Help the Assistant Help You
I am an Executive Administrative Assistant. A lot of people don’t seem to understand what that means, and they make my job (and their own lives) much harder.
You see, an Administrative Assistant is a lot more than “a glorified secretary.” (Yes, I’ve had that thrown at me. Not nice.) Traditionally, a secretary’s responsibilities were limited to handling correspondence, typing, filing, telephones, and office hospitality. The job has evolved, and in that evolution the job has changed names. The administrative assistant may be responsible for any number of non-secretary jobs, in addition to the traditional tasks. And in taking on these extra responsibilities, the assistant has taken on a more active, crucial role in her boss’s business.
My bosses (I have three, plus a supervisor) expect me to make their lives easier. To take care of ten thousand tiny details so that they can focus on the big picture. And I enjoy it. I like feeling that my contributions are valuable and that my bosses need my help to make their work run smoothly.
So it irritates me to no end when people make my job harder. And while I strive to be a professional, the fact is that if you make my job harder, I’m not going to be as inclined to help you out when you ask a favour, and I’m unlikely to put myself out trying to ease your path with my boss.
Here are some of the ways you may make my job—and your own business dealings—harder.
Refusing to leave a detailed message for my boss. My boss pays for a sophisticated voice-mail service and a talented human assistant for a reason. And believe me when I tell you that it isn’t because either of us is particularly nice to look at. It’s because it makes his life easier.
If you call and hang up every time you get his voice-mail, he’s not going to know who’s calling. (And you won’t get a call back.) If all you leave is a message saying “This is Bill; call me,” you will most likely wait until the twelfth of Never for that return call. Because my boss knows forty-nine Bills, and he’s not going to call through every one of their numbers until he finds you. If you call and say “This is Bill, call me at 123-4567,” you MIGHT hear from my boss. But only after I have called to find out who the heck you are and what you want.
If you get me instead of the voice-mail, and I say, “Would you like to leave him some information about what this call is regarding,” it’s not because I’m being nosy. It’s because he has asked me to find out what callers want so that he can prepare for the return call by grabbing your file, or checking your last e-mail, or getting the information that he promised you. He trusts me to keep confidential things confidential, and so should you.
When you leave a voice-mail for my boss, or when you are telling me your number, don’t rattle it off at light speed. Say it slowly and clearly, and repeat it at least once. I know you know the number, but neither I nor my boss uses it as much as you do. And please don’t tell me “he has it”—my boss would prefer not to have to go to his e-mail contacts, his Blackberry, or his Rolodex to look it up. It takes less than three seconds to tell me the number so I can write it down for him.
Same goes for your messages. It’s bad enough when you call and leave a breathless, half-coherent voice-mail that we have to listen to six times before we can decipher your entire message. It’s worse when you talk to me and you are speaking so fast that I can’t keep up. I write fast and type fast, but not as fast as you can talk. Slow down.
Being rude. You don’t have to act like my best friend, but the “magic words” your mom taught you will get you further than you might expect. Please, thank-you, and good-bye are important; they communicate value, appreciation, and respect. Yes, the last one, too. If you don’t say good-bye when you end a phone call, I can’t be certain that you are done. And I might worry that I hung up on you—or think that you hung up on me.
Don’t interrupt. I am required to answer the phone a certain way, and I don’t care how much of a hurry you are in, you can listen to “John Doe’s office; this is Editormum. How may I assist you?” Or “I’m sorry, Mr. Doe is not available. May I take a message or would you prefer his voice-mail?” It takes me less than two seconds to deliver my patter, and then you can get on with business.
Interrogating me. If I tell you that Mr. Doe keeps his own calendar and I can let him know that you would like an appointment, do not ask me when he will call you or see you. I don’t know. That’s what “he keeps his own calendar” means. If I tell you that Mr. Doe is not available just now, don’t pepper me with questions. I don’t know how long he will be unavailable; I won’t tell you where he is, even if I know; and unless you are his wife, I’m not going to interrupt him. (It’s not your business where he is or how long he will be anyway. Unless you are his wife.)
Embarrassing me. Don’t call and ask if “String-bean” or “Snotty McGee” is in the office. He’s my boss, and I don’t care if you’ve known him for 100 years, it’s not appropriate for you to be overly familiar about him with me. Don’t tell me that you are going to tell him I should get a raise. He pays me well, and my compensation is between him and me. If you want to compliment me to my boss, I won’t object, but don’t tell me about it. Just do it.
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Actually, it’s pretty easy to get the assistant on your side. Just apply the Golden Rule to your interactions with her. Treat her as you would want to be treated, and you will make her like you. And if she likes you, she will go out of her way to help you in your relations with her boss. If she doesn’t like you, the best you can expect is cold, professional efficiency.