The mailbox is a foreboding place these days. Like a 4:00 a.m. phone call, you know it’s not going to be good news. There was a time when I might look forward to a letter from a distant friend. Now friends just email me the latest YouTube link. Is it just me, or are you beginning to wonder if Susan Boyle knows a song other than “I Dream a Dream?”
Publisher’s Clearinghouse Sweepstakes could be informing me that “I may already be a winner!” But I doubt it. Ed McMahon died and my hopes of an oversized check with my name on it died with him.
Nonetheless, I reluctantly trudged out to the mailbox this morning and here’s what I found:
3 magazines (I actually subscribe to one of them)
3 catalogs
2 ads
1 Christmas Card (from my insurance agent)
15 pleas for donations from nonprofits
‘Tis the season.
So I go through the stack. I pull out the “mailing labels enclosed” because I can always use more return address labels. OK, actually I can’t use more. I already have so many that I don’t know what to do with them. But I feel guilty throwing them out. Of course, that’s exactly what the nonprofit is hoping. That I’ll feel guilty about their having made up these lovely personalized labels.
The thing is: Lots of times they don’t get the name correct. Kay Lorraine. Sometimes they decide that my name must really be Lorraine Kay. Like I wouldn’t know my own name just because I’m blonde. And how do they know that I’m blonde? Worrisome.
Furthermore, my husband’s name is Brad Bate. Mostly, I don’t use his name. I use my husband a lot but his name, not so much. So I get Lorraine Bate, Kay Bate, Mrs. Kay Bate, Mr. Kay Bate, and – my own personal favorite – Mr. Brad Lorraine.
Anyway, I have too many labels. But my packrat mind keeps them all – just in case! Even the Christmas labels which, as a practicing Jew, are probably inappropriate for me, but the gas company doesn’t know that I’m Jewish so I use them to pay bills. I think of it as “Festive.” The Christmas Cards with the snow scenes are another story. As a Jew in Hawai‘i, they just don’t say “Happy Holidays” for me. But I keep the envelopes to pay bills with.
The only labels I don’t feel bad about tossing are the Jerry Lewis MD labels. Not because of Jerry or his kids. I give money every year to Jerry. But those are hands-down the most ugly labels known to man. Year after year, they never get any better. Horsy bold typeface set too close together. Yuk! Doesn’t the MD marketing department have an art director? Or someone with some esthetic sensitivity that can look at those suckers and say, “Guys, this is just crap.” It costs the same amount of money to print a nice serif typeface with decent kerning and leading as it does to print crap. Hello! So I throw those directly into the trash with no remorse.
But then there are the groups who send you a nickel. Do you peel off the nickels? Me, too. I just do it so that the metal doesn’t screw up the shreader at the city dump. That’s the only reason – I’m not really greedy; It’s an ecology thing. Sure.
At least it’s not as bad as the Indian Reservation that sends me blankets made from toilet paper byproducts.
Who knows better than I do how desperate nonprofits are these days? Each time I pass the empty building where the Hawai‘i Women’s Business Center stood, a pain shoots through my heart. They closed the doors over a year ago. I was the Executive Director. My husband says, “You have to move on.” Of course, he’s right.
In this economy, nobody has any money. So the nonprofits are glutting the mail. Can this possibly be profitable? I now own eleven free calendars for next year, filled with lovely pictures of polar bears and homeless children and whales-worth-saving. If those nonprofits took all of the money they spend on mailing labels, calendars, Christmas cards, Tibetan peace flags, and Indian blankets and did good instead, wouldn’t we all be better off? Or does no one give money to any charity anymore unless they get something or are guilted into it? Maybe that’s what we did wrong at the Business Center. Too much free counseling – not enough mailing labels. Sure.
Everyone is scrambling for every nickel these days. Not me, of course. I’m just trying to do my part to save the shreader.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Washing the Tin Foil
I’m in London, washing tin foil. That statement doesn’t make any more sense to me than it does to you, but it’s true, nonetheless.
I’m on an extended holiday in England where I am visiting friends. The advantage to staying with locals is not only the excellent room rates (free!) but also the opportunity to learn local customs — such as the ritual washing of the tin foil. You just can’t get these kinds of experiences at the Marriott.
You see, England is deeply into recycling. But there’s no consistency from one region to another. So as I have traveled around (or travelled, as they spell it over here), I’ve had to learn the recycling rules of each new neighborhood. The rules range from rational to idiotic.
