Sometimes you just need to swallow hard and move ahead.
I was working on this real-estate deal back in California for the company I was working for at the time. It was going to be very lucrative for us, but the local City stood to make no revenues off the project. It was going to be a land lease and the tenant would not be a sales tax source for the City.
The City Planning group wasn’t overly keen about the entire project and felt it did not meet its overall ‘image’ the city was trying to portray. The City had grand thoughts of their future and so on. Let us just say they saw themselves as more of a Malibu type community, upscale and very trendy. I saw them more like a 1997 Chevy Malibu, complete with a bad muffler and full of ‘gang-bangers’. (It is best not to share this sentiment when attempting to negotiate.)
So here we are sitting around a conference table at City Hall. We are trying to find a way to get the City to see our point of view and move forward on the project. We agree to new trees to line the road (none of course existed there before), new landscaping (none prior), curb cuts, sidewalks, fences to city code, etc. A ‘code’ that no one could produce, but be assured there IS one… somewhere. Then we come to the big stumbling block; they want a ‘new’ office building. We have already put in a Modular office building (see manufactured homes, as in trailers, home on wheels, etc.) and I am holding a copy of the City code that allows for this.
Keep in mind; the area we are discussing is next to two oil refineries and a collection of junkyards. When we first were looking at the site, formerly an above ground open pit ‘tank farm’ from the 1940’s, we had to carry sticks to drive away the wild dogs that roamed the property. These were the offspring from junkyard dogs that had over time drifted away from the junkyards. We even managed to tame a pit bull puppy and today, he guards the tenant’s area.
So we are at an impasse. Or are we?
I look over at the City Environmental Planner and notice an interesting necklace that she is wearing. It looks a lot like the jewelry I had seen in my younger days at Truck Stops sold along the Interstates.
I mentioned “what an interesting piece” it is. She thanks me and a smile breaks out on her face. (Apparently, a prized possession…) She explains proudly that her sister makes jewelry and had in fact made this lovely cameo for her. She pointed out that if I looked closely I would see that in fact, it was a likeness of her. (I saw a white oval with a really bad job of applying glue to some unknown, shiny stuff.)
I agreed it looked just like her as she had pointed out.
I asked her if she could ask her sister if it would be possible to make one for my wife. I explained my wife loved nice jewelry and it would make for a wonderful birthday present, seeing as her birthday was coming up quickly. (Her birthday was actually almost a year away.)
She asked if I had a picture of her, and I produced one from my wallet. The necklace would be done in a week, just in time for me to surprise my wife on her birthday. That would have been a major surprise indeed.
We went back to the meeting and amazingly, we were able to agree to a three-year time period around the Modular office building (trailer) vs. a ‘new’ building issue and moved on with the project. Everyone was happy!
The following week, I received a call telling me that my necklace was ready.
I went straight away, as my Scottish friends would say, to City Hall to ‘claim my prize.’ I am not sure what I was more amazed by, how ugly this thing was or the fact that it was going to cost me $160.00. I smiled, wrote a check, thanked her warmly, and headed back to my office.
I then turned it into my Boss on an Expense Report, adding “Don’t ask.’”
I gave the necklace to our Admin Assistant, the only person I knew who actually lived in this City, and moved on to the next task at hand.
The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore, all progress depends on the unreasonable man. George Bernard Shaw Irish dramatist & socialist (1856 - 1950)
Saturday, January 22, 2005
Friday, January 21, 2005
Nice Putt
A while back I attended a golf tournament as a ‘rep’ for a company I was working for. I was to meet the other members of my foursome at the course. As I recall, it was about 90 degrees and the smog was at its exceptional best in the San Fernando Valley. A perfect day for golf.
When you are playing vendor golf, and you are the vendor, there are rules and protocol to keep in mind. If you are going to play better than the client, really play better, such great golf that the client feels privileged to have played a round with you. I do not have this concern or the golf game to ever worry about beating anyone. You need to be able to have your client feel he is being helpful with every snippet of advice he or she gives. Listen to the pointers in regards to getting out of the sand, off the tee box, over the hedge and all the way to grandmother’s house. Stare in awe at his shanks, hooks and fades. Use the phrase “You Da Man” over and over again. Oh, and pay for everything, even things you wouldn’t think to pay for.
The oil industry has a yearly event just for this, called NPRA. It is not for the weak of heart, or in the case of vendors, someone with a conscience. Bring the “gold” card. It is considered boot camp for sales people.
So here I am with my Fellow golfers. One Client, and two vendors, a third guy ‘bailed’.
The beer drinking starts early here. I don’t drink when golfing; I probably should considering my skill level. I do make up for this at other times.
By the 3rd hole, our client was into his Second six-pack, the other vendor is still working on his First fifth of JD. I was sucking back bottled water to try to beat the heat.
