I had a manager at one of my college-age jobs (a six-month stint at Radio Shack, specifically), who was definitely of the “always on” rah-rah-rah school of management technique. He would use his listener’s name as space filler. I think he thought it would (a) renew the listener’s attention as he prepared to say his next thing, while (b) making the listener feel important [Dale Carnegie 101: The sweetest sound to any man in any language is his own name], and © spackling over those uncomfortable-to-him lapses in the conversation. It ended up sounding something like this, assuming your name was Ben. (Mine is. Feel free to substitute your own.)
*“And Ben, we’re about to hit the holiday rush season, which means go-go-go all the time Ben, and Ben, that means we can’t take time to stock during retail hours so what you need to do Ben is maximize the time before opening, Ben, and after closing, Ben so that you can give the customers all your attention, Ben, while they’re in the store, and Ben, that means instead of just, Ben, facing and fronting the stock, you know Ben, actually bringing as much stock as will fit on the shelf and you know Ben…”
*
It may have accomplished ©, but it failed spectacularly at (a) and (b), and in fact made all of us hate the sound of our own names. It was so annoying that it was hard not to flinch physically as he talked at you.
I figured that this habit grew out of a combination of factors: him being a nervous twit who couldn’t stand silence; and some bullshit notions he learned in manager school. I simply wasn’t sure what the proportions of the two were. That was, until the day he and I had to jump in his car and pick some things up from another Radio Shack across town. For the first eight minutes or so of the drive, we sat in silence, the radio playing softly. I was perfectly comfortable. Then, out of nowhere, without any preamble or follow-up, he blurted out:
"and Ben," :smack:
It is punctuated exactly the way he said it: like it belonged in the middle of a sentence that was otherwise audible only in his own head. He said nothing else for the remaining five minutes of the drive. To this day, I don’t know if he kept silent afterwards because he was embarrassed, or (and which I think is more likely) he didn’t even realize he’d said anything out loud.
It was one of the weirder experiences of my life, in its small way.