When I got out of college in the early 90s, I started working on satellites at GE Aerospace. Not long after starting, a colleague introduced me to the sign-off table.
The sign-off table was a physical desk in an office. Usually a drafting table to accommodate both the size and volume of the papers that accumulated. A stack of paperwork that included drawings, schematics, analyses, and memos piled up over the course of about a week. In some ways, it was the most important location within our entire facility because the sign-off table was the gate to GE getting paid.
Each set of papers required the physical signature of the responsible person. An actual person. A human with a name and a location within the building, scrawled their signature on the physical papers to indicate, “I agree this is complete, accurate, and fulfills the intention. I stand behind it.” The signature represented the person.
No money came in until that set of signatures was delivered.
The sign-off table generated tons of drama.
“You can’t sign off on that yet!”
“There is no way I’m putting my signature on that like it is!”
“Why hasn’t she signed off on this yet?”
“Can you believe he signed off on that?”
If it was you who had to sign off, your signature mattered. You thought about it. It meant something to both you and the team. Because your signature represented you, the person. And you mattered.
What does our signature represent today in the world of e-signatures, PIN numbers, and click-this-checkbox-to-sign? I even have a bitmap image of my signature stored in my computer that I can simply copy and paste into a document.
Was it really me that signed it? Am I putting my stamp of approval on it? Am I standing behind it? Does it matter?
Although I sure do love the convenience of these new forms of signature, I think we’ve lost a little bit of the human.
