Lesson learned

It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood. My old truck sold and sold for a price thousands more than the dealers were offering for a trade-in. Tonight, I went out and celebrated the victory. The victory wasn’t that it sold as much as how it sold. It was a celebration of a lesson learned; learned about 40 years ago. It was my first professional job and I was meeting with my boss. He brought up that our sales were running behind budget. I had analyzed that and cited the market conditions that were reasons for it. He had been somewhat reclined in his executive chair, but sat up and leaned toward me. “Dorfman, I don’t hire people to come up with reasons why we’re behind budget. I can get hundreds of people who can do that. I pay people to find ways to hit our numbers.” Message and lesson received. Deciding to sell the truck on my own, as opposed to taking a lowball dealer trade-in price, I had researched the best places to advertise. I came up with three well-rated ones and placed the ads. I anticipated a good response because I had intentionally selected a hot seller when I bought the truck. I gave the ads a week to gain traction but it was tepid, at best. Analysis showed that someone had apparently acquired a number of similar models coming off lease and dumped them on the market. Great timing. But, the lesson is that you don’t sit back and suffer poor outcomes. You do something about it. I started by assessing my “product” and where it had differential advantages. Then, I listed the types of buyers to whom these advantages would have the most appeal. In this case, farmers, boaters, landscapers, trailer campers, etc. Using this template, I compiled an email list and composed a sales email the illustrated how this acquisition was a rare opportunity. The truck sold almost immediately. If you assign outside factors and other people responsibility for your outcomes, you lose. If you take responsibility and control, you win. It’s a lesson that served me well.

And the good news is...

Yes, I’ve been dormant, blogging wise. I’m reminded of an interview of a rock star from the 60s. She said the first album was easy to write. They were living out of a van and subsisting on potato chips. There was plenty of angst to drive the creative process. However, when that album hit big, they were driving Porsches and slurping down caviar. It was tough to write songs of woe and protest. Life is good. I’ve got no complaints. What compels this is more good news. I’m not the least tech-savvy person in the country. I listed a vehicle for sale on the web and received a call this afternoon from a number based in northern Indiana. The caller asked a few questions and, apparently satisfied, told me he was in town for a couple days and would like to look at it. I asked him where he would be coming from so I could give him directions. He described a section of Indianapolis. This puzzled me since I’m in Cincinnati. I informed him of this and it was his turn to be puzzled. As it turns out, he thought that any ads he turned up on the computer at the Indianapolis hotel where he was staying would be for vehicles for sale in Indianapolis. I gladly surrender my crown to him.

A half century of evolution

The summer after I graduated high school, I worked at a chain burger stand. One day, the manager told us he had to go somewhere for a few hours (probably to see his bookie) and to hold down the fort for a couple hours. I was working the fry table (which, back then, involved peeling, slicing and frying) but noticed a few eruptions at the front window. During a lull in the action, I asked the counter guys what was going on. They replied that we were out of cream and the coffee customers were getting pissed off. I asked what they planned to do about it and they looked at each other and then me, like I was the idiot. “I said,” intoned LaForgia with slow emphasis, as though to a small child or foreigner, “we’re out of cream.” Ivecchio chuckled in appreciation of the implied put-down. I could’ve explained that was the problem, not the solution, but I had never seen anyone profit by pointing out the mental shortcomings of these two. Instead, I popped the till, pulled out a one and walked across the street to buy a pint of cream. I returned and handed it to LaForgia. He looked at me as though I had turned water into Merlot. Fast forward a half century. Today, I was with some people and we decided to have an impromptu picnic. We stopped at a big grocery store to get some food at their deli. I ordered a sandwich and asked the woman to put some mustard on it. She informed me they were out of mustard. Out of mustard? Not fifty feet away, there were about 300 jars and squeeze bottles of mustard, but she’s out of mustard. She didn’t appear as lethal as LaForgia so I was about to respond but one of my companions who knows me pretty well dug her fingertips into my arm. A half of century of evolution and I’m not seeing any progress.

Garbage

I was in the waiting room of a car dealership while my car was being serviced. Two of the other customers started discussing the recent suicide of a young man. They exchanged “things they heard.” This rankled me but, recognizing what quality level of primates who fabricate and promulgate rumor, I didn’t think it would do any good to correct the information. While the mongers don’t merit any notice, I have personal knowledge of the young man, so it was irritating. What makes this so strident is that no one saw it coming. He was a splendid example of a young man. There were no mood swings, inappropriate anger, impulsive behavior, delusions, paranoia, instability or other symptoms of serious mental illness. The inexplicability creates a lack of closure, at least for me. He was just plain good and deserved much better. Certainly better than having garbage spreading unfounded aspersions about him.

