Staff Appreciation Day Quotes

It’s normally agreed that the question “How are you?” doesn’t put you on your oath to give a full or honest answer. So when asked these days, I tend to say something cryptic like, “A bit early to say.” (If it’s the wonderful staff at my oncology clinic who inquire, I sometimes go so far as to respond, “I seem to have cancer today.”) Nobody wants to be told about the countless minor horrors and humiliations that become facts of “life” when your body turns from being a friend to being a foe: the boring switch from chronic constipation to its sudden dramatic opposite; the equally nasty double cross of feeling acute hunger while fearing even the scent of food; the absolute misery of gut–wringing nausea on an utterly empty stomach; or the pathetic discovery that hair loss extends to the disappearance of the follicles in your nostrils, and thus to the childish and irritating phenomenon of a permanently runny nose. Sorry, but you did ask... It’s no fun to appreciate to the full the truth of the materialist proposition that I don’t have a body, I am a body. But it’s not really possible to adopt a stance of “Don’t ask, don’t tell,” either. Like its original, this is a prescription for hypocrisy and double standards. Friends and relatives, obviously, don’t really have the option of not making kind inquiries. One way of trying to put them at their ease is to be as candid as possible and not to adopt any sort of euphemism or denial. The swiftest way of doing this is to note that the thing about Stage Four is that there is no such thing as Stage Five. Quite rightly, some take me up on it. I recently had to accept that I wasn’t going to be able to attend my niece’s wedding, in my old hometown and former university in Oxford. This depressed me for more than one reason, and an especially close friend inquired, “Is it that you’re afraid you’ll never see England again?” As it happens he was exactly right to ask, and it had been precisely that which had been bothering me, but I was unreasonably shocked by his bluntness. I’ll do the facing of hard facts, thanks. Don’t you be doing it too. And yet I had absolutely invited the question. Telling someone else, with deliberate realism, that once I’d had a few more scans and treatments I might be told by the doctors that things from now on could be mainly a matter of “management,” I again had the wind knocked out of me when she said, “Yes, I suppose a time comes when you have to consider letting go.” How true, and how crisp a summary of what I had just said myself. But again there was the unreasonable urge to have a kind of monopoly on, or a sort of veto over, what was actually sayable. Cancer victimhood contains a permanent temptation to be self–centered and even solipsistic.

On closer notice of her apron, he said, "Is that-?" "The Mad Hatter," she said. "I told you, I have a collection." "You collect aprons?" "Since I was little and my mom taught me to bake." When he smiled, she arched a brow. "Some find it charmingly quirky." "You never wore any to Gateau." "Shocking, I know. Because I'm certain the staff would have greatly appreciated the humor in them." His smile twitched wider at that. "You have a point, I suppose. I must say, this dry side of you is surprisingly appealing. What does it say?" He nodded toward her apron front. She lifted her arms away so he could read the script that accompanied the copy of an original pen and ink art rendering of the Hatter seated at a long table, holding a teacup aloft. "YOU'RE NEVER TOO OLD TO HAVE A TEA PARTY," he read out loud, then smiled at her. "I rather agree. You make a charming and somewhat more quirky Alice than I'd have expected. I seem to recall Alice spent the better part of her time being irritated and flustered, too. Perhaps if I'd come bearing tea and crumpets, with a bewildered, bespectacled white rabbit clutching a pocketwatch in his paw, you'd have been more willing to give me the time of day.

But in his eagerness, it seemed the shah hadn’t fully appreciated the matter of regional politics—which came right back to oil. Thanks to the existing Western monopolies, the Truman administration regarded Iranian oil as essentially British oil, and Saudi oil as essentially American. Since Iran and Saudi Arabia were local rivals, an American move to bolster Iran’s military could only alarm Saudi Arabia and threaten the United States’ pleasant arrangement there. On top of this was the stumbling block that none of the shah’s grandiose pronouncements before the Joint Chiefs of Staff could surmount: the unanimous assessment of Pentagon war planners that even massive quantities of military aid to Iran could never produce the scenario he envisioned, that if it came to war, Iran’s collapse before a Soviet juggernaut would be measured in days, if not mere hours. In sum, in the early postwar era, the United States saw little reason to make a substantial investment in Iran, to regard it as anything more than a third-tier nation.