We suck as golfers. We are literally tearing up the course; and yet, I continue to tell our honored guest silly stuff like, “Man, I thought you had that one.” Of course, it would have required bouncing off the cart path one more time and maybe winging it off the palm tree 100 yards out of bounds… to have gotten the ball somewhere… near the fairway we were playing on. “But, Man, I thought you had that one”.
At some point with that much bad golf and beer, someone is going to say something you just wish they hadn’t.
On the 13th tee box, oddly enough, the now ‘drunk on his assets’ client turns to me and says. “ I like you, Man.” I know this cannot be a good thing.
He then says, “ You know my wife is kinda fat and all, but she has got some huge boobs. You should see them sometime.”
He is the client, he determines, in many ways, the amount of work I get.
He has just painted a mental picture I’m afraid I will never be able to lose.
I look at him solemnly waiting for the right moment to say “You Da Man!”
When you are playing vendor golf, and you are the vendor, there are rules and protocol to keep in mind. If you are going to play better than the client, really play better, such great golf that the client feels privileged to have played a round with you. I do not have this concern or the golf game to ever worry about beating anyone. You need to be able to have your client feel he is being helpful with every snippet of advice he or she gives. Listen to the pointers in regards to getting out of the sand, off the tee box, over the hedge and all the way to grandmother’s house. Stare in awe at his shanks, hooks and fades. Use the phrase “You Da Man” over and over again. Oh, and pay for everything, even things you wouldn’t think to pay for.
The oil industry has a yearly event just for this, called NPRA. It is not for the weak of heart, or in the case of vendors, someone with a conscience. Bring the “gold” card. It is considered boot camp for sales people.
So here I am with my Fellow golfers. One Client, and two vendors, a third guy ‘bailed’.
The beer drinking starts early here. I don’t drink when golfing; I probably should considering my skill level. I do make up for this at other times.
By the 3rd hole, our client was into his Second six-pack, the other vendor is still working on his First fifth of JD. I was sucking back bottled water to try to beat the heat.
We suck as golfers. We are literally tearing up the course; and yet, I continue to tell our honored guest silly stuff like, “Man, I thought you had that one.” Of course, it would have required bouncing off the cart path one more time and maybe winging it off the palm tree 100 yards out of bounds… to have gotten the ball somewhere… near the fairway we were playing on. “But, Man, I thought you had that one”.
At some point with that much bad golf and beer, someone is going to say something you just wish they hadn’t.
On the 13th tee box, oddly enough, the now ‘drunk on his assets’ client turns to me and says. “ I like you, Man.” I know this cannot be a good thing.
He then says, “ You know my wife is kinda fat and all, but she has got some huge boobs. You should see them sometime.”
He is the client, he determines, in many ways, the amount of work I get.
He has just painted a mental picture I’m afraid I will never be able to lose.
I look at him solemnly waiting for the right moment to say “You Da Man!”
A Pigeon tale from a reader
I have a favorite refinery pigeon story...
We got a frantic call on the refinery emergency line that there were pigeons falling dead out of the main North/South pipe rack! Because this rack holds the 14 inch acid gas line containing 90%+ H2S we all feared the worst!. We activated the emergency response team and assumed that the birds were somehow being overcome with H2S. I arrived on the scene in full fresh air just in time to see two more birds drop from the line. They were still warm so they had obviously just been overcome. We collected two of the bodies and sent them to a local animal hospital for autopsy.
In the mean time, the emergency team had blocked off the whole area and was searching frantically for the H2S leak. This proved very frustrating as not a trace of the toxic gas was showing-up on their meters. Another bird falls to his death right at my feet...
After burning through 20 or so SCBA's, the search was called off as everything looked to be in order. Our only hope was that the autopsy would provide clues. Before long, one of the shop supervisors came by and informed us that they had just put a pile of rat poison out that morning (in the rafters of the shop) and thought the pigeons might have eaten some and flown over to roost in the pipe rack. No shit batman - stand down the emergency team!!! ...but it does verify your rats with wings theory...
Pat
We got a frantic call on the refinery emergency line that there were pigeons falling dead out of the main North/South pipe rack! Because this rack holds the 14 inch acid gas line containing 90%+ H2S we all feared the worst!. We activated the emergency response team and assumed that the birds were somehow being overcome with H2S. I arrived on the scene in full fresh air just in time to see two more birds drop from the line. They were still warm so they had obviously just been overcome. We collected two of the bodies and sent them to a local animal hospital for autopsy.
In the mean time, the emergency team had blocked off the whole area and was searching frantically for the H2S leak. This proved very frustrating as not a trace of the toxic gas was showing-up on their meters. Another bird falls to his death right at my feet...