Group

I was hanging out with some acquaintances and one seemed antsy. Finally, she excused herself because she needed to decide what food to prepare for a party and make it. I asked what kind of party. It was the graduation party for her anxiety group. So, you’re agonizing over what to bring to…never mind. Stranger things have happened in and with group therapy. I ran a nonprofit mental health/drug & alcohol clinic for eight years. If a group was short on participants, the therapist would grab me to bring it up to critical mass (I usually worked late and was handy for them). There was no violation of privacy or anything as the therapist would identify me and get permission from the group. I haven’t encountered many outsiders who know much more about group therapy than the term. The advantages that most professionals in the field list are hope (participants can see others who have advanced in their healing), help from those who’ve “been there,” feeling that you’re not alone, catharsis and existential factors (group support and direction leads people to recognize they are responsible for their own actions and choices, as well as the results of them). To me, the last one is an important one because the weight of the group can sometimes accomplish this better than a single therapist. You can experience that single therapist’s frustration as part of a group and understand why their burnout rate is so high. I’ll illustrate two of the most common scenarios. They’re common enough in group situations that there’s no chance it will identify an individual. A man beats his wife for having dinner on the table a little late, maybe for the third or fourth time. He gets arrested. He’s enraged. Why did they arrest me? She made me do it! To this type of mind, he had no responsibility in this for his actions. She brought it on, not him, so she’s the one responsible for it. Yeah, there are people who dismiss their own responsibility for their actions like that (more than you want to know) and it takes a ton of effort to get them to see the light, if that ever happens. A variation of this shifting of reponsibility goes something like the estranged husband leaves a death threat on the woman’s answering machine. She calls the police and he’s arrested. He’s furious because she caused his arrest. In his mind, it’s not that he threatened her that caused his problems. It’s that she called the cops. She caused his problems. He had nothing to do with it. He did nothing wrong. Just so I’m not weighting the gender scale, a woman complained that her husband always yells at her when she doesn’t pay the bills and they get nailed with late fees and interest (she insists on handling the checkbook). Some probing revealed this occurs about four out of every six months. In her mind, he’s the problem and the only problem. So, if you’re in a lot and you park a wheel on his foot, the problem isn’t you’re crushing his appendage. The problem is he’s yelping about the pain? He’s the problem? By denying her responsibility, you can see that she has little chance of correcting behavior. That’s the problem. These people will have the same issues over and over with different people but they refuse to see that clearly illustrates wherein lies the problem. The group will attempt to play back the described scenario to them to help them grasp reality, but that’s usually met with a dodging of the facts and an attempt to turn it around. “You’re using my own words against me!” That’s the frustration and I pretty much ODed on people on create their own issues and then blame others. I give therapists a lot of credit for coping with this on a full time basis. But, the most exasperating encounter took place outside of group. A woman stormed into my office to complain about the treatment of her adolescent son, who found himself in group as a condition of parole on drug charges. Her complaint was that we stuck him in a group with a bunch of users. I explained that group worked on the principle of interacting with people who shared a common problem, which she dismissed out of hand. That’s what got him in this mess to begin with, associating with users (not his own decisions?). She demanded he be reassigned to another group or she’d sue. Who did she expect to be in a group for addiction therapy, nuns?

Challenges

Related to the two previous postings, I was asked to join the board of an organization that advocates the recreational usage of a particular watercourse. I declined but offered to render some marketing assistance. They were happy to accept and forwarded a draft of a flyer that promotes their next outing on the water for my perusal. It included the following: "*Warning: Ohio EPA recommends no contact with waters of the (deleted) because it has excessive levels of fecal coliform bacteria and other pathogens from time to time, especially within 48 to 72 hours of a rainstorm heavy enough to cause combined sewer overflows along the lower (deleted). It is your personal choice on whether to participate, based largely on the strength of your immune system and your willingness to take a calculated risk. If you have an open cut or weakened immunities, you should not go. We prefer adults, but have allowed youths accompanied by a parent. You will need to be sure-footed in some places. Be ready to climb out of the canoe to get past shallow spots and low-head dams. Potential safety hazards include sudden drop-offs, hidden holes, slippery algae, submerged obstacles and jagged objects. Germicidal gel and a simple first-aid kit will be available." I know I wrote that I’m looking for challenges, but…

Philosophies of aging

I bought a kayak. Okay, that’s hardly a news flash. But this one, a surfski, is a departure from the rest of the fleet, requiring enhancing and adding skills to meet its higher demands. The week prior, a friend bought a sea kayak of commodious proportions and ease. He’s a bit younger than me. I took care not to react critically, although he must’ve picked up some reaction. “At least I didn’t go to the expense of getting a wide boat made from composite.” I wasn’t thinking that or anything critical. More like I was musing about the difference in philosophies with neither being exclusively correct. He’s looking to make things easier in his “declining years” (wait till he’s my age). I get it. But, a race driver doesn’t take his/her foot off the gas in the final laps and neither do I. I have things to accomplish and learn before I cross that finish line. If I’m not moving up, it’s not living. But, that’s just my opinion.

