Whenever I attend corporate events or informal gatherings with colleagues, I can’t help recalling the story of the scarf.
We once had a Director named Oleg. He had moved into consulting from industry—a man in the prime of his career, an accomplished manager from a large industrial holding. Oleg possessed a certain Carlson-like charm. He had a subtle sense for the vibrations of political strings within our global organization and skillfully juggled techniques of neuro-linguistic programming.
Quite quickly and smoothly—like a scalpel—he inserted himself into our small but tightly knit community of supply chain enthusiasts (SCM). Oleg maintained a directive management style inherited from his military past. His emotions often felt somewhat artificial, and he clearly preferred to keep a distance from the team. These traits ultimately prevented him from achieving total leadership within our circle.
One evening our friendly team decided to go out to a restaurant—to chat about academic matters of supply chains and, at the same time, celebrate the return of our long-time colleague and inspiration, old Bogdan, from the homeland of Bosch and Bruegel. In short, we planned to “work” on strengthening team connections to maintain morale and optimism for future achievements.
The energetic younger staff—Masha and Sergey—took charge of organizing the event. They booked the restaurant and informed everyone by email. But due to inexperience they forgot the most important thing: to coordinate the dinner budget with one of the managers in accordance with the policies of the Big Four. Only a manager could pay for such events from the practice’s allocated team-building funds.
The evening went wonderfully. Even Bogdan kept his promise and joined us, which was rare and considered a great success for the entire group.
Gradually people began leaving, and the bill arrived. The remaining managers continued their relaxed conversation, and when the waiter looked at us expectantly, no one responded with a decisive movement of a credit card.
Masha and Sergey started shifting nervously in their chairs, beginning to understand the possible consequences and not knowing what to do next.
By that point Bogdan and our team leader, Inna, had already left the restaurant, completely unaware of the situation. The young organizers decided to act and turned to the only senior manager still at the table—Misha.
“Will you cover the bill?” they asked.
Misha, a man practically inoculated with the discipline of precise planning and flawless project organization—honed through difficult projects with tough metallurgists—looked genuinely surprised and confused.
No budget had been approved for the event, which meant no funds had been transferred to his corporate card. Meanwhile, the restaurant bill showed a rather substantial amount.
The younger colleagues became even more anxious, already imagining having to pay for the entire evening themselves.
Oleg had overheard this conversation with his back turned to the group while preparing to leave. He had just put on his coat and was slowly and ceremoniously wrapping a burgundy scarf around his well-groomed neck.
At the very moment the question about payment was asked, the rotational movement of Oleg’s hands suddenly accelerated. The scarf began spinning rapidly around the Director’s tightened neck, clearly emphasizing his immediate desire to step outside into the fresh air—far away from any discussion of financial matters.
In the end, Misha had to rescue the unfortunate organizers. Despite being lower in both seniority and income than Oleg, he had a kind heart and never abandoned his colleagues in trouble.
And I remember Oleg’s scarf forever—as a symbol of indifference toward employees and a certain detached arrogance.