After burning through 20 or so SCBA's, the search was called off as everything looked to be in order. Our only hope was that the autopsy would provide clues. Before long, one of the shop supervisors came by and informed us that they had just put a pile of rat poison out that morning (in the rafters of the shop) and thought the pigeons might have eaten some and flown over to roost in the pipe rack. No shit batman - stand down the emergency team!!! ...but it does verify your rats with wings theory...
Pat
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Ok, let me try the boneless pigeon wings
Ever wonder how some people got their job, let alone, kept it?
I don’t anymore; I just shake my head and do the best I can with the sick feeling in my stomach.
So here I am, new kid on the block at a refinery in Southern California. It’s the first week on the job and all that; I have already decided this may be the oddest cast of characters I have ever seen assembled in one staff meeting.
The young engineer, who runs our group, is a cowboy in the big city. Good guy… if not a little on the naïve side. We have a former admin assistant who reminds me a great deal of a fading homecoming queen. We have a very talented “kid” from South Central who tends to cover up his genius with the ‘class clown’ approach. At 23, he has already made up his mind that he has no chance for promotion. (I find this very sad.) We then have the "Bird Man of Alcatraz", the point of this whole rant, and me.
The guy from the other refinery and not likely to get a ‘Welcome to the Club’ hug soon….
I should point out that this was right after a infamous “re-org” that our industry has become so well known for. A “re-org” became as useful as the never-ending studies of Procurement Practices and Workflow Processes. My thought here was, just sit still and everything will go full circle, so that at some point you are the leaders in the industry.
Ok, so it became clear rather quickly, that in spite of any real pressing concerns such as developing a budget and so on, the real issue was the pigeons in the Shop area.
Tried as we might, the Birdman was not going to "drop" this issue. Because of the warmer climes in the area, the large Shop doors to the Maintenance areas were always left open. The end result being that pigeons flew in and out frequently and do what pigeons do. They eat and then get rid of what they eat, a simple fact of nature.
Speaking of pigeons, a friend of ours in California tells a great story about a wedding that involves pigeons. Seems the budget for the wedding was a tad tight and some compromises were to be made. The bride had always had her heart set on doves being released after the ceremony and watching them fly to the heavens to indicate the new start of the marriage. Seeing the price for these beautiful birds was going to be prohibitive, it was suggested to use pigeons instead. I have always considered pigeons as rats with wings, but nevertheless, pigeons were gathered up for the ceremony. Right on cue, at the exact moment the pigeons were released. They flew a couple of feet, settled to the ground and began eating the tossed rice and so on. They spent the rest of the afternoon pecking at food and guest’s feet. Well, it seemed like a good idea…
Ok, so the Birdman was convinced that the reason we had such a problem with the pigeons was that the hourly folks were feeding them. He was particularly suspicious of the welders, since they were notorious for their need to feed the pigeons.
To say he was obsessed with this would be a huge under-estimation of the nerd qualities of this guy.
A few weeks later, we are gathered for another staff meeting. I waited to see when the pigeons would take flight, as it were. Sure enough, we came around the table to the Birdman and he, with great flair, dropped a piece of paper on the conference room table. We all looked at him, then to the piece of official looking paper on the table, and then back to staring at him.
“It’s a report on pigeon droppings,” he exclaimed. We continued to stare. “I had the Health Department analyze what was in the droppings,” he said with even more certainty.
(More staring with some jaw dropping this time.)
“ The samples were full of chips and cookies, which shows that the Shop’s folks are feeding them,” he stated. I just looked around the room waiting for someone to say something. Only surprised faces looked back, so I felt I had to say something.
“I’m not sure what amazes me more,” I started. “The fact that you had pigeon shit sent to a lab or the fact that you are actually admitting to that, as if it were a good thing.”
The Birdman began to protest about the validity of his study.
“Does your lab report indicate whether these pigeons are flightless?” I asked.
“What is the difference?” he replied.
“ I guess I’m thinking they actually fly over the fence and eat the food behind the local Spires restaurant. And just fly back over here to crap, just to annoy you and make the welders look bad.”
Next time you wonder why gas costs so much…
I don’t anymore; I just shake my head and do the best I can with the sick feeling in my stomach.
So here I am, new kid on the block at a refinery in Southern California. It’s the first week on the job and all that; I have already decided this may be the oddest cast of characters I have ever seen assembled in one staff meeting.
The young engineer, who runs our group, is a cowboy in the big city. Good guy… if not a little on the naïve side. We have a former admin assistant who reminds me a great deal of a fading homecoming queen. We have a very talented “kid” from South Central who tends to cover up his genius with the ‘class clown’ approach. At 23, he has already made up his mind that he has no chance for promotion. (I find this very sad.) We then have the "Bird Man of Alcatraz", the point of this whole rant, and me.