Boards

In the past three months, I’ve been invited to come on as many boards. I take such things seriously and declined in each case. If I don’t have the fire in the belly for it and won’t give a hundred percent, I don’t think it’s right to occupy a chair. The concept of boards for organizations and companies looks great on paper. Unfortunately, it often smashes upon the rocks of reality. A board should be an independent group of people who oversee the management of the entity, ensuring that business is conducted in a competent, moral and legal manner, congruent with the bylaws and mission. I see two areas where this often breaks down, starting with “independent.” CEOs sometimes sit on each other’s board. The tacit agreement is that, “I’ll support you in your company if you return the favor.” Or, the pay and/or prestige is attractive enough that the board member will accept the position with an understanding that he/she will not be intrusive and will rubber stamp whatever management wants. In any case, the required independence and objectivity is undermined. Somewhat related is that many people want and seek board positions for the prestige and perceived power, or how it dresses up a resume. However, they are unwilling to put in the requisite time and effort for delving into the entity and its field. Or, they are averse to challenging anything an established CEO cares to do. The result of the dilettante boards is the management can essentially operate without accountability. That’s why you constantly see management of charitable organizations lavishing excessive salaries and perks upon themselves or companies marketing substandard products. I believe that what is at the root of this is director & officer liability insurance. Coverage is almost of a blanket extent, protecting lapses in responsibility. In other words, there isn’t much downside in being lax or compliant. The solution is to restrict the limits of that protection so a director does have skin in the game. I believe that would eliminate those who take the appointments or duties casually.

Ragtop Man

“I’m a ragtop man.” I uttered that in the mid-sixties and heard it flung back at me in a movie almost 20 years later. I had a band in high school. I also worked in a car shop and drag raced. These two are connected. The members of the band decided we needed a cool vehicle to haul around our stuff. Since I was known for turning junkers into hot rods, all eyes turned to me. Steve, my partner in a variety of creative projects, prevailed upon me to find an old hearse and convert it into our band wagon. He was not very well tuned in because hearses weren’t cheap. We were in the midst of the surfing craze and the surfers were grabbing up hearses to haul their boards. Besides, I had determined that my next project would be a convertible, lusting for the wind blowing through my lush mane (yes, I had hair). I looked Steve in the eye. “I’m a ragtop man.” Steve would go on to be a prominent screenwriter and based a character upon me. I didn’t realize that until Nick Nolte laid the line on Eddie Murphy. I contacted Steve and he admitted using me as the model. When I asked about the possibility of royalties, the story changed to “loosely based upon you.” But, I digress. I didn’t get the convertible, at least not then. A local mob guy was shot in his trusty old limousine and I was able to get it cheap. The body had sat in the car which sat in a garage for an extended period before it was discovered. The weather wasn’t cool. The band usually rode with the windows down in it, regardless of air temperature. Later on, I had the means to be a ragtop man and went through a series of convertibles. But, they fell out of fashion and I was losing my passion for them anyway. Until a few months ago. Something clicked, some switch was thrown or whatever. And, it was a burning for old school. That is, not for some flashy, hey-look-at-me dart but rather just a barge with the top lopped off. This was for me to experience not others to view. I wanted the anti-cool droptop. I began a search. It was hard. Most modern convertibles are models that are trying to be cool. Some of the chic older ones merited preservation and are selling at premium price. But, chic isn’t what I wanted, anyway. I desired the nerd convertible. Hardly anyone bothered to care for them, much less restore them. They were rusting hulks in some field. I watched a movie and there was a squared-off Chevy Cavalier convertible with that hideous safety overreaction roll bar. Perfect. I did a web search of ads. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Ashes to ashes. I continued the search on a sporadic basis. There were hundreds of Mustangs, Eclipses, Miatas and other posers. Ugh. Maybe I had to compromise and change my standards. No, I forged on. Somewhere out there, there was something between the uber-priced classic Buicks and just-too-cute Toyota MR2s. I would find it. Yesterday was just one more of wading through hundreds of ads for effete offerings and I almost missed her. There she was in all her boxy clunkiness, a ’94 Olds Cutlass. A brand society had kicked to the curb. Old enough to depress the price but not so long in the tooth that it commanded classic bucks. Someone had cared for it, even though they had barely driven it (41,000 miles). I contacted the seller, trying to conceal the salivating, and set an appointment for the next day. I didn’t sleep last night, as is my custom. Be careful what you wish for. The phrase I repeated over and over as I drove to the meeting. I had researched the car and made a checklist of weak points to look out for. My greatest fears were confirmed. It was almost perfect. Now, it’s case of thinking it through. Be careful what you wish for.