Free The Year of Living Danishly by Helen Russell Page A

along: ‘De de de de de de de, de de de de de de…’ before Lego Man comes back in with the next line:
    â€˜And we all can agree, we’re still a fun bunch of guys…’
    â€˜De de de de de de de, de de de de de de…’
    â€˜And then … and then … I can’t remember the rest.’
    â€˜ Try !’
    Lego Man scrunches up his face and tries to remember before shaking his head and unclenching. ‘I can’t, sorry.’
    â€˜Oh well, the first two lines were amazing…’
    â€˜Thanks,’ he says, as though taking credit for the composition himself. ‘There’s also a lot of drumming,’ he adds, walking out of the room.
    â€˜What?’ He can’t just drop this percussive bombshell and saunter off.
    â€˜In meetings and workshops,’ he calls out from the kitchen, ‘there’s often drumming. On buckets. Or boxes. Or bongos. Whatever you can hit a beat on really.’ He says this as though it is the most normal thing in the world. Like fetching new staples from the stationery cupboard.
    â€˜And … everyone joins in?’ I’m on my feet now, following him around for further details.
    â€˜Oh yeah. Everyone joins in with everything. We’re all equal, remember? Although you can tell who the most important people are – they tend to go for the biggest bongos.’
    â€˜Wow!’ I’m unbelievably disappointed not to be witnessing the delights of office drumming first hand. ‘And are some people just really musical? Do they end up competing to be the best drummers?’
    He knows what I’m thinking. He knows that I would instantly become competitive about how my drumming measured up to other people’s and start showing off.
    â€˜No,’ he says very firmly. ‘It doesn’t matter how good a drummer, singer, or trombone-mimer you are, bragging about anything is bad form. They have a mantra in the business – “Lego over ego” – and people follow it.’ He tells me that he and his fellow non-Danes have been guided towards the writings of a 1930s Danish-Norwegian author, Aksel Sandemose, for a better understanding of how best to ‘integrate’ into the workplace in Denmark. Sandemose outlines ten rules for living Danishly (otherwise known as ‘Jante’s Law’) in his novel, A Fugitive Crosses His Tracks . These, as far as Google Translate and I can make out, are:
You’re not to think you are anything special
You’re not to think you are as good as we are
You’re not to think you are smarter than us
You’re not to convince yourself that you are better than us
You’re not to think you know more than us
You’re not to think you are more important than us
You’re not to think you are good at anything
You’re not to laugh at us
You’re not to think anyone cares about you
You’re not to think you can teach us anything
    â€˜Crikey, you’re not to do much round here, are you?’
    â€˜Oh, and there’s another, unspoken one.’
    â€˜Yes?’
    â€˜â€œ Don’t put up with presenteeism ”. If anyone plays the martyr card, staying late or working too much, they’re more likely to get a leaflet about efficiency or time management dropped on their desk than any sympathy.’
    â€˜Blimey!’ This makes a change from London life. Back home, answering an email at midnight or staying at your desk until 8pm was considered a badge of honour. But in Danish work culture, this implies that you’re incapable of doing your work in the time available. Desks are all fitted with hydraulics so that staff can work standing up if they prefer, something that’s been proven to be better for your health (according to research published in the Journal of Social Psychological and Personality Science ) as well as facilitating swifter, more dynamic informal meetings or ‘stand ups’ as