Madam, you can’t be more desperate than I.” He wound his arms around her and grunted. “The evidence is drooling on your stomach. I have not lost this erection for five days. Doral looks at me and winces. You have obliterated my dignity in front of my staff. I have become a laughingstock, a by-word for ‘pussy-whipped male’. Every time I walk into a room, the conversation dies. I entered the mess hall, yesterday—530 officers and enlisted men. Silence, Fleur. Dead silence.” She sniffed. By the gods, this must be a unique experience for him. I’m certain he has never been the butt of the joke before. “I don’t think you appreciate the torture and humiliation you inflict. Do you know how uncomfortable it is to ride a horse when I’m like this? Do you know how disconcerting it is to discuss cavalry deployment with Major Truillo while I’m sporting a cockstand to rival a stud horse? I couldn't get the man to look me in the face. Worse, he thought I reacted to him.” She nuzzled her face into Ari’s chest and tried to contain her amusement. Her imagination supplied the picture of the very handsome, very homosexual, very short Major Truillo standing with covetous eyes riveted to Ari’s substantial erection, all the while discussing the dry topic of cavalry placement. “For half an hour all I saw was the top of his head.” He paused for a moment then threw out, “He has a bald spot.

It’s the first time I appreciate the difference the hospice can make, the support and kindness of the staff here. Not just for Marnie, but for all of us. The understanding, even a laugh here and there, while what it’s most about is life, and the belief that these last days are precious.

You are not leaving.” “I will not argue the matter with you when Winnie can walk into the kitchen at any minute.” “Fair enough, but you will listen to what I say, Emmie Farnum. You are too damned skinny, you aren’t getting enough rest, your temper is short, and I don’t care if your menses are going to start this afternoon, you have no call to be treating me like I’m your enemy.” “Do not,” she hissed, “mention my bodily functions outside of a locked bedroom door.” St. Just ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. “I want to help, all right? All I’m saying is you seem frazzled, and if Winnie is part of the problem, I’ll tackle that, but we need to find a way to talk that doesn’t leave us at daggers drawn.” His tone was reasonable, almost pleading, and when he saw her shoulders relax, he knew he was making some progress—not much, but some. “If you would keep Winnie occupied today, I’d appreciate it.” “Done. And when you are through here, please just take a nap, Em.” He glanced around the kitchen. “Leave the mess. I’ve got staff, and they can clean up for once. Don’t come down to dinner if you don’t want to, either. Val understands—he plays his piano for hours most days, and if we see him at meals, it’s a coincidence. Just…” He looked her up and down, trying to keep the worry from his expression. “Just get some rest,” he finished with a tentative smile. “Please?” She nodded, able to return a small smile of her own. Taking his chances, St. Just stepped over to her, brushed a kiss to her forehead, and took his leave. He was more alarmed that she merely bore the kiss silently rather than swat him again with her towel. He

The Invitational Church In the invitational church, the focus is on growth. The goal of the church is to reach out and gather people into the church. Therefore, the church is designed as a consumer-oriented place that takes special care to make sure the red carpet is rolled out for visitors and guests. A highly trained staff puts forth great effort to ensure the very best experience for everyone who comes to the church, with special attention paid to visitors. Invitational churches are often successful at growth because this is a large part of their goal and focus. There are many wonderful aspects of the invitational church. I believe God sovereignly birthed the church growth and seeker movements to help the institutional church get beyond itself and start caring about the millions of people trying to find God who were unable to fit into the institutional church. I deeply appreciate and value invitational churches, because they have come up with a way to re-create a modern day “Court Of The Gentiles” aspect of the temple, a place where God-seekers can come and find God. They have unselfishly set aside their desire for church to be about themselves, and they have designed church services for lost people and seekers. What a refreshing change when invitational churches hit the scene! They have really harvested many people for Jesus and helped thousands of churches become outward-focused. This is a good thing! The difficulty with the invitational church is that the individual is essentially irrelevant. What I mean is, when most people walk into an invitational church, it really doesn’t matter whether or not they show up. Why is this true? Because the invitational church has, by default, set the bar very low to make sure that whosoever will may come. However, the inadvertent message is that the individual is not really needed. Little is asked or required of people, and it is very clear that if they aren’t part of the overall goal to facilitate growth, their gifts may not be needed. To prove the point: where do many of the people who have left institutional churches go? They often sit in the back of invitational churches where they can go unnoticed and where they can have very little asked of them. The invitational church is a great place to recover from the institutional church. Some go on and become involved in meaningful ways. But often over time, two negative things happen to believers who have been in invitational churches. One, they become sedentary, consumer-oriented Christians. Those who joined the institutional church and who wanted to make a difference have all but lost their initial fire. Often they no longer burn with zeal for God and His purposes. Instead, they unwittingly adopt the culture of the invitational church into their Christianity, and they, too, lower the bar to the point where, for all intents and purposes, they are now just showing up at a weekend service. Or two, they begin to feel the need for a more personal, relational church, and they move on to something more personal and meaningful to them.

