* We often maintain that we would rather not work, but our personal and social identity is in fact very much bound up with work (either the mere fact of being 'in work', bringing home a wage, or, for those with more intrinsically interesting or prestigious jobs, the rewards and status attached to the work).
* We find the whole subject of money distasteful, and there are still vestiges of a deep-seated prejudice against 'trade' or 'business', which can make 'doing business' a rather awkward business.
* We also have vestigial traces of a 'culture of amateurism', involving an instinctive mistrust of 'professionalism' and businesslike efficiency, which again can be a handicap when trying to run professional, efficient businesses.
* Finally, we carry into the workplace all the familiar English rules of humour, embarrassment, inhibition, privacy, modesty, moaning, courtesy, fairness, etc. - most of which are also incompatible with productive and effective work.
* But despite all this, we seem to muddle through somehow, and some of our work is not bad, considering.
It is from these principles that many of the specific rules governing behaviour at work are formed or derived.
HUMOUR RULES
Spend a day in any English workplace, from a street-market to a merchant bank, and you will notice that one of the most striking features of English working life is the undercurrent of humour. I do not mean that all English workers and businessmen spend their time telling raucous, thigh-slapping jokes, nor that we are 'good-humoured' in the sense of happy or cheerfuclass="underline" I am talking about the more subtle forms of humour - wit, irony, understatement, banter, teasing, pomposity-pricking - which are an integral part of almost all English social interaction.
Actually, I lied in that first sentence: if you are English, you could easily spend a day among English workers and business people without noticing the omnipresent humour - in fact you probably do this every day. Even now that I've prompted you to be conscious of it, the humour in your workplace interactions will be so familiar, so normal, so ingrained that you may find it hard to 'stand back' far enough to see it. Foreigners, on the other hand, tend to notice it straight away - or rather, to notice something, not always immediately identifiable as humour, which they find baffling. In my discussions with immigrants and other foreign informants, I found that the English sense of humour, in various guises, was one of the most common causes of misunderstanding and confusion in their dealings with the English at work. All of the unwritten rules of English humour contributed in some measure to this confusion, but the biggest stumbling blocks appeared to be the Importance of Not Being Earnest rule and the rules of irony.
The Importance of Not Being Earnest Rule
Our acute sensitivity to the distinction between seriousness and solemnity, between sincerity and earnestness, is not always fully understood or appreciated by foreign visitors, whose cultures tend to allow rather more blurring of these boundaries than is permitted among the English. In most other cultures, taking oneself too seriously may be a fault, but it is not a sin - a bit of self-important pomposity or over-zealous earnestness is tolerated, perhaps even expected, in discussion of important work or business matters. In the English workplace, however, the hand-on-heart gusher and the pompous pontificator are mercilessly ridiculed - if not to their faces, then certainly behind their backs. There are such people, of course, and the higher their status, the less likely they are to be made aware of their errors, but the English in general tend to be subconsciously sensitive to these taboos, and usually avoid overstepping the invisible lines.
The Importance of Not Being Earnest rule is implicit in our whole attitude to work. The first 'guiding principle' I mentioned was that we take work seriously, but not too seriously. If your work is interesting, you are allowed to be interested in it - even to the point of being 'a bit of a workaholic'; but if you are too much of a workaholic, or overzealous about an intrinsically uninteresting job, you will be regarded as 'sad' and pathetic and it will be suggested that you should 'get a life'. It is not done to be too keen.
Training in Not Being Earnest starts early: among English schoolchildren, there is an unwritten rule forbidding excessive enthusiasm for academic work. In some schools, working hard for exams is permitted, but one must moan about it a lot, and certainly never admit to enjoying it. Even at the most academically-minded establishments, the over-earnest 'swot' or teacher's pet - currently known as a 'geek', 'nerd', 'suck' or 'boffin' - will be unpopular and subject to ridicule. Pupils who actively enjoy studying, or find a particular subject fascinating, or take pride in their academic prowess, will carefully conceal their eagerness under a mask of feigned boredom and cynical detachment.
The English are often accused of being anti-intellectual, and while there may be a grain of truth in this, I am inclined to think that it is a slight misinterpretation: what looks like anti-intellectualism is often in fact a combination of anti-earnestness and anti-boastfulness. We don't mind people being 'brainy' or clever, as long as they don't make a big song-and-dance about it, don't preach or pontificate at us, don't show off and don't take themselves too seriously. If someone shows signs of any of these tendencies (all unfortunately rather common among intellectuals), the English respond with our cynical national catchphrase 'Oh, come off it!'
Our instinctive avoidance of earnestness results in a way of conducting business or work-related discussions that the uninitiated foreigner finds quite disturbing: a sort of offhand, dispassionate, detached manner - always giving the impression, as one of my most perceptive foreign informants put it, 'of being rather underwhelmed by the whole thing, including themselves and the product they were supposed to be trying to sell me'. This impassive, undemonstrative demeanour seems to be normal practice across all trades and professions, from jobbing builders to high-price barristers. It is not done to get too excited about one's products or services - one must not be seen to care too much, however desperate one may in fact be to close a deaclass="underline" this would be undignified. This dispassionate approach works perfectly well with English customers and clients, as there is nothing the English detest more than an over-zealous salesman, and excessive keenness will only make us cringe and back off. But our unexcitable manner can be a problem when dealing with foreigners, who expect us to show at least a modicum of enthusiasm for our work, particularly when we are trying to persuade others of its value or benefits.
Irony and Understatement Rules
The English predilection for irony, particularly our use of the understatement, only makes matters worse. Not only do we fail to exhibit the required degree of enthusiasm for our work or products, but we then compound the error by making remarks such as 'Well, it's not bad, considering' or 'You could do a lot worse,' when trying to convince someone that our loft conversions or legal acumen or whatever are really the best that money can buy. Then we have a tendency to say 'Well, I expect we'll manage somehow,' when we mean 'Yes, certainly, no trouble' and 'That would be quite helpful,' when we mean 'For Christ's sake, that should have been done yesterday!'; and 'We seem to have a bit of a problem,' when there has been a complete and utter disaster. (Another typically English response to, say, a catastrophic meeting where a million-pound deal has fallen through, would be 'That all went rather well, don't you think?')