The guy from the other refinery and not likely to get a ‘Welcome to the Club’ hug soon….
I should point out that this was right after a infamous “re-org” that our industry has become so well known for. A “re-org” became as useful as the never-ending studies of Procurement Practices and Workflow Processes. My thought here was, just sit still and everything will go full circle, so that at some point you are the leaders in the industry.
Ok, so it became clear rather quickly, that in spite of any real pressing concerns such as developing a budget and so on, the real issue was the pigeons in the Shop area.
Tried as we might, the Birdman was not going to "drop" this issue. Because of the warmer climes in the area, the large Shop doors to the Maintenance areas were always left open. The end result being that pigeons flew in and out frequently and do what pigeons do. They eat and then get rid of what they eat, a simple fact of nature.
Speaking of pigeons, a friend of ours in California tells a great story about a wedding that involves pigeons. Seems the budget for the wedding was a tad tight and some compromises were to be made. The bride had always had her heart set on doves being released after the ceremony and watching them fly to the heavens to indicate the new start of the marriage. Seeing the price for these beautiful birds was going to be prohibitive, it was suggested to use pigeons instead. I have always considered pigeons as rats with wings, but nevertheless, pigeons were gathered up for the ceremony. Right on cue, at the exact moment the pigeons were released. They flew a couple of feet, settled to the ground and began eating the tossed rice and so on. They spent the rest of the afternoon pecking at food and guest’s feet. Well, it seemed like a good idea…
Ok, so the Birdman was convinced that the reason we had such a problem with the pigeons was that the hourly folks were feeding them. He was particularly suspicious of the welders, since they were notorious for their need to feed the pigeons.
To say he was obsessed with this would be a huge under-estimation of the nerd qualities of this guy.
A few weeks later, we are gathered for another staff meeting. I waited to see when the pigeons would take flight, as it were. Sure enough, we came around the table to the Birdman and he, with great flair, dropped a piece of paper on the conference room table. We all looked at him, then to the piece of official looking paper on the table, and then back to staring at him.
“It’s a report on pigeon droppings,” he exclaimed. We continued to stare. “I had the Health Department analyze what was in the droppings,” he said with even more certainty.
(More staring with some jaw dropping this time.)
“ The samples were full of chips and cookies, which shows that the Shop’s folks are feeding them,” he stated. I just looked around the room waiting for someone to say something. Only surprised faces looked back, so I felt I had to say something.
“I’m not sure what amazes me more,” I started. “The fact that you had pigeon shit sent to a lab or the fact that you are actually admitting to that, as if it were a good thing.”
The Birdman began to protest about the validity of his study.
“Does your lab report indicate whether these pigeons are flightless?” I asked.
“What is the difference?” he replied.
“ I guess I’m thinking they actually fly over the fence and eat the food behind the local Spires restaurant. And just fly back over here to crap, just to annoy you and make the welders look bad.”
Next time you wonder why gas costs so much…
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Random Stuff
Hey, didn’t you get your executive MBA from Harvard?
One distinguished academic called the aftermath an "intellectual tsunami." Others said that Harvard University, already under fire for failing to recruit enough professors, who are women in recent years, would now find it more difficult to attract the most accomplished candidates. And some alumnae said they would suspend donations to the university.
.
…Remarks by Lawrence Summers, Harvard's President, at a conference suggesting that innate differences between the sexes might explain why women do less well than men in mathematics and science careers, continued to resonate on campus and across the nation, triggering often furious reactions.
“CHRISTCO”
When I lived in California, there was a piece of property that was the object of desire by both Costco and a local church. It went to the City Council and I believe eventually ended up in the courts. Both groups wanted to build on the site and it was quite the power struggle, as it were. Mark and Brian, see link in previous article, did a very clever skit about the potential merger, which they entitled “CHRISTCO”….very funny stuff.
Shortly after that we moved to the Pac NW, and one day we pulled into a local parking lot, and there it was…well sort of.
One of the quickest growing churches in the area had in fact taken over old grocery stores and converted them into churches, complete with parking lot and basket collection stations.
Mark and Brian were clearly onto something.
Orlando Dealer offers Picasso at Costco site
"http://www.sun-sentinel.com/news/local/florida/orl-locpicasso19011905jan19,0,7529894.story?coll=sfla-news-florida"
Speaking of the ridiculous to the sublime, you can actually buy fine art at Costco.
Would that be next to the large cans of tomato paste or paper towels? Soon you will need to go no further than Costco to buy all your necessities.
What can we expect from Wal-Mart, bulk Rolex sales? And people think we are an uncultured society…attention K-mart shoppers, today’s Blue Light Special is the original works of Rembrandt in aisle 31.