In the particular borough of Surrey where I first stayed, it was pretty much only a minor bit of sorting. Paper from metal, etc. Perfectly reasonable. When I moved on to visit friends in Suffolk, it got slightly more complicated. We were up to three wheeled bins, a green box and a compost. Paper, for instance, went into the blue bin unless you had wiped your mouth with it, which contaminated it with food product (gee, one lousy spaghetti stain) and, thus, got put into the black or grey bin. I can’t tell you how many times I got in trouble on that one.
The hands-down winner for nuttiest system I encountered, however, was Newcastle-under-Lyme with a grand total of nine (9) different colored boxes, wheelie bins, colored plastic bags, and kitchen slopbuckets (one for cooked and one for uncooked food waste).
Which is why I am washing the tin foil. Right now, I’m in London and although we only have to deal with a few various bins and boxes, there are some unique peculiarities. Used tin foil, for instance, must be folded flat and put in the green box (not the green wheelie bin – that’s something else). But it cannot have any food product on it. Ever tried to get tin foil clean after broiling dover sole on it? Trust me, it ain’t easy. First you have to soak it overnight. Then you scrub it with a toothbrush. All so that you can throw it in the trash.
Why am I doing this? Why, for the very same reason that I am watering the weeds. You see, the friend that I am staying with in London keeps her garden fairly wild. She has pots all over the place. Some of them have tomato plants or herbs. Others have been sitting around untouched for years and now sprout nothing but weeds; pots of weeds. But when you ask the lady of the house if she would like to have you clean them out, she is as shocked as if you had suggested that you throw away her furniture. So, when asked to water the garden, I dutifully water each and every potted weed with the same careful attention that I give to the flowers. Because it’s her house and her rules.
It’s a lot like the workplace. Sure, you are asked to do stupid, unnecessary work that would be much more efficient with a better system. But the boss sets the rules and your job is to follow them. No matter how obvious it is that your way would be infinitely better.
Company rules and regulations are all based in some sort of good intention. But like the nine different recycling bins, sometimes the system gets out of control. You can complain. You can cram the suggestion box with improved plans. But in the end, you have a responsibility to follow the regulations, no matter how insane they are. And at some point you find yourself washing tin foil with a toothbrush.
By the way, if you are being driven insane by the minutia, you just might be tempted to wipe the spaghetti off your mouth with a piece of toilet paper, then then flush it down the loo at the end of the meal. There’s probably some rule against that, too. Thankfully, it never occurred to anyone to tell me about it.
I’m on an extended holiday in England where I am visiting friends. The advantage to staying with locals is not only the excellent room rates (free!) but also the opportunity to learn local customs — such as the ritual washing of the tin foil. You just can’t get these kinds of experiences at the Marriott.
You see, England is deeply into recycling. But there’s no consistency from one region to another. So as I have traveled around (or travelled, as they spell it over here), I’ve had to learn the recycling rules of each new neighborhood. The rules range from rational to idiotic.
In the particular borough of Surrey where I first stayed, it was pretty much only a minor bit of sorting. Paper from metal, etc. Perfectly reasonable. When I moved on to visit friends in Suffolk, it got slightly more complicated. We were up to three wheeled bins, a green box and a compost. Paper, for instance, went into the blue bin unless you had wiped your mouth with it, which contaminated it with food product (gee, one lousy spaghetti stain) and, thus, got put into the black or grey bin. I can’t tell you how many times I got in trouble on that one.
The hands-down winner for nuttiest system I encountered, however, was Newcastle-under-Lyme with a grand total of nine (9) different colored boxes, wheelie bins, colored plastic bags, and kitchen slopbuckets (one for cooked and one for uncooked food waste).
Which is why I am washing the tin foil. Right now, I’m in London and although we only have to deal with a few various bins and boxes, there are some unique peculiarities. Used tin foil, for instance, must be folded flat and put in the green box (not the green wheelie bin – that’s something else). But it cannot have any food product on it. Ever tried to get tin foil clean after broiling dover sole on it? Trust me, it ain’t easy. First you have to soak it overnight. Then you scrub it with a toothbrush. All so that you can throw it in the trash.