You wouldn’t be going away for Christmas, sir, I take it?” Hugh was a kind-hearted man. “I begin to perceive your drift, Ethel,” he said. “I could go to my London club, if that would suit the convenience of the staff. Er—what amount of licence is customary on these occasions?” “Christmas Day and come back the morning after Boxing Day would be appreciated, sir, I’m sure. Not that we had it with Mr. Paul, but us thought you might be different.

Passage Four: From Functional Manager to Business Manager This leadership passage is often the most satisfying as well as the most challenging of a manager’s career, and it’s mission-critical in organizations. Business mangers usually receive significant autonomy, which people with leadership instincts find liberating. They also are able to see a clear link between their efforts and marketplace results. At the same time, this is a sharp turn; it requires a major shift in skills, time applications, and work values. It’s not simply a matter of people becoming more strategic and cross-functional in their thinking (though it’s important to continue developing the abilities rooted in the previous level). Now they are in charge of integrating functions, whereas before they simply had to understand and work with other functions. But the biggest shift is from looking at plans and proposals functionally (Can we do it technically, professionally, or physically?) to a profit perspective (Will we make any money if we do this?) and to a long-term view (Is the profitability result sustainable?). New business managers must change the way they think in order to be successful. There are probably more new and unfamiliar responsibilities here than at other levels. For people who have been in only one function for their entire career, a business manager position represents unexplored territory; they must suddenly become responsible for many unfamiliar functions and outcomes. Not only do they have to learn to manage different functions, but they also need to become skilled at working with a wider variety of people than ever before; they need to become more sensitive to functional diversity issues and communicating clearly and effectively. Even more difficult is the balancing act between future goals and present needs and making trade-offs between the two. Business managers must meet quarterly profit, market share, product, and people targets, and at the same time plan for goals three to five years into the future. The paradox of balancing short-term and long-term thinking is one that bedevils many managers at this turn—and why one of the requirements here is for thinking time. At this level, managers need to stop doing every second of the day and reserve time for reflection and analysis. When business managers don’t make this turn fully, the leadership pipeline quickly becomes clogged. For example, a common failure at this level is not valuing (or not effectively using) staff functions. Directing and energizing finance, human resources, legal, and other support groups are crucial business manager responsibilities. When managers don’t understand or appreciate the contribution of support staff, these staff people don’t deliver full performance. When the leader of the business demeans or diminishes their roles, staff people deliver halfhearted efforts; they can easily become energy-drainers. Business managers must learn to trust, accept advice, and receive feedback from all functional managers, even though they may never have experienced these functions personally.

