Companies, communities, families, clubs, and other clumps of humans all have some inherent social dynamics. At a simple level there are leaders and followers, but in reality the lines are rarely as clear as that. Many leaders, with a common example being some founders, have tremendous vision and imagination, but lack the skills to translate that vision into actionable work. Many followers need structure to their efforts, but are dynamic and creative in the execution. Thus, the social dynamic in organizations needs a little more nuance. This is where traditional management hierarchies break down in companies. You may have your SVPs, then your VPs, then your Senior Directors, then your Directors, and so on, but in reality most successful companies don’t observe those hierarchies stringently. In many organizations a junior-level employee who has been there for a while can have as much influence and value, if not more, than a brand new SVP. As such, the dream is that we build organizations with crisp reporting lines but in which all employees feel they have the ability to bring their creativity and ideas to logically influence the scope, work, and culture of the organization. Sadly, this is where many organizations run into trouble. It seems to be the same ‘ol story time after time: as the organization grows, the divide between the senior leadership and the folks on the ground widens. Water cooler conversations and bar-side grumblings fuel the fire and resentment, frustrations, and resume-editing often sets in. So much of this is avoidable though. Of course, there will always be frustration in any organization: this is part and parcel of people working together. Nothing will be perfect, and it shouldn’t be…frustration and conflict can often lead to organizations re-pivoting and taking a new approach. I believe though, that there are a lot of relatively simple things we can do to make organizations feel more engaging. The junior level employee feel more influential than:  A. not enough information  B. The Founder  C. The Senior Vice President  D. The new employee
C

"To be real honest, Jeffrey, you're not making much progress," said Greg. "Are you practicing at all?" "Well, yeah. Mom makes me. She sits there watching to make sure I'm getting the right fingering and phrasing." "Hmm. I might need to talk to her about that." Greg hated when kids were forced into musicianship. He had been teaching private music lessons for more than ten years, and had seen it often. Parents made their kids miserable. It rarely worked anyway. "You don't really want to take piano, do you?" "No, Sir." "Well... " "I wish my mom would let me take guitar lessons. That would be cool." "You know you'd get calluses like this." Greg held out left hand and showed Jeffrey his fingertips. "Yeah! My friend, Zach, has calluses. They're hard like plastic." "Well, you know, it hurts for a while--until you build them up." "I don't care. I love the guitar. I've been begging Mom to switch me from piano to guitar." "I'll talk to her." "Great! I already have a guitar and--" "--don't get too excited yet. We'll see what she says." "Thanks, Mr. Tenorly." He jumped up and ran for the front door. Then he stopped, rushed back over to grab his piano books, and raced out the door. Greg's 3:30 lesson had been cancelled, so he now had a thirty minute break. Oftentimes, during a break, he would step outside and wander down the sidewalk, observing the townspeople going in and out of the shops around Coreyville Square. But something was bugging him. His dad's birthday party was only a few days away. He hoped he wouldn't regret letting Cynthia talk him into going. After the story ends, Greg  A. gets to learn the guitar  B. starts a band with his friend  C. not enough information  D. quits taking lessons
A

As Julie kept asking question after question, all I could think of was how desperately I needed a normal, healthy relationship. As far as most of my relationships went, mine with Julie was great. But it was great in all the wrong places. There really wasn't much more to it than sex. Even though it was a mind-numbing, bathe-in-gasoline-to-slough-the-shame-from-my-soul kind of sex, it didn't matter. At the end of the day we were just objects to each other. We couldn't talk about anything else. We'd tried before, but it had usually led to an afternoon of power-fucking in every changing room on Rodeo Drive. It was a fun ride, but nothing more. And like every great ride, Julie was beautiful, fast, and could turn on a dime in the blink of an eye. "I don't understand, Dingo." I couldn't tell if it was the 12 stitches over my eye giving me the headache or Julie's prattling. I bit off a stretch of red tape and put it over the empty socket where my taillight should have been while I balanced the phone between my shoulder and swollen cheek. "Julie, I told you. Darby took the box." "I get that, but--." "The box my dad hand-carved just before he died." I could feel the two edges of skin stitched together pull at each other every time my jaw moved. "Yes, yes, and the box protects your family's dirty little secret or your mother's pride and joy or whatever the hell it is you're calling it this week." "Hey, I told you not to go digging--. " "I don't care what it is, Dingo! I couldn't give a shit about that damn box or what's inside. The only thing I want to know is what the fuck your ex-wife was doing there." So there it was. And I thought she was jealous just because somebody else got to beat the living crap out of me for a change. "Julie, I didn't even know she was in town until after I was in the hospital." Dingo was getting stitches at the hospital  A. not enough information  B. before he knew his ex-wife was in town  C. after he knew his ex-wife was in town  D. with his ex-wife present

B