Source Credibility

Years back, I bought a company and wanted to do some management training and planning with our offices scattered across the Midwest. To reward the branch managers (or minimize excuses for not attending), I selected a desirable sight in Florida to escape the frigid weather.

The first day was going mediocre at best. I encouraged a give & take atmosphere, and fought hard to maintain a neutral visage in the face of disagreement or complaint. As they grew more confident that I sincerely wanted them to speak up, I detected an underlying problem.

Respect. Source credibility, to be precise. I could preach all I wanted about the way things should be, but I wasn’t in the field. They were where the rubber meets the road. I wasn’t.

I had bought the company, not worked my way up. They didn’t know me. They knew my reputation for succeeding, but hadn’t personally witnessed me do anything of note, for the most part, and didn’t know what I was capable of.

Unless I pulled a rabbit out of my hat, this training and strategizing was sure to fall on deaf ears. I didn’t have any rabbits.

At the end of the day, I had vans take them to a good restaurant. Then, I whisked them to a trendy chic bar. Very “Miami Vice” (the TV show was hot at the time). I told them the tab was mine. They warmed to me perceptibly.

But, that only buys you so much. I knew it would evaporate by morning.

We leaned on the acrylic bar and swilled pastel-colored drinks while Jan Hammer blared in the background. I tried to work in snippets of business sagacity, but their attention was elsewhere.

Their gazes led to a spectacular redhead sharing the rail with us. Her parents should’ve received the Nobel Prize for architecture.

We watched a few guys make their passes and go down in flames. My crew kept elbowing Sean Andrews, a Brad Pitt type who ran our Dayton operation, and tilting their heads toward the woman.

Okay, I get it. Andrews is the stud goose and they want him to take the shot, bringing vicarious glory to the team. He snugged up his tie and brushed the lank hair back from his forehead. I knew he was going in for the kill.

Andrews cranked up his smile to the full 500 watts and leaned in. I couldn’t hear the opening gambit, but saw her press her hands to her temples in anguish. When she did so, I also saw something else of significance to me. Maybe I did have a rabbit, after all.

She shook her head in the negative, but Andrews pressed the attack. Good for him. A key rule of selling is to never accept the first “no.” He kept firing, but she impaled him with a withering stare. Andrews broke off the attack and slunk back to base. Comforting hands found his shoulders.

“Okay boys, take a lesson.” I downed the remainder of my drink and tried not to cough. Would’ve spoiled the effect. I edged over to the woman, catching their gapes of disbelief in the mirror behind the bar.

The “oh crap” look crept across her features. I get a lot of that. “I know you’ve been hit on by half the bar with boring pickup lines. But, I have a proposition that I know will intrigue you.”

“Oh really. And what might that be? And, I’m already kicking myself for asking.”

“I have a unique and unusual talent that will truly amaze you. Truly. If I do, you let me buy you a drink. If I don’t, I walk.”

“You’re about to walk anyway, but just for kicks and grins, what is this so-called talent? And, it had better not be obscene. I know the bouncer.”

“Not in the least. I have memorized and can sing the alma mater of every high school in the United States of America. Name one and I’ll sing for you.”

“Really.”

“Really.”

“Every one.”

“Every single one.”

“That isn’t very interesting, but it’s definitely unusual. Why would you do that?”

“I’ll throw in the explanation with the serenade. Do we have a deal?”

She pondered it. “Okay, slick. You’re on.”

“You have to name a school before I sing.” She did and I did.

She was, in fact, amazed. I bought her a drink and chatted long enough to establish creds with my gang (amazing them). I don’t recall the reason I divulged for allegedly memorizing the songs, but it doesn’t matter. Whatever it was, I made it up on the spot.

I spoke on many topics with her, with the notable exception of how I knew the alma mater of the school she named. You see, when she had previously put her fingers to her temples, I noticed the distinctive class ring of my own high school. She didn’t need to know that, and neither did my protégés.

The next day went infinitely better. My coup had mushroomed to epic proportions by the time breakfast dishes were cleared.

Now, you might say, what the hell did that have to do with source credibility? And I might respond, you don’t know guys very well, do you?