One distinguished academic called the aftermath an "intellectual tsunami." Others said that Harvard University, already under fire for failing to recruit enough professors, who are women in recent years, would now find it more difficult to attract the most accomplished candidates. And some alumnae said they would suspend donations to the university.
.
…Remarks by Lawrence Summers, Harvard's President, at a conference suggesting that innate differences between the sexes might explain why women do less well than men in mathematics and science careers, continued to resonate on campus and across the nation, triggering often furious reactions.
“CHRISTCO”
When I lived in California, there was a piece of property that was the object of desire by both Costco and a local church. It went to the City Council and I believe eventually ended up in the courts. Both groups wanted to build on the site and it was quite the power struggle, as it were. Mark and Brian, see link in previous article, did a very clever skit about the potential merger, which they entitled “CHRISTCO”….very funny stuff.
Shortly after that we moved to the Pac NW, and one day we pulled into a local parking lot, and there it was…well sort of.
One of the quickest growing churches in the area had in fact taken over old grocery stores and converted them into churches, complete with parking lot and basket collection stations.
Mark and Brian were clearly onto something.
Orlando Dealer offers Picasso at Costco site
"http://www.sun-sentinel.com/news/local/florida/orl-locpicasso19011905jan19,0,7529894.story?coll=sfla-news-florida"
Speaking of the ridiculous to the sublime, you can actually buy fine art at Costco.
Would that be next to the large cans of tomato paste or paper towels? Soon you will need to go no further than Costco to buy all your necessities.
What can we expect from Wal-Mart, bulk Rolex sales? And people think we are an uncultured society…attention K-mart shoppers, today’s Blue Light Special is the original works of Rembrandt in aisle 31.
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Cracker and Cheese?
TEHRAN (Reuters) - Iran has the military might to deter attacks against it, its defense minister said in remarks published Tuesday, one day after President Bush (news - web sites) said he would not rule out military action against Iran.
As a rule, I like to stay somewhat A-Political. I tend to vote for the best person or idea, as I see it. This hardly makes me unique; but I do agree, there are folks who vote a straight party line. That is their right, but I wonder at times how flexible they tend to be. I believe that loyalty is a good thing; but, as the old saying indicates, perhaps now is not the time to be re-arranging the deck furniture on the Titanic.
At times, I see so many of us feeling as if there is nothing we can do and even worse, we are best not to get involved. Always not the best course of action...
A few years back, my wife and I were invited to a small cocktail party being thrown by our fitness trainer from ‘our’ gym. I know that seems hard to believe; but, in fact, we actually joined a gym, got a trainer and even went as far as watching what we ate. It was actually some of the best times we shared as a couple and we learned many helpful things that we still employ today. ‘Passing the bottle of Advil’ would be just one example.
Never go to a party where 80% of the guests are personal trainers. There is simply no way to feel good about yourself and your personal fitness level. Try eating a healthy bean dip while holding IN your stomach at the same time.
At this party was an attractive woman who was also a client of our trainer. She was clearly enamored with one of the other folks there and fawned all over the object of her desire. While a group of us stood around the artichoke and soy dish, this young lady reached down to get a cracker to pass to her newfound beau.
I was unaware that certain hair products are still flammable even after being applied for quite sometime. As she reached for the cracker, she came within a foot or so of a candle that was on the little snack table. There was an interesting “whoosh” sound followed by a rather odd odor and a bright light. For what seemed like an eternity, people just stared at the now ‘flaming’ guest and most folks backed away rather quickly. I actually reached over two guests and began to beat out the flames as quickly as I could.
I am pleased to report that the woman, now known as “The Torch”, received no burns other than to her new “do”. As I tended to her in the bathroom, I assured her that she was fine and her hair looked “ok”. (I lied about the hair.)
I guess my point here would be…
I’m afraid Bush is getting this country way too close to the candle on the snack table.
.
As a rule, I like to stay somewhat A-Political. I tend to vote for the best person or idea, as I see it. This hardly makes me unique; but I do agree, there are folks who vote a straight party line. That is their right, but I wonder at times how flexible they tend to be. I believe that loyalty is a good thing; but, as the old saying indicates, perhaps now is not the time to be re-arranging the deck furniture on the Titanic.
At times, I see so many of us feeling as if there is nothing we can do and even worse, we are best not to get involved. Always not the best course of action...
A few years back, my wife and I were invited to a small cocktail party being thrown by our fitness trainer from ‘our’ gym. I know that seems hard to believe; but, in fact, we actually joined a gym, got a trainer and even went as far as watching what we ate. It was actually some of the best times we shared as a couple and we learned many helpful things that we still employ today. ‘Passing the bottle of Advil’ would be just one example.
Never go to a party where 80% of the guests are personal trainers. There is simply no way to feel good about yourself and your personal fitness level. Try eating a healthy bean dip while holding IN your stomach at the same time.
