Settling in at the office
This new job at League Two HQ is going to come with a learning curve
It’s always weird being the new person at work. Until you get your feet under the table, you feel like an idiot. We’ve all been there at one time or another. Even the big cheeses.
Consider that infamous football hire ten years ago this summer, when Manchester United swapped one ageing Glaswegian leader for a younger version with a similar accent, but more worried eyes.
In July 2013, David Moyes was plonked on a bare desk with nothing but a keyboard, mouse and United mug coaster - smiling nervously for his HR mug shot as he took the hot seat at Old Trafford.
Within weeks, that image was being circulated on email with the text: “I have no idea what I’m doing”.
The kid gloves were soon swapped for wagging fingers as Moyes became the butt of every joke at the water cooler. Nobody at the workplace thought he was up to it. The job was too big and it ate him whole.
When you start a new role, people usually treat your gormless expression and timid demeanour with patience. For a while. But if you don’t catch on quick, things change: Each work day breaks a new record for the number of eye rolls and tongue-lashings fired in your direction.
Being the new guy is tough. And it gets tougher if you can’t adapt.
Wrexham can relate to that. As far as first days at the office go, Saturday was about as bad as it could get.
We’d pulled into our new parking space at League Two HQ in a freshly-pressed suit and powered through the swanky corridors with a skip in our step, nodding and smiling at anyone who caught our eye. They all knew who we were and exchanged excited whispers about our arrival. But shortly after setting down our framed photo of RR McReynolds beside our monitor, sitting back in our tippy chair, and cracking our knuckles, things started to go wrong.
In our very first presentation - with a member of the workplace nobody likes, Mr MK Don - we fluffed our opening speech, spilled a cup of coffee all over our favourite red and white tie, and literally scored an stunningly embarrassing own goal.
Then it got worse.
Instead of taking pity on us, the obnoxious Head of Franchise MK Don pounced on our sloppiness to flex their creative muscles and expose just how more talented and experienced they were in this arena.
After mopping up the mess and desperately rearranging our appearance, we almost recuperated. But the damage was done. We’d been shown up.
On the lonely trudge back to our desk, we saw the dapper Salford leaning against the doorway wearing shades with a vape in one hand and a phone in the other, jabbering away to someone called Gary about how well they’d done in their first pitch of the year. From inside the bathroom, we caught the sound of old Stockport flinging their top hat on the ground and cursing loudly about their inability to get the better of Gillingham.
We also spotted our fellow new starters Notts County catatonically rocking back and forth on the breakout room floor, having been humiliated in their own inaugural meeting by a chap everyone always forgets is working in League Two HQ (someone called Sutton?). No matter how bad your afternoon is going, there is always someone out there having a worse one.
In any case, it was a long drive home. And not the start we wanted. But that first day in the new job taught us a lesson: We’ve got a lot to learn. And fast.
The silver lining is that every new day brings an opportunity for redemption, and our first bit of work on Project Carabao on Tuesday was a useful reminder that we might know what we’re doing in this job after all.
We narrowly fended off competition from a pie factory in Wigan to secure our spot in the next round, and our reputation among the workplace was quietly restored. But we have to build on that. We’ve suggested we have what it takes to be here. Now, we need to prove it.
Our next face-to-face with Wimbledon is just around the corner, and whilst the gossip around the office is they don’t like Head of Franchise MK Don, either - he ran off with his Mrs to Milton Keynes, apparently - they’re not going to sit back and give us a chance to shine.
Away we go to our next big meeting in London.
Another day, another dollar.
Using that analogy then the Papa John's must be the office party that no one really wants to go to unless they pull at the end of the night.