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Several years ago I worked for a man who had built a strong business and reputation over his 45 years in the corporate world; he asked me to help him hire an assistant. It was a small company with fewer than 10 employees, so the job wasn't only limited to assistant work, but would include some office management and event coordination to boot.
Hundreds or resumes, dozens of phone calls, and eight face-to-face meetings later, I whittled the candidates down to two: a woman in her mid 30s who had worked consistently in office settings as an executive administrative assistant, and a woman in her early to mid 20s who had held numerous, unrelated positions, including running her own administrative assistance business out of her home and hairdressing.
I liked both candidates very much, but I was more inclined to hire the woman in her 20s. She had an enthusiasm about her that I thought would positively counter the slower, more contemplative style of my boss. Plus, my boss, what generational marketers would call a traditionalist, often had computer issues, and the woman in her 20s confessed that she enjoyed troubleshooting. The older candidate had more job experience, but would she be willing to pick up the slack doing all of the random little jobs that came up? My boss had asked his last assistant for everything from copyediting services to coffee runs. I assumed the older candidate would consider herself past the early, "will do anything" phase of her career.
My boss met with both candidates and had an immediate reaction to the younger one; she had a "non-traditional" resume and was a bit too chummy--she had joked lightheartedly about keeping her potential boss in-line. Plus, she had a small stud in her left nostril--that seemed to be the worst infraction of them all. The other candidate was pleasant and capable, but I didn't get any sense of her personality. Perhaps the younger candidate would help lighten up the often serious tone of the office. So despite my boss's reservations, I hired her. She lasted three weeks. She said to me before leaving that she just wasn't resonating with her boss. He didn't give her any positive feedback, and she needed to be in a better environment. I remember admiring how quickly she made the decision, without months of misery or questioning.
This story came to mind while I read Ron Alsop's latest book, The Trophy Kids Grow Up: How the Millennial Generation is Shaking Up the Workplace. Alsop, a writer for The Wall St. Journal, has become a defacto expert on Millennials, having kids in this generation and strong exposure to their effect on the marketplace through his reporting work on business schools and corporate reputation. Though the cultural chasm between Millennials (those born between 1980 and 2001) and older generations is becoming increasingly clear in the marketplace, Alsop makes the distinctions clearer, delving behind the now-stereotypical view of the "entitled" generation and approaching it with an invested, strategic perspective. Even if you think the Millenials need to grow up and endure a few career hard knocks before getting that coveted promotion, realize that in a few years this group will be by far the largest cohort in the workforce, and one that has to be understood, even catered to, if businesses are to survive.
The book is packed with examples of organizations making dramatic changes to accommodate Millennials, from professors providing studens with IM access and multimedia learning experiences to major corporations offering Parent Days where their children work. Helicopter parenting, a term I've only just been turned on to, was coined to describe the doting, "hovering" childrearing style of Millenials' parents--Baby Boomers who want their kids to be competitive and safe in an information-overloaded, post 9/11 society. "Involved" parents are endemic to the Millennial experience. Many in this generation don't cower in embarrassment like I did once when my mother tracked me down in a high-school history class to give me my forgotten lunch. They expect their education and careers to be family affairs, and they expect to be in constant contact with their parents, who become friends, vocal advisors, and in the most extreme instances, reasons why their kids didn't get hired.
Alsop is an objective (if not overly tolerant) writer, who provides story after story of Fortune 500 company managers who had to negotiate with parents over a child's salary, of parents who challenged professors about grades and attended their children's job interviews.
Alsop reports some anecdotes from Thunderbird School administrator