Prologue Amit reflects on his journey as a Niyojit Shikshak (contractual teacher) in Bihar. He recounts how a hopeful government job became a nightmare filled with caste bias, corruption, and false accusations. The prologue sets a tone of betrayal, resilience, and the fight for justice. Chapter 1 – The November Confusion Amit and his friend Keshaw are torn between staying in their current school or joining as permanent BPSC teachers. They weigh job security against family responsibilities and the emotional toll of leaving their home postings. Chapter 2 – Document Struggles Amit and Keshaw face bribery demands while trying to obtain No Objection Certificates (NOCs) and dues clearance. Their determination and resistance to corruption highlight the flawed administrative system. Chapter 3 – First Day at New School Amit joins UMS Bishnupur Bande. The school environment appears friendly. He meets new staff and students, sensing both warmth and the undercurrents of future conflicts. Chapter 4 – Teacher Bonding Amit bonds with young male teachers—Raj, Niraj, Zeeshan, and Sadan. Their unity and liveliness trigger jealousy among female teachers, especially Nivedita, who quietly begins observing and plotting. Chapter 5 – Rising Popularity and Innocent Bonds Amit’s English classes earn student admiration. Priti, a bright and expressive girl, becomes especially close. Innocent gestures and appreciation from students create joy but foreshadow trouble. Chapter 6 – Insecurity and Politics Nivedita, threatened by Amit’s popularity, starts manipulating narratives. Gossip spreads. Meanwhile, Niraj’s behavior with female students raises eyebrows. The seeds of conspiracy are planted. Chapter 7 – Gossip and Exposure Raj and Amit discuss suspicious behavior by Niraj, particularly his inappropriate interest in female students. They uncover Niraj’s troubling pattern, but fear gossip spreading to outsiders. Chapter 8 – Nivedita’s Hidden Desires Nivedita’s personal loneliness leads her to a secret physical relationship with Niraj. She uses this bond to tighten her grip on school politics and boost her ego. Chapter 9 – Jealousy and False Accusation Raj, jealous of student Shweta’s friendship with Zeeshan, anonymously accuses them of misconduct. When his lie is exposed, he is forced to confess and apologize, learning a bitter lesson. Chapter 10 – Raj’s Manipulation Raj tries to win Khusboo’s affection by manipulating Amit and spreading lies. Though his initial attempt fails, Khusboo softens toward him, creating romantic tension. Chapter 11 – Lies and Mistrust Spread Raj strategically spreads misinformation about Amit to both Khusboo and Niraj, stirring conflict. Khusboo confronts Amit, while Niraj falsely believes Amit has betrayed him. A rift begins. Chapter 12 – Crossing Limits Niraj’s actions toward female students, including inappropriate touching, become evident. Nivedita humiliates Khusboo for minor issues, while resentment and discomfort grow among staff and students. Chapter 13 onward (summary continuation idea): The rest of the chapters gradually unravel the conspiracy against Amit. He becomes a victim of coordinated false allegations involving manipulated students and jealous staff. Amid institutional silence and caste-biased politics, Amit fights to prove his innocence. Relationships shift, some allies emerge, and Amit’s character is tested as he faces suspension, betrayal, and emotional breakdowns. Eventually, the truth begins to surface, but not before Amit pays a heavy price. The novel concludes with resilience, as Amit prepares for justice—not just for himself, but for every teacher wronged by a corrupt system. The Teacher by Anurag Bikram

This is the way it is with all people, I’ve learned. A person’s strengths almost always have a flip side. Obama’s strengths are prodigious, but he’s not perfect or exempt from blame for some of the disappointments I hear expressed about him ever more frequently these days. The day after the Affordable Care Act passed, a slightly hungover but very happy president walked into my office to reflect on the momentous events of the night before. “Not used to martinis on work nights,” he said with a smile, as he flopped down on the couch across from my desk, still bearing the effects of the late-night celebration he hosted for the staff after the law was passed. “I honestly was more excited last night than I was the night I was elected. Elections are like winning the semifinals. They just give you the opportunity to make a difference. What we did last night? That’s what really matters.” That attitude and approach is what I admire most about Obama, the thing that makes him stand apart. For him, politics and elections are only vehicles, not destinations. They give you the chance to serve. To Obama’s way of thinking, far worse than losing an election is squandering the opportunity to make the biggest possible difference once you get the chance to govern. That’s what allowed him to say “damn the torpedoes” and dive fearlessly into health care reform, despite the obvious political risks. It is why he was able to make many other tough calls when the prevailing political wisdom would have had him punt and wait for another chance with the ball. Yet there is the flip side to that courage and commitment. Obama has limited patience or understanding for officeholders whose concerns are more parochial—which would include most of Congress and many world leaders. “What are they so afraid of?” he asked after addressing the Senate Democrats on health reform, though the answer seemed readily apparent: losing their jobs in the next election! He has aggravated more than one experienced politician by telling them why acting boldly not only was their duty but also served their political needs. Whether it’s John Boehner or Bibi Netanyahu, few practiced politicians appreciate being lectured on where their political self-interest lies. That hint of moral superiority and disdain for politicians who put elections first has hurt Obama as negotiator, and it’s why Biden, a politician’s politician, has often had better luck.

