Chapter 17: The Guru of Conflict Resolution
Mr. T was telling the to dream team that they don’t know about conflict resolution, but he did not say it for only them, but for all those who were involved in all industries, he told them that they had skills as system design, system implementation, documentation, testing, quality, etc. Conflict is everywhere in our business. For example, they can’t install a system of any magnitude without encouraging conflicts. For example me as a student, the problems are everywhere, when I work with my team of mobile devices, we always have merge conflict because the version of android studio and I understand that in this business there is a lot of conflicts with clients, teams, implementations, testing, etc.
Mr.T starts to say that he suggests that they set out to become experts on conflict resolution. At the very least, we need to find a good book on the subject, or a seminar, or a consultant to guide us. Mr. T wants someone that helps them in conflict resolution. They propose Maestro Diyeniar, he was a programmer in one of the teams, and when Mr. T add him to that team all the problems gone away.
But Mr. T did not trust him for some reason, they think who would be the best Guru of Conflict Resolution in our field, after a long moment, Aristotle spoke up to say that there is a guy, he doesn’t remember his nade , but this guy is the expert on conflict resolution for systems projects and this guy is Dr. Larry Boheme.
Mr. T went to meet Dr. Boheme’s, he traveled to London just to be able to meet him and talk with everything that was happening to help him improve, after several talks he learned important things which he already wanted to implement.
Mr. Tompkins caught the last British Air flight Varsjop from Gatwick that night. He wasn’t quite ready to swallow Dr. Boheme’s prescription whole, but at least he could now see a few things he had to try: First, he needed to acknowledge the inherent respectability of conflict in his organization so as not to let it be driven underground. And second, he would have to set up ways for conflict to be mediated. With such a beginning, the conflicts that tended to arise at Aidrivoli &om this point on would have a chance to be sensibly resolved.
Chapters 18: Maestro Diyeniar
Diyeniar had been on the PMill-A project for a little more than a month. but Mr.Tompkins encouraged to delay any decision on Diyeniar for a few months more. If Gabriel was right, the particular magic that Diyeniar did was helpful to projects. Diyeniar is a natural born storyteller. It’s just good storytelling, pure and simple.
Mr. T glanced at the countdown display, which now, on this early November day, read: 211 days till D-Day!!. Mrs. Beerzig had been doctoring up the numbers each week before they went out to Belok. Mr. T allowed himself only the time for one tiny, slightly bitter reflection: So much bother could have been avoided if only I had convinced him fiom the beginning that the original date we were striving for was already impossible.
His first lunch with Diyeniar did indeed take two hours. The Maestro was a tall, some what gangly man with a long, finebridged nose. He appeared to be about sixty years old, but his hair, what there was of it, was still quite black. It fell in long plaits onto his shoulders from around a bald pate. Diyeniar’s eyes were electric.
Mr. T had finished his sandwich and his companion hadn’t even had one bite. There was only one obvious way to give the man a chance to eat. At the end of two hours, it wasn’t obvious what had happened over lunch. There had been some lovely tales exchanged, and that was certainly pleasant. And, as Melissa had foreseen, he felt good.
Maestro Diyeniar soon spotted a conflict on the Quirk B- Team. The manager, Loren Apfels, and his chief designer, Nonvood Bolix, had had a falling out, and now, interaction between them was increasingly painful. Mr. T arranged to have the two show up together in his office for the first attempt at applying the mediation ceremony.
But sometime in the futere the problems start again because the failed mediation between Apfels and Bolix was particularly embarrassing because he’d had an obviously better approach staring him in the face from the beginning
Mr. T and Belinda were in his ofice with the door closed. Mr. T say to Belinda: I’m beginning to feel like a mental patient. I feel like a man living in his own lie. I’m losing track of what’s real and what isn’t. We doctor the hours we send up to Korsach, we set fictitious policies we have no intention of applying, we conceal the existence of our B and C projects, I am continually assuring Belok that schedules will be met when I know they won’t.
There is a reason why we’re here, Webster: the Project Management Laboratory. We set out to discover some of the causal effects that drive project work. And we’re getting very close. We can’t walk away now. It seemed crazy, but the same Mr. T who’d felt obliged to work through the entirety of a two-day weekend, for some reason, now felt Gee to take the three-day weekend, once he had declared it. The Residence maintained an old black Russian-made Lada sedan for the use of guests. Mr. T found his name alone on the signup list for the weekend the car was his. He packed a lunch and headed toward the northeast into Morovia’s interior.
Kayo’s instructions told him to proceed east from the port town of Onlijop and watch for Route 4 North just before entering Markst. He saw a red-and-black sign for Route 4 South where it joined the Onlijop road. A few minutes later, he found himself caught in the snarl of traffic around Markst’s Saturday morning farmers’ market. He had gone too far. He turned the little car around and retraced his path.
Mr. T turned the car around yet again and drove all the way back to the point where the two roads first merged. The sign there for Morovian National Route 4 South was a shield divided diagonally into red and black zones, with the lettering in white. He reversed and continued driving to the sign for Route 4 North, and there was the explanation of why he’d been unable to see it before. The sign was not a red and black shield with white lettering, but a plain white circle with black lettering. Route 4 evidently changed its status here from a national to a county road.
He sat up and looked around. The setting, chosen quite at random, was lovely. There was a gentle ridge running along side the road. Spread out beneath him was a colorfbl valley, with a narrow-gauge rail line running along the side of a river. At the far end of the valley, the river widened into a pond, ghstening now in the low sun. This would be a fine place for a picnic.