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Someone asked me today about my working life; what had I done in my career? Like most people, I slipped in the audio version of my CV, and gave them my well-honed, anecdote-filled summary of 25 years  earning a living.

A couple of hours later, I was on the train out of London. Two Asian lads – 14 years-old, perhaps 15 – sat near me. One of them had money worries: not mortgage or credit card levels of worry; major levels of worry;  new girlfriend levels of worry. How was he going to pay to take her out at the weekend?

“You need to get yourself a job, man” said his worldly-wise friend. “In a shop or somewhere. You need to earn.”

And it dawned on me that there are a couple of early chapters from my working biography that have been edited out. The Jesuits say (I think): “Show me a child at seven, and I’ll show you the man.” In which case, perhaps our CVs should have a 1-page appendix, which shows what we did in our formative years?

1 HAMBLE CHANDLERY

First paid employment; first time behind a till. There were two stores at Hamble Marina; a very large,  Scandinavian-style chalet that sold everything from sheets (that’s ropes, marked-up 150%) to sails, and a less-grand but more-frequently visited general store, that sold food. I worked in the latter, serving the great (Sir Peter Cadbury) and the good (John Noakes) their provisions. Didn’t learn much about business, but did discover an inverse relationship between money and manners.

2 MR SMITH CLEANING
Being quiet tall (and very cheap), I got a job working for ‘Mr Smith’ who held an office cleaning contract at the town centre bus station. It was a cash-only business, so I doubt he was really called Mr Smith.

My duties – Sundays only – were to stand on desks, remove the plastic covers from strip lights, and wash out the decade of dust inside. Meanwhile, shrivelled old ladies in blue housecoats wiped telephones and polished leatherette chairs to augment their widow’s mite. Any of them could have been my Gran: I’ve always been nice to contract cleaners ever since.

3 KENTONS
Before DFS and IKEA conquered the home furnishing world with out-of-town stores the size of a Boeing factory, Kentons sold three-piece suites and dining furniture on the High Street. Working on Saturdays (much against school policy), I was taught to sell by a cast of characters worthy of another floor in Grace Brothers:

* LB the Manager, with pencil moustache and brilliantine hair, if he hadn’t been selling sofas it would have been a pair of nylons and 20 filter tipped;
* TJ the #2, nervous, understated, and the best salesman in the entire company;
* Joker JJ, with his one-liners, double cuffs and comb-over;
* AB, thin as a Biro refill, with a five o’clock shadow by ten in the morning, and an obsession with being top dog.

In my second week, TJ and JJ set me up – to take the three biggest orders of the day, and finish in pole position. The two of them shared my commission. AB never forgave me.

4 MPC
Southampton’s largest advertising agency (which is rather like being Canterbury’s largest casino). I’d blagged my way into a summer job; they paid me a fiver a week. My mother thought I was being exploited; in all honesty, I’d have given money to be there. Hanging out with Account Execs, Copywriters, Designers, Photographers – the glamour, the creative hothousing,  the contempt for the Client who rejected an idea: a genuine a taste of agency life.

5 IBM

The first six-month ‘slice’ in my thin sandwich degree; working for the computer giant in East Croydon. Became moderately competent on its System 36 midrange product to the point where I was let loose on unsuspecting users for post-install training.

MG (one of the System Engineers) and I ran a workshop for a ceramic tile company; during coffee, we were in the gents when the MD came in to use the facilities. In an attempt to make small talk (how young; how gauche), I complemented him on the decor: “Mmm. Nice tiles.Where did you get them?” I can still see MG’s shoulders bouncing as he strangled his laughter and pee’d down his leg.

6 VISKASE
The following summer, one of the IBM salesman got me a job with a customer who was installing a new system. For six weeks I became a ‘Data Processing’ consultant to a company that made food packaging – proving that in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.

For two weeks, I was based at the company’s manufacturing plant in Swansea; my first international assignment.

7 RENAULT
While I was at IBM, one of my classmates was at Renault. When the company launched the Fuego to its dealer network, ten of us unloaded the cars from transporters and give each a wash-and-brush-up. Two (very long, very cold) days work at Wembley Conference Centre, £100 cash in hand. At the time, that was five weeks rent. I was the richest man in London.

8 LLOYDS BANK
My second sandwich placement; six months working in market research for the bank at Monument. Watching the dynamic between the ‘professional marketers’ and ‘career bankers’, I learned a major lesson about organizational design and career management:

There are two types of people who work in a Head Office – those who pass through on a fast track to a better world, and those who are trapped for life.

9 KELLY GIRL
After my finals, my first temp job; filling in endless columns of figures into Dickensian journals for a confirming house in the City. The greatest incentive I ever had to get a “proper job”.

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“Will you have a look at my CV?”

“What do you make of my resume?”

As soon as someone finds out that I’m a headhunter, it’s the first thing they ask. Must be similar for doctors: “Oh, you’re a doctor. Will you have a look at my back?”

This is the first in a series of postings about work, jobs, careers and being a “business of one”. Because, for all the importance of teams, workgroups, departments, functions and enterprises, when it comes to careers, you’re on your own. I hope these short articles will help you think clearly about yours.

So having agreed to look at hundreds of CVs, I see common themes and faults that run through the vast majority. And the most fundamental is failing the “So what?” test. I learned this in the ad business. It’s a great thought experimental to extract benefits from boring products.

“It’s a new type of washing powder.”

So what?

“It makes clothes smell of Spring.”

So what?

“You’ll smell fresher.”

So what.

“You’ll give off nicer signals to other people.”

(We’re getting there but) So what?

“You’ll be more attractive.”

Bingo! A reason for swapping brands. From product to feature to benefit.

I’m not suggesting that your life is as uni-dimensional as a washing powder. But you can learn a lot from this 5-step process.

Most CVs list activities. Some detail accountabilities. Very few spell out why either mattered to the employer.

Have a look at the responsibilities on your CV. And ask yourself “So what?” Try to identify the value you provided. Got an answer? Good – now ask “So what?” again, this time of your first answer.

“I was responsible for managing a team of six.”

So what?

“We looked after support for 100 customers.”

So what?

By now, your brow will be furrowing. “Well…that was my job!” The point here is that in living your life and being committed to your work, it’s really hard to be objective – to stand back and assess the contribution you made. Asking “So what?” 5 times forces you to dig deep and help you see the wood for the trees.

It won’t be easy: by the fourth time you ask, your forehead will start to bleed.

But if it were straightforward, it wouldn’t be worth doing. You are, in effect, trying to break a thinking pattern that’s been in place for a long,  long time. That’s hard.

At the end of the exercise you’ll have a long list of the value you’ve provided, and plenty of examples of the difference you made by being there.

And you’ll look at your career – and therefore your CV – with completely fresh eyes.

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