In Walked Jim September 2013: Entering his first morning staff meeting as FBI director, Jim Comey loped to the head of the table, put down his briefing books, and lowered his six-foot-eight-inch, shirtsleeved self into a huge leather chair. He leaned the chair so far back on its hind legs that he lay practically flat, testing gravity. Then he sat up, stretched like a big cat, pushed the briefing books to the side, and said, as if he were talking to a friend, I don’t want to talk about these today. I’d rather talk about some other things first. He talked about how effective leaders immediately make their expectations clear and proceeded to do just that for us. Said he would expect us to love our jobs, expect us to take care of ourselves … I remember less of what he said than the easygoing way he spoke and the absolute clarity of his day-one priority: building relationships with each member of his senior team. Comey continually reminded the FBI leadership that strong relationships with one another were critical to the institution’s functioning. One day, after we reviewed the briefing books, he said, Okay, now I want to go around the room, and I want you all to say one thing about yourselves that no one else here knows about you. One hard-ass from the criminal division stunned the room to silence when he said, My wife and I, we really love Disney characters, and all our vacation time we spend in the Magic Kingdom. Another guy, formerly a member of the hostage-rescue team, who carefully tended his persona as a dead-eyed meathead—I thought his aesthetic tastes ran the gamut from YouTube videos of snipers in Afghanistan to YouTube videos of Bigfoot sightings—turned out to be an art lover. I really like the old masters, he said, but my favorite is abstract expressionism. This hokey parlor game had the effect Comey intended. It gave people an opportunity to be interesting and funny with colleagues in a way that most had rarely been before. Years later, I remember it like yesterday. That was Jim’s effect on almost everyone he worked with. I observed how he treated people. Tell me your story, he would say, then listen as if there were only the two of you in the whole world. You were, of course, being carefully assessed at the same time that you were being appreciated and accepted. He once told me that people’s responses to that opening helped him gauge their ability to communicate. Over the next few years I would sit in on hundreds of meetings with him. All kinds of individuals and organizations would come to Comey with their issues. No matter how hostile they were when they walked in the door, they would always walk out on a cloud of Comey goodness. Sometimes, after the door had closed, he would look at me and say, That was a mess. Jim has the same judgmental impulse that everyone has. He is complicated, with many different sides, and he is so good at showing his best side—which is better than most people’s—that his bad side, which is not as bad as most people’s, can seem more shocking on the rare moments when it flashes to the surface.

Another practice I adopted was to have my staff select each day several of the most negative letters I’d received from Maine. I read each letter carefully, then from my office in the evening I telephoned each of the letter writers. Almost everyone I reached was surprised and many doubted that it really was their senator calling. Once I was able to convince them that the call was genuine, I told them that I had read their letter, that while we disagreed I welcomed their views and appreciated that they had taken the time to write to me.

The New Yorker, where he worked briefly as a staff writer, had a perceptive appreciation by Jill Lepore. He would have blushed to read her description of him: “A distinguished American historian with a singular voice, full of compassion and delight and wry observations and self-deprecating humor—layers that covered but never obscured his deep and abiding moral seriousness about the task of the historian as the conscience of a nation.

I can ask her,” I said slowly. “But I’m pretty sure she’s hooking up with someone later…” “Who?” Max demanded and Darcy caught my eye in confusion. I twitched my lips in amusement, and she caught on, quickly adding to my lie with one of her own. “Oh yeah, she’s been seeing one of the servants,” Darcy said enthusiastically. “She said she’s never had someone rock her coconuts like he can…” Max’s mouth fell open as he stared around at the wait staff who were coming and going in outrage. “Bullshit,” he snarled. “Some fucking waiter is not better in the sack than me.” I snorted a laugh and Darcy smirked into her carrots. “Is it that guy over there?” Max demanded and I followed his arm to a huge waiter who was carrying four trays at once and making it look easy. “No, but he’s hot,” I agreed, checking him out. “Maybe I should ask him to come and fluff my pillows later…” “I can do that for you if you need help with it,” Caleb piped up and Darius set his glass down hard enough to rattle the cutlery. I glanced at him in surprise, but he wasn’t looking at me, he was scowling at the hot waiter who seemed to notice and promptly left the room. “Is it that guy?” Max demanded, pointing out another stacked waiter. Is that some kind of requirement for working here or something? ‘Wait staff needed, previous experience preferred, thick thighs appreciated and stacked abs a plus…’ “No. It’s him,” Darcy said, and I smirked as she pointed out one of the smallest guys in the room who just so happened to be about twenty years older than us too. “Fuck off,” Max said in denial. “There’s no way she’d trade me in for him!” “She said he’s got hidden talents,” I added with a wink. “Yeah,” Darcy agreed. “And a huge-” Max pushed himself to his feet with his gaze locked on the poor waiter and me and Darcy both burst into laughter. “You’re joking?” Seth asked in amusement as Max lowered himself back into his chair with a frown and Caleb barked a laugh. “That wasn’t funny,” he groaned. “Yeah, it was,” Caleb disagreed. “Cut him a break,” Darius said, leaning back in his chair while his eyes glimmered with mirth. “It’s hard when the girl you like won’t give you the time of day. One minute he thought they were all on then the next she’s back to ignoring him and hating him and…” He trailed off as we all looked at him and his gaze slid over me. “And he doesn’t need us laughing at him too,” he finished slowly.

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