At this party was an attractive woman who was also a client of our trainer. She was clearly enamored with one of the other folks there and fawned all over the object of her desire. While a group of us stood around the artichoke and soy dish, this young lady reached down to get a cracker to pass to her newfound beau.
I was unaware that certain hair products are still flammable even after being applied for quite sometime. As she reached for the cracker, she came within a foot or so of a candle that was on the little snack table. There was an interesting “whoosh” sound followed by a rather odd odor and a bright light. For what seemed like an eternity, people just stared at the now ‘flaming’ guest and most folks backed away rather quickly. I actually reached over two guests and began to beat out the flames as quickly as I could.
I am pleased to report that the woman, now known as “The Torch”, received no burns other than to her new “do”. As I tended to her in the bathroom, I assured her that she was fine and her hair looked “ok”. (I lied about the hair.)
I guess my point here would be…
I’m afraid Bush is getting this country way too close to the candle on the snack table.
.
Monday, January 17, 2005
If it looks like a duck....
Once you’re ‘the guy with the thing on your neck’, you will always be ‘the guy with the thing on your neck.’
A buddy of mine tells a story about when he was going to school in Montana (See Montana Mafia and other bitter and cold states) and there was one guy there whose name he could never remember. But he always referred to him as ‘the guy with the thing on his neck’; apparently a birthmark of some sorts…the Russian leader look. He even says that all his friends always referred to this person as ‘the guy with…’ well you get the picture.
This got me to thinking about the difficulty of overcoming perceptions and how difficult it seems to be to grow in the eyes of others.
I always think of the actor who was the ‘Soup Nazi’ on ”Seinfeld.” It was probably the role of a lifetime for this, then, struggling actor. He was given a role that became synonymous with so many things in our lives. The phrase “no soup for you.” became as common as “Cowabunga” and could be heard in meetings to social situations. Sadly for this fine actor, who’s name I never remember, will always be the ‘Soup Nazi’? He can go into movies, television or live theater and someone will often say, ”Hey, isn’t that the ‘Soup Nazi’?”
Change is never easy and sometimes it is just best to move away and try a new start.
I had lived in California for a number of years when I received a call about a death of a very, close person in my life. I flew back (you know this was important if I flew) to Washington to speak at his funeral.
I decided to stay at the Lakeway Inn, a local hotel and watering hole. For many years, it had been a place I often visited after work and had in fact, become part of the evening crowd, as Billy Joel said so well in his song, ”Piano Man”.
Think of “Cheers”, where everybody knows your name and all the men looked like Norm.
The night before the funeral I decided to go down to the bar for a bite and a drink. What are the odds of that?
Life in California had become very much home for my wife and me. We had made new friends and in my case had been able to leave behind being the guy who was known as “Dutch’s” kid. Or as some preferred, the guy who had been married a bunch of times.
I still have people I know that use that as the best way to describe me. Suffice it to say, there was no burning desire to be back in the area, but this was very important.
So I walk into the bar, haven’t been in there for over five years. Sitting at the bar are the same five guys who were sitting there the last time I was there. One guy looks up and says “Hey Jack, what’s new?”
“Not much, just stepped out to buy some smokes,” was the only reply I could think of.
So ‘the guy with the thing on his neck’ and I have a lot in common… I guess.
A buddy of mine tells a story about when he was going to school in Montana (See Montana Mafia and other bitter and cold states) and there was one guy there whose name he could never remember. But he always referred to him as ‘the guy with the thing on his neck’; apparently a birthmark of some sorts…the Russian leader look. He even says that all his friends always referred to this person as ‘the guy with…’ well you get the picture.
This got me to thinking about the difficulty of overcoming perceptions and how difficult it seems to be to grow in the eyes of others.
I always think of the actor who was the ‘Soup Nazi’ on ”Seinfeld.” It was probably the role of a lifetime for this, then, struggling actor. He was given a role that became synonymous with so many things in our lives. The phrase “no soup for you.” became as common as “Cowabunga” and could be heard in meetings to social situations. Sadly for this fine actor, who’s name I never remember, will always be the ‘Soup Nazi’? He can go into movies, television or live theater and someone will often say, ”Hey, isn’t that the ‘Soup Nazi’?”
Change is never easy and sometimes it is just best to move away and try a new start.
I had lived in California for a number of years when I received a call about a death of a very, close person in my life. I flew back (you know this was important if I flew) to Washington to speak at his funeral.
I decided to stay at the Lakeway Inn, a local hotel and watering hole. For many years, it had been a place I often visited after work and had in fact, become part of the evening crowd, as Billy Joel said so well in his song, ”Piano Man”.
Think of “Cheers”, where everybody knows your name and all the men looked like Norm.
