Due to travel, I recently had to miss my 30th high school reunion. The bad news was not seeing old friends. The worse news was not finding out who has aged more than I have (everyone, I presume).

The good news? Not having to relive embarrassing moments, like the time I asked a girl to the homecoming dance, and she answered, “Can I let you know?”

Regrettably, I failed to say, “Sorry, but you have to take your chances.” Instead, nonplussed by the one answer I hadn’t anticipated, I handled the situation the way an employee should handle a manager who gives this response to a request or suggestion: I said, “When?”

Want to kill an idea? The wrong way is to delay a decision. Lots of managers use this technique, but all it does is kill enthusiasm. The idea, like an old tuna sandwich that’s fallen behind the desk, persists.

If you’re a manager and want to kill an idea, the right technique is to present an unanswerable argument. Not an unassailable one. That’s different.

One of the best unanswerable arguments is, “That’s the same as x, and we already tried that.” For example, imagine an employee proposes implementing XML-based supply-chain integration. You might answer, “That’s really the same thing as EDI, and we tried that several years ago. The project died – it turned out to be too complicated and too expensive.”

Your employee is now helpless, becalmed in a Sargasso Sea of ennui. Your argument is, of course, nonsense — “We failed to make it work,” does not equate to “It won’t work,” and you’ve waved off the significance of improved technology. That’s okay – your goal was to kill the idea, and once you force the discussion into specific details you have the moral high ground, because as a manager you aren’t supposed to worry about those.

IS Survivalist Joseph Martin provided another excellent idea killer: The Concerns Argument. It’s simple to use and applies to a wide variety of situations. Whatever the suggestion, simply say, “I have concerns about that.”

To the inescapable, “What are they?” you respond, “I’ve heard there are issues with it.”

What issues? “A lot of people have concerns.” Who? “Lots of people.” Such as? “I can’t betray a confidence.” What are their issues? “I’ve read about several.” But what were they exactly? “I don’t remember the specifics, but I remember they seemed pretty substantial.”

The Concerns Argument is an effective variant of the old, “I think this needs more analysis,” routine, but is superior because it doesn’t lead to action.

You need techniques to kill initiative. After all, if your staff is thinking of new ideas, they aren’t focusing on their jobs. Even worse, some might end up looking way too good and get hired into other roles, and then you’ll have to replace them.

Or, if you prefer to be a good manager … avoid these techniques.

Risk was popular in college. A realistic game of global geopolitics, winning it depended on alliances, betrayals, and favorable rolls of the dice. I was never very good at Risk, and instead spent most of my time playing chess or bridge, at which I achieved adequacy.

I did win one game of Risk, though. It was against the two best players in the dorm, too. How? My friend Steve and I agreed in advance to not attack each other. The simple expedient of a reliable alliance outweighed all other considerations. We divided the world in half and quit, to the chagrin of our defeated opponents, who, irony of ironies, described our simple tactic as cheating. Apparently honoring a commitment violates the rules of Risk.

It also violates some of The 48 Laws of Power, the unwholesome but highly useful reference recommended in last week’s column for anyone who wants to achieve influence in a large organization. While considerably more shallow than Machiavelli’s The Prince, Sun Tzu’s The Art of War, or even Anton Jay’s Management and Machiavelli, The 48 Laws of Power has the advantage of painting-by-numbers: It’s formulaic and easy to follow.

If the book is so unpleasant, why is it important? Simple: As a wise man once said, the only thing worse than having to play stupid games is losing at stupid games you can’t avoid playing. Even if you eschew these techniques yourself, if you can’t recognize their use by others you won’t be able to nullify their effects.

The book is missing something important: An indicator … a thermometer bar perhaps … to indicate which laws are novice, intermediate, and advanced techniques. This would be helpful because many of this book’s suggestions require significant finesse for success.

Let’s imagine for a moment that you have no scruples. You buy the book, study the laws, perfect your technique, and so begin your meteoric rise to the top of your company. Chances are good that even as your career advances, your ability to lead will decline.

Evaluate each Law on its own merits — to be fair, some are the essence of leadership. Laws 28 through 30, for example, recommend that you “Enter action with boldness,” “Plan all the way to the end,” and “Make your accomplishments seem effortless.” This is good advice: Timidity is worse than inaction, you should always define the goal before taking the first step, and you should never let anyone see you sweat.

Other laws, though, impair your effectiveness as a leader. For example, concealing your intentions and saying less than necessary — Laws 3 and 4 — may confuse your rivals and prevent them from preparing a defense. Regrettably, it also confuses those you lead, and confused soldiers rarely win battles.

Taking credit for the work of others (Law 7) and creating a state of terror (Law 17) are also dreadful leadership techniques. They lead to sullen teams with no initiative or drive.

The very techniques that help you achieve power prevent its effective use.

The worst aspect of The 48 Laws, though, are their potential for poetic justice. Follow them yourself and you encourage their use by those around you.

And some of them will be better at the game than you are.