Let’s drop into day two of a leadership development workshop. Location: LA. Company: Biotech firm. Agenda item: hearing lessons learned from a senior leader.

He was a big name in the company. Big position. The team had been buzzing all day, awaiting his arrival.

He was kind of a big deal.

I felt it from the second he walked in. Actually, I felt it in the 420 seconds he DIDN’T walk in. That would be the 7 minutes he was late.

He strolled in all nonchalant, like no big deal I’m late because I’m kind of a big deal.

His mosey to the front of a room landed him sitting on the table, legs swinging, hands gripping the table on either side, leaned in, I guess trying to show he was a chill man of the people.

Then he started his chat which he had clearly prepared for in the 7 minutes he was late because he had been at super important meetings with super important people yet was super confident that he could share some lessons because he, as his tone was suggesting, was also a super important person.

By this point, although I was sitting properly in a chair at the back of my room, I reminded myself that eye rolls were not appropriate behavior in front of a client. You know those strength-testing games at your local County Fair? The ones when you grab a large hammer type device and wail on a pad with all of your might for the weight to go up and ring a bell? My expectations were as high as the highest point, but when bro came in and started with the leg swinging I’m-not-prepared-but-I’m-important-shpiel, my hopes for anything good coming from the session dropped like the speed of that weight after the strongest of strongmen hammered it to the top.

Judging from the vibe I was picking up in the room, the workshop participants were feeling the same.

I tried to ignore the body language, the lateness, the mild-arrogance. I tried to stay open. I tried to stay curious. I tried to dial in. Disbelief took over and I could do none of those things. This VP spent his time explaining that because he had his title, he could do whatever he wanted. Because he had his title, people listened to him. Because he had his title, he had free reign to do, say, and act as he wanted. “Someday, you’ll get to this point too!” was his final motivational line.

I went from resisting eye rolls to resisting putting my finger in my mouth puke-signing.

He sauntered off to his next very important event and I headed back to the front of the room for a debrief, neutral-ish smile planted on my face.

“Let’s hear some takeaways!”

There were some lackluster, “I thought this was interesting…”commentaries. The tone implying if interesting was in fact, the most tedious thing that existed.

Then, it got real quiet. I noticed glances between participants. One of the more impressive, intense, and thoughtful participants got up and closed the door.

Oh shit…I murmured in my head.

“What did YOU think, Erin?”

Not to mix County Fair and rodeo metaphors, but in my head I thought, “Nice try my friend…but this ain’t my first rodeo.”

It wasn’t my role to share my takeaways. But…

There was a reason he was asking.
There was a reason when he did the whole room leaned in.
They wanted to check if my vibe was their vibe.
If their vibe could be trusted.

“I’m more curious about your impressions, Chris.” (The ol’ back-to-you facilitator technique.)

It took a bit of encouragement, but Chris let it out.

“The way he was sitting…at first it wasn’t a big deal but…”
“The way he said he didn’t have to play by the rules because of his title…”
“The way he said play the game but didn’t say how…and I don’t know if I want to play that game…”

The cohort agreed. To their credit they didn’t pile on or get super judgy.

They’d felt something. They sensed something wasn’t right.

The energy in the room dripped of disappointment, confusion, and disbelief.

It reeked of a lack of respect that he had shown them. That they had for him.

His message was in stark contrast to our earlier in the day conversations about the responsibility of leadership, doing the right thing, ethical influence, and this guy came in and stuck his middle finger up to all of it.

Chris lobbed it back to me, “So what DO you think, Erin?”

Almost checking in to see if it was just him…if he could trust his reaction as true and valid.

It WAS my role, as I saw it, to encourage them to trust their instincts. Trust how he made them feel. Trust that he might not have intended to come off as he did, but that was his impact.

We shifted the conversation away from VSIP (Very Self-Important Person) to pondering questions like:

• Does your title automatically equal authority?
• Does your position give you immediate credibility?
• Do you get respect or earn respect in a leadership role?

“Do you think he knows he leaves this impression?” was Chris’ final question.

That one I had an answer for.

“I seriously hope not.”

One wonders how he couldn’t.
Then one realizes what a valuable trait self-awareness is.
Along with awareness of others. VSIP did not read the room. At all.

The higher up you go the less people tell you the truth.

So my invitation to you, if you’re high up or just getting started, is to get in the routine of asking what people think.

It’s hard to change what we’re not aware of.
It’s hard to know for sure what impact we’re having.

If your impact doesn’t meet your intention, wouldn’t you want to know?