting with them and asks their permission to assist, but “can I help fix it”, which makes it both of ours. One word, and you’ve moved to the same side of the table.
And the offer costs nothing. Half the time the answer is “no, we’re alright”, and you’ve spent eight words and bought yourself somebody who knows you weren’t just passing through.
When you can’t help
Now the place where that phrase feels like doesn’t work. Sometimes you genuinely can’t help. You’re not capable, you have no time this month, or it’s three levels down and not yours to touch, and the problem is still real and somebody still needs telling.
I am here to tell you you’re wrong. “Can I help fix it?” doesn’t mean it has to be you. Help might be five minutes getting it in front of the person who holds the budget. It might be saying it out loud in a meeting the person who found it will never be invited to. It might be nothing more than agreeing, on the record, that the thing is real, so the next person who raises it isn’t raising it for the first time.
None of that requires you to know how to fix anything.
Because the act of horribleness was never failing to fix it. Nobody fixes everything, and nobody sensible expects you to. The horror is leaving the room after dumping something terrible on the desk and expecting people to pick it up.
A leader, and being in charge doesn’t automatically make you a leader, leads by showing the way, not pointing at it and then going back to their palace.
Be a leader. Not a seagull.