The night before the funeral I decided to go down to the bar for a bite and a drink. What are the odds of that?
Life in California had become very much home for my wife and me. We had made new friends and in my case had been able to leave behind being the guy who was known as “Dutch’s” kid. Or as some preferred, the guy who had been married a bunch of times.
I still have people I know that use that as the best way to describe me. Suffice it to say, there was no burning desire to be back in the area, but this was very important.
So I walk into the bar, haven’t been in there for over five years. Sitting at the bar are the same five guys who were sitting there the last time I was there. One guy looks up and says “Hey Jack, what’s new?”
“Not much, just stepped out to buy some smokes,” was the only reply I could think of.
So ‘the guy with the thing on his neck’ and I have a lot in common… I guess.
Sunday, January 16, 2005
Please Step Around the Elephant
I have been blessed in my former life as a working person. I have worked with some of the most interesting people. And how can I have been so special to work with this many whacks?
Where to begin, the list is not a short one and sadly, longer than the list of class acts that I also got to spend time with...
Maybe the 'charmer' in Procurement who left the death threats on my phone? The company handled that well; he got three days off and the Procurement group forever branded me as a 'troublemaker'. But of course, if I had just been a good “team player” and not raised the alarm to the fact the dude was dropping the ball and costing the company a fortune. My bad. I should have known my place and stayed in the hourly ranks. But wait, that reminds me of another fun episode.
Year’s prior, when I was in fact an hourly employee, the company hired a new supervisor to run our Storehouse group. Let's call him Bob, shall we? Bob was a delightful man, full of life and energy, and a natural born psycho. The first day I saw him there was deadness in his eyes that was beyond belief. I’m thinking the company wouldn’t hire this guy, would they? But of course, they did.
Bob was a troubled man who felt that intimidation was a clear management style and never something to be passed on. He loved to threaten and hold your job as the 'ultimate threat' in his hand. Before we knew it, Bob was “dating” some of the employees. Dating usually involved a form of bullying his way into your heart. "Go out with me or the good jobs won’t come your way." You get the drift. He and I were water and oil, not a match made in heaven.
Let me be the first to say that I wouldn’t want Me working for Me either. I can be difficult and it is the charm of Me. I do not, as a rule, give respect unless it is earned. Because you have a 'title' means very little to me, I am a registered minister, because I signed up for the 'title' on the Internet. I know four of us who drank together back in California in the same bar that could all legally marry you if need be.
Bob found these qualities in me less than refreshing. He once told me, after threatening to take me into the parking lot and kick the crap out of me (yet another leadership style I find a bit lacking) that if I would support him, "the rest of the clowns" (his words) in our group would follow. I declined his generous offer.
After some time, Bob and I came to an agreement of sorts to work in harmony, not to dissimilar from a truce in the Middle East. However, his constant intimidation of the female employees in our group was getting unbearable; but, hey, 'not my problem.' I have this huge character flaw; I actually care about people and think nothing of risking my career to do what is right.
One day two of my fellow employees took me aside and explained some of the 'stuff' old Bob was doing and frankly, it wasn’t very pretty. They asked me to help. Oh man, life was pretty safe for me and now you want me to get involved. Damn it.
So I knew where Bob had worked before and made some calls to some folks I knew there. They were able to confirm that this behavior was pretty similar to what they had experienced and they were quite relieved when he went to work for us. They also pointed out that 'sweet old Bob' was perfectly capable of carrying out his threats and was very fond of guns. Now I’m really feeling more of an urge to get involved.
Problem is, who is going to believe a bunch of employees over the Boss? After all, the face we saw was clearly different than the one he showed his boss and so on. After much thought, I decided it best to go to a person I trusted in our Medical group. Our HR Manager at the time was a guy named Tony, a story to itself, huh, Lana? Trust me when I say Tony was not a person open to the 'whining' of employees.
So our Medical guy made some calls and Bob was told to go home while they investigated.
Seems simple enough, but wait, there’s more, if you order now, we will throw in the girlfriend and other boss at no extra charge.
About a day after the “take some time off while we look into it," things got weirder. Our office 'super', (let's call him, John), called the head of Safety and told him that there may be a chance that Bob might have a gun and do something drastic. (Some mood music please.)
So here I am sitting at home when I get a call from the Sheriff’s department to give Me 'heads up' that Bob is missing. They did find a note that indicated he might be a touch annoyed about his 'time off' and just might be holding me responsible for all of his newfound problems. Oh, and he has a gun, so if I see him try not to make him mad.
I figure he is probably already mad.
So two long days of looking over my shoulder, we all get called into a meeting. The Plant Manager tells us they have found Bob and he has killed himself. To say there were some mixed emotions might be a stretch. The whole thing gets a lot more sordid and it is strongly suggested that I take a few days off till things blow over.
