Pinstripe

‘I think his brother is destined for a career in entertainment.’

Now we understand, as coaches, that ‘stuff happens’ at any live event. What do we do? We roll with it, as you do… well, mostly.

How about the time – and this still cracks me up – my pilot was chatting away on Skype while, unbeknown to him, sneaking around behind his back was little bro sporting his tighty whites and nothing else. My own private striptease no less. He proceeded to prance and pose for my benefit. “Ahhh, is that your brother?” I asked amidst raised eyebrows. My pilot turned and let rip…

That’s only happened the once, thank goodness. I think his brother is destined for a career in entertainment. One of my longest standing clients happens to live down the road from me, so of course he drops in from time to time, usually with a skim latte in hand. I had recently purchased two new swish looking office chairs – you know, the ones that pump up and down – when he called in. He plonked himself down for a chinwag which lasted about two minutes when his 110kg bulk unceremoniously landed squarely and loudly on the floor, chair obliterated. Note to self, check weight restrictions of all new furniture purchases. At around half that weight I felt well within the load-bearing capacity of my remaining chair. Several days later, mid session, a rather shocked cadet candidate heard a weird creaking sound immediately followed by my sudden disappearance from the screen. Chair two, in two, while I acquired a badly bruised behind.

We at Pinstripe are dog people and we often bond with clients over our mutual fur babies. As a team we have a Tibetan terrier, a golden retriever and a Frenchie lab cross. Every so often they like to partake in a coaching session. I have met spoodles, kelpies, huskies, pugs and the odd cat, nothing out of the ordinary there. Until one cheeky border collie decided to sit in on the session, not by choice but through fear of a thunderstorm outside. I chatted to the black and white furry face of the dog, who point blank refused to move, for the remainder of the hour.

Over the years we’ve coached clients wherever they happen to be: in cafes, in their cars, in their beds, with momma cooking pasta in the background – even one guy on a boat as that’s where he lived. Whatever the location, we just make it work. That’s life isn’t it?

Back in the day when pilots came to my home office, I even managed to lock myself out as my front door slammed shut. With the help of my petite 85-year old neighbour, he hoisted me and my Leona Edmonson dress over a two-metre wall. Elegant to say the least.

Sometimes I crack myself up. How the heck do I/we teach what comes down to interview etiquette? Mostly, I like to think, with a good solid sense of humour.

Sometimes my coaching team forgets to tell me about their weird events, until today as I write this. This is the best one.

My most senior coach, let’s call her Dutchie, forgot to tell her husband that she had an early morning session scheduled with an international pilot to cater for the time difference; I think he was in the US. Anyone leaving the master bedroom had to walk directly past her home office. Dutchie recalls sensing an odd commotion behind her, expecting one of two children to have wandered into the frame half asleep. She looks down to see her semi-naked hubby, commando crawling under the laptop, just out of line of sight! Realising he was about to go live on Skype he hit the deck faster than a man half his age. Dutchie barely held it together.

As you can see life – live and online – as a coach is never dull. It is during those moments when we try to be most in control, the most professional and polished that we hope like hell nothing untoward happens. When it does we can either be embarrassed, humiliated or, here’s a thought, realise that this stuff can happen to anyone, anytime.

During interviews and sims you, too, are on show: you are live and under pressure to perform. I’d like to think that one thing we impart during our sessions with you is that we are all imperfect and having a good belly laugh at ourselves when things don’t go to plan might just show a solid level of self-confidence. Regroup and start again. It’s not the end of the world.

Here’s to 2019 where nothing will go exactly to plan – and that is something I look forward to.