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In international business, an approach that a multinational company undertakes to satisfy employment (staffing) needs.

The country where the company is based is the home country, and the country were staffing needs to be is the host country. Given these two variables, there are really only three approaches:

  • ethnocentric - Staff are hired in the home country and relocated to the host country.
  • polycentric - Staff are hired in the host country.
  • geocentric - The best-person-for-the-job is hired, regardless of where they are, and relocated to the host country if necessary.
Generally, an ethnocentric policy is used to hire top-level people in order to assure that home business culture and control is retained abroad. The polycentric policy is used at any level where knowledge of host culture and/or business climate outweighs the need for home culture and business climate (sales, marketing, and manufacturing). A geocentric policy is used when the company has need of a specific skill set, and is typically used for hiring top-level managers or other highly-skilled workers (such as engineers).

A Cereal About Pop Culture and Other Things

The move from being an intern at IBM to the world of New York night life happened purely by accident. The young man was recruited over time by a bar owner who was planning the opening of a gigantic new night spot.

His first day, he showed up in a suit, white shirt and tie (the tie chosen carefully to be hip but not overly flamboyant). After a quick trip to the office supply store, he returned, thinking he'd be set in a gloomy cubicle somewhere. His job was to participate in the administration of the new club, as well as a number of other restaurants and bars operated by the same corporation.

"Mom, I've now got a window office in Manhattan. All that school paid off!"

He was astonished when he was shown to an office with built-in cabinets, wall-to-wall carpeting and brand-new furniture. A microcomputer sat on a built-in counter, awaiting his ministrations. The telephone (provided by The Bell System, long before it was broken up by the government) featured four lines and an intercom. The window looked out upon the garage where CBS employees parked their cars. He was nonplussed.

A staff of over thirty persons was to be hired. Job openings were duly posted in the newspapers for positions ranging from dishwasher to lighting technician. He had no experience whatsoever in human resources, so therefore spent his nights poring over books and articles about subjects like writing employee manuals and equal-opportunity employment compliance. The job applications were finally set in type and printed carefully, including the logo of the company - a strategy aimed at making the company seem larger than it actually was. He was to review the completed applications, and set the promising ones aside for review by a General Manager.

Maria

His secretary, Maria, was a pleasant enough woman. As calls came in responding to the ads in the paper, she duly forwarded them to him, and when he was busy offered callers the option of calling back or leaving a message.

The first hint of trouble was the first pile of pink message slips that were deposited on his desk by Maria. First names were scribbled along with phone numbers. Absent from these messages were the job applied for, last names, time of call, date, etc. A lunch with Maria was arranged, and he gave her lessons in message-taking. The next day, he remarkably received no messages. Maria was queried about the sudden dearth of messages, when there had been literally dozens the day before.

"I can't talk on the phone and write down all that shit at the same time, so I just tell them to call back."

The phone on his desk began blinking like a Christmas tree with flashing lights. Important calls from officials with whom he'd have to go over building compliance were mixed in with calls from "Tony in the Bronx, I'd like to be a busboy. Do you guys let the staff do coke?"

He thanked his lucky stars that cocktails were served promptly at one o'clock in the afternoon by George, the resident lush, who basically sat around reading the newspaper and magazines like "Vanity Fair." He never did find out what George's job description was.

The day arrived when the busboys, porters, waiters and valet parkers were all to be interviewed at once. One by one, he worked through the line of young men and women. The line was long enough to run down a 70-foot hallway, down the stairs, and wind its way around the lobby (where the workers putting in the Italian slate floor were quite perturbed that their handiwork was being scuffed before the sealer was put on).

There was not a tie worn by a single soul in the sinuous queue, much less a jacket. Few of the four-page application forms were filled out properly. Most contained merely a name, address (many "care of"), and social security number. Previous experience was written in by name, absent any contact name nor telephone number.

By two o'clock in the afternoon each day, Maria had taken her second hit of heroin, and fell asleep at her desk, occasionally snoring loudly. He felt any control he had left over the situation falling through his fingers like dry sand lifted up at the beach.

Bart

"Sir," he addressed the tall young man in front of him, "may I call you by your first name?"

"Yeah, call me Bart. I'm Bart, the dancing waiter." The man's voice was exactly like Harvey Fierstein's distinctive gravelly yet somehow sensitive-sounding growl.

"You've not included on your application whether or not you've served in the Armed Forces."

"What's that?"

"Eh, you know, the Army, the Navy..."

"Aw, I ain't been in the Navy, but I can tell you I've been in a couple of sailors, darling. Hahahahahaha!" Bart laughed a peculiar laugh, a noise similar to a smoker's cough.

And so began his life in New York nightlife.

By the way, (a) Bart got hired, and ended up working there for nearly ten years; (b) Maria was fired in a cost-cutting measure after five years (they attached an answering machine to the young man's office extension phone); (c) George, it turns out, was a retired Vaudeville and night club performer, who taught the young man more about show-biz than anyone else in his life.

Chapter Two     Chapter 3     Chapter 4     Chapter 5

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