So here I am three days later in a local bar nursing a bourbon and coke and reflecting on the 'train wreck' I was just involved with. Over in the corner of the bar sat a few of Bob’s peers from work. One of them wanders over and sits down beside me. “So what was the big deal? So he was screwing some of the chicks in the storehouse,” my new friend says. “ You know it's your fault he killed himself?"
Just when I was wondering why Management never noticed the elephant in the living room.
Like I said, I have been blessed.
Where to begin, the list is not a short one and sadly, longer than the list of class acts that I also got to spend time with...
Maybe the 'charmer' in Procurement who left the death threats on my phone? The company handled that well; he got three days off and the Procurement group forever branded me as a 'troublemaker'. But of course, if I had just been a good “team player” and not raised the alarm to the fact the dude was dropping the ball and costing the company a fortune. My bad. I should have known my place and stayed in the hourly ranks. But wait, that reminds me of another fun episode.
Year’s prior, when I was in fact an hourly employee, the company hired a new supervisor to run our Storehouse group. Let's call him Bob, shall we? Bob was a delightful man, full of life and energy, and a natural born psycho. The first day I saw him there was deadness in his eyes that was beyond belief. I’m thinking the company wouldn’t hire this guy, would they? But of course, they did.
Bob was a troubled man who felt that intimidation was a clear management style and never something to be passed on. He loved to threaten and hold your job as the 'ultimate threat' in his hand. Before we knew it, Bob was “dating” some of the employees. Dating usually involved a form of bullying his way into your heart. "Go out with me or the good jobs won’t come your way." You get the drift. He and I were water and oil, not a match made in heaven.
Let me be the first to say that I wouldn’t want Me working for Me either. I can be difficult and it is the charm of Me. I do not, as a rule, give respect unless it is earned. Because you have a 'title' means very little to me, I am a registered minister, because I signed up for the 'title' on the Internet. I know four of us who drank together back in California in the same bar that could all legally marry you if need be.
Bob found these qualities in me less than refreshing. He once told me, after threatening to take me into the parking lot and kick the crap out of me (yet another leadership style I find a bit lacking) that if I would support him, "the rest of the clowns" (his words) in our group would follow. I declined his generous offer.
After some time, Bob and I came to an agreement of sorts to work in harmony, not to dissimilar from a truce in the Middle East. However, his constant intimidation of the female employees in our group was getting unbearable; but, hey, 'not my problem.' I have this huge character flaw; I actually care about people and think nothing of risking my career to do what is right.
One day two of my fellow employees took me aside and explained some of the 'stuff' old Bob was doing and frankly, it wasn’t very pretty. They asked me to help. Oh man, life was pretty safe for me and now you want me to get involved. Damn it.
So I knew where Bob had worked before and made some calls to some folks I knew there. They were able to confirm that this behavior was pretty similar to what they had experienced and they were quite relieved when he went to work for us. They also pointed out that 'sweet old Bob' was perfectly capable of carrying out his threats and was very fond of guns. Now I’m really feeling more of an urge to get involved.
Problem is, who is going to believe a bunch of employees over the Boss? After all, the face we saw was clearly different than the one he showed his boss and so on. After much thought, I decided it best to go to a person I trusted in our Medical group. Our HR Manager at the time was a guy named Tony, a story to itself, huh, Lana? Trust me when I say Tony was not a person open to the 'whining' of employees.
So our Medical guy made some calls and Bob was told to go home while they investigated.
Seems simple enough, but wait, there’s more, if you order now, we will throw in the girlfriend and other boss at no extra charge.
About a day after the “take some time off while we look into it," things got weirder. Our office 'super', (let's call him, John), called the head of Safety and told him that there may be a chance that Bob might have a gun and do something drastic. (Some mood music please.)
So here I am sitting at home when I get a call from the Sheriff’s department to give Me 'heads up' that Bob is missing. They did find a note that indicated he might be a touch annoyed about his 'time off' and just might be holding me responsible for all of his newfound problems. Oh, and he has a gun, so if I see him try not to make him mad.
I figure he is probably already mad.
So two long days of looking over my shoulder, we all get called into a meeting. The Plant Manager tells us they have found Bob and he has killed himself. To say there were some mixed emotions might be a stretch. The whole thing gets a lot more sordid and it is strongly suggested that I take a few days off till things blow over.
So here I am three days later in a local bar nursing a bourbon and coke and reflecting on the 'train wreck' I was just involved with. Over in the corner of the bar sat a few of Bob’s peers from work. One of them wanders over and sits down beside me. “So what was the big deal? So he was screwing some of the chicks in the storehouse,” my new friend says. “ You know it's your fault he killed himself?"
Just when I was wondering why Management never noticed the elephant in the living room.
Like I said, I have been blessed.