Its Not About the Candy

I dare you to walk by my office during a workday without stopping in at least once. It is not my sunny disposition or my gift for gab that attracts coworkers to my office. It’s my candy basket.

But this is not just any candy basket; it is THE candy basket. While I can’t always personally meet everyone’s needs, my candy dish usually can. Need a chocolate fix? Come on by…I have milk chocolate and dark chocolate, nuts and no nuts. Not a chocolate fan? I have bulls eyes and licorice to name just a few. Need a fix that won’t wreck your diet? Grab a mint patty. Off to a meeting? You need a lifesaver. Its no coincidence that I happen to have every type of candy or treat that everyone in our office likes. It has taken many years of careful listening on my part, and we are not just talking about the candy.

One by one they flitter in and out. "What a day, I need a chocolate fix!" John huffs as he searches for a dark chocolate nugget. "I just had a great sales call" Natalie exclaims as she celebrates with a Kit Kat. "I need something to help me survive the traffic…" Darren moans as he grabs some bubble gum for the road.

It all started almost 20 years ago when I was hired as a sales manager at the Boston Herald. The first day of any job is exciting but also stressful, both for myself as a new manager, and for the experienced staff worrying about the worst case scenario but hoping for the best. Thinking about how I could break the ice and make an easier transition for all of us, I stopped by work a week prior to starting and hung a sign on my door: "Your new boss likes candy". For the rest of that week I worried about lots of things, but mostly about that sign. Would they think I was silly? Would they think it was demeaning? Would they think I take bribes? Why did I use that stupid word BOSS?

About 5 minutes into day one at work, the first candy bar arrived. "Hi I’m Scott, and I know you like candy, so on behalf of the staff I’d like to present you with a chocolate bar". That was just the start. One by one they came by to say hello, and either gave me candy or talked about candy. But it wasn’t just about the candy. It never is.

In these days of remote communication and email, the candy basket invites human interaction. It’s an open invite to come in and talk about whatever is on your mind. Sometimes it’s obvious, such as the co-worker who will grab a cherry twizzler along with a seat, and bemoan the issues of the day. Sometimes its as subtle as a sigh quietly released as they pick through the basket ever so slowly, knowing if they stall long enough I’ll say "What’s up?" Then there’s the grab and go which really is just about the candy, and that’s fine too.

During the candy trips, my co-workers and I have learned much about each other that we would not have known otherwise; information that has allowed us all to be a bit more understanding of each other’s perspectives. Our lives unfold five minutes at a time as I learn about hardships and happiness, family and friends, fears and hopes. We talk about deaths and births, triumph and tragedies, the past and the future. Rarely do we talk directly about work, except for how it affects them and their state of mind. I have learned that, for many, the office and the relationships formed here are an important part of their lives. I’ve learned how grateful many are that their job here has allowed them to be flexible for child care, to go back to school, or to care for an ill family member. I’ve also learned in a non-threatening way what they are not happy about which gives us an opportunity to make changes or to explain why "it is what it is" to invite better understanding of the business reason behind an otherwise unpopular decision.

Despite the fact that I am the only original staff member from my early days, the snack tradition has survived almost two decades. But the selections have changed to mirror current office cravings, and now feature weekly specials such as "healthy treat" (dark chocolate with almonds), "low cal pick" (mint patty) and the "Publisher’s Favorite" (lifesaver).

The importance of the candy dish is most apparent during its absence, when it has to be locked away during my infrequent time off. Returning from a short Labor Day trip, I barely pull the candy basket out of its storage before I can see the shadow of someone behind me, waiting.
"It wasn’t the same without the candy basket!" John says as he shuffles through the selections with a smile on his face. "So, how was your weekend?" And I smile as well, because it’s not just about the candy. It never is.