Partner Problems?

My lawyer was asking for advice about advertising. Really, do I get to bill you, now?

One of the best legal services ads I ever saw was a shot of an old-fashioned cash register, with a man greedily plunging his hands into the till. Another gent was behind him, strangling him. The headline was, “Partner Problems?”

Business mergers, partnerships, etc. are like any other relationship. I’ve got enough of them under my belt to be aware of the good, the bad and the ugly.

And, the ugliest. In one early business venture, I had Norm, the partner from hell. Being relatively inexperienced at the time, I did the deal because of the assets Norm brought to the table, even though I could see he’d be a problem.

I blame myself. We first met for lunch. While we were waiting in line for a table, Norm tapped the woman in front of us on the shoulder and said “hello.” She turned around, recognized him, kneed him in the crotch and stomped off. Norm said she must’ve thought he was someone else.

Okay, this might be a red flag.

The root of this was typical Norm. Norm was 59. To look at him, you might think 49. To read his singles ad, you’d get 39. You’d think it would be obvious that responding singles would detect the difference as soon as they met, so why lie?

Norm closed that gap with a personal trainer, spray-on tan, toupee, tailored Italian clothes, gold chains and a $90,000 sports car. Or, so he thought. Apparently, most of them could tell his age wasn’t what he said anyway. Especially in one case, when Norm sneezed and his rug flew across the table into her fettuccine alfredo.

Norm did register feedback that the fact that he had never been married was perceived as a negative. So, he edited his ads to show himself as divorced, and acquired some wallet photos of “his children.”

If that wasn’t nauseating enough, the lead to his ad was “Corporate executive who has worked too hard building his company wants to now devote himself to relaxing and a mate; sharing his life and fortunes.” Norm never shared anything except your food and his aches and pains. I had no problem shutting my door to him, but our employees weren’t quite in that position.

When I was spending as much time hearing complaints about Norm as I was doing business, I called him in. Many of us had hinted, but he was beyond oblivious. It was time to draw lines.

“Norm, I want you to stop going through people’s desks and taking their food.”

“They don’t mind. They know I work long hours and that I sometimes need to get my blood sugar up.”

“They think you’re a thief and know you don’t do squat around here. And, they don’t want you wasting their time with daily updates on your aches and pains because they DO have things to get done around here.”

“They know I have health issues and are concerned.”

“Everyone has health issues and they think you’re a little sissy for crying to everyone about yours.”

“Be sympathetic for a change “

“Be a man for a change. And while you’re at it, don’t bother them with strange tales of your personal ad mating rituals.

“They think it’s romantic.”

“They think you’re a pervert. Look, they’re here to work and earn a living. We want them to work. It’s a win-win. Stop distracting them from work and leave them alone.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“If you’d start using the warehouse door to avoid walking through the office, I’d appreciate it.”

In my callow youth, I thought we had resolved the problem. I had not bothered to project the upshot. Norm was what he was and therefore had no other choice but to act like a Norm.

Having lost an audience in the office, he turned to the outside world of customers and vendors. I was taken off guard by the first call.

“You badgered me for three months to give you our business, now you’re pulling it?”

“Calm down, Ed, and tell me what you’re talking about.”

“Kathy was on the phone with your sales manager and he resigned the account.”

“We don’t have a sales manager. Is she sure it was us?”

“Seems to be. He said that if she wasn’t interested in his bunion surgery or something, he wasn’t interested in shipping her any more stock.”

“Oh, God.”

“Also, something about him asking her to send him a picture of herself.”

“Oh, God.”

“Then, it is your sales manager?”

“No, Ed, but I know who it is. We’re still hooked up with you and I promise he won’t call again.” He couldn’t call if I snapped his neck. But, alas, killing him would probably be doing him a favor.

I called Norm’s extension, but no answer. So, I stuck my head outside the office and asked Maureen to track down Norm and bring him directly to my office. The inflection might’ve been a tad stronger than a request.

“Do you want to count to ten or a hundred or maybe a million, first?”

“Just get him, thank you.”

I had a bunch of calls on hold, all seeming to be related to the same problem. The third I took was from Johnny Magg in Louisville. Oh, double God. I didn’t know Mr. Magg very well, but my old street sense had put him on the short Do-Not-Cross-Under-Any-Circumstance list.

He gave a terse account of their “sales manager” call. “Do you want to know what this dog turd said to my daughter?”

“It’s not necessary. I get the picture.”

“Get this picture. If this guy ever calls again, writes a letter or even sets a pinkie toe down on Kentucky soil, I’ll send him back to you in a sponge.”

Not sure I completely understood that one. “I understand perfectly, Johnnie.” He hung up. All the lights on my phone lines were blinking. Would it never end?

A tapping on my door sill. “You were looking for me?”

“Yes, Norm, pack your bag. We need you to make a visit in Louisville.”