Why am I doing this? Why, for the very same reason that I am watering the weeds. You see, the friend that I am staying with in London keeps her garden fairly wild. She has pots all over the place. Some of them have tomato plants or herbs. Others have been sitting around untouched for years and now sprout nothing but weeds; pots of weeds. But when you ask the lady of the house if she would like to have you clean them out, she is as shocked as if you had suggested that you throw away her furniture. So, when asked to water the garden, I dutifully water each and every potted weed with the same careful attention that I give to the flowers. Because it’s her house and her rules.
It’s a lot like the workplace. Sure, you are asked to do stupid, unnecessary work that would be much more efficient with a better system. But the boss sets the rules and your job is to follow them. No matter how obvious it is that your way would be infinitely better.
Company rules and regulations are all based in some sort of good intention. But like the nine different recycling bins, sometimes the system gets out of control. You can complain. You can cram the suggestion box with improved plans. But in the end, you have a responsibility to follow the regulations, no matter how insane they are. And at some point you find yourself washing tin foil with a toothbrush.
By the way, if you are being driven insane by the minutia, you just might be tempted to wipe the spaghetti off your mouth with a piece of toilet paper, then then flush it down the loo at the end of the meal. There’s probably some rule against that, too. Thankfully, it never occurred to anyone to tell me about it.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Are Job Interviews Like Women?
Are job interviews like women? What an odd question. And yet, today on one of the Linkedin Business discussions about job hunting, someone posted the opinion that job hunting “is like a woman. They know within 30 seconds from meeting a man whether they're going to have fun-time with them or not. The decision is (sic) ultimately been made so…you just gotta sit back and take being ignored….”
At first glance it appears that someone out there is not having good luck with women or job hunting (or both), and is getting a tad bitter about it. But, in truth, I suspect that he may be on to something.
I suspect that when you interview for a job, within 30 seconds of walking into the interview room they have a pretty good idea of whether you are a viable candidate or not. In fact, I would venture to say that it may be even faster than that. Job interviewing is a subjective business. I suspect that within the first five seconds of meeting the interviewer, you may not have secured a job but at least half of the time, you’ve already lost it.
I used to be in the film production business and I know that there are few things as subjective as that of casting an actor for a part. Even if the client and director don’t have a preconceived notion of how they want the actor to look, I can guarantee you that they have an unconscious instinct of how they DON’T want the actor to look.
I used to try to explain in SAG (Screen Actors Guild) seminars that 90% of the time, when the actor walked through the door of the audition studio, he or she was automatically eliminated for reasons of pure subjectivity. The actor was too old, too young, too fat, too skinny, too tall, too short, too glamorous, too plain-Jane, and (the worst sin of all) too ethnic! In the film business, “ethnic” is a code word for “looks Jewish," much like in the HR business, where “overqualified” is a code word for “too old.” I used to tell actors not to be so hard on themselves; what are they going to do, act taller?
First impressions are important. In job hunting, you meet the interviewer and are likely to have been eliminated right off the bat for much of the same reasoning as an actor is eliminated in an audition. Bosses are human and that means they carry around a lot of subjective opinions. The same can be said for buyers of products. That’s the reason that branding is so important – it creates an unconscious sense of the buyer’s perceived “experience” with the product.
HR people want to hire a candidate that is not only competent to do the job but will also fit into the corporate culture of the organization. A joker in the mortuary business is probably not a good match, but that same joker would fit right in at Google’s corporate headquarters.
You only get one chance to make a first impression. I first read that phrase in an article by job expert/columnist George Gurney, but I suspect that George stole, oops, I mean borrowed it from somewhere else. Whatever. Job counselors have written reams on how to dress for a job interview, so as to create the best possible first impression. Or more correctly, so as not to be eliminated in the interviewer’s mind before he/she gets a chance to get to know you and find out how repulsive you really are.
But we all know how to make a good impression in an interview, so let’s go back to the more interesting statement comparing recruiters to us loathsome, judgmental women and whether you guys really “just gotta sit back and take being ignored,” or can genuinely improve your chances of “scoring” with us.
Gentlemen: I cannot speak for all women, but let me give you a little list of things that will guarantee that you will not “have fun-time” with me:
1. Pinky rings. Honestly, does anything scream conceited asshole quite as quickly as a man with a pinky ring? Especially pinky rings with flashy jewels in them. And while we’re on the subject, is it just me or has anyone else ever noticed the strange correlation between men who get manicures (the kind with a coating of clear polish), men who wear pinky rings and men who smoke cigars? I don’t know why, but odds are if you have any one of those traits you will have at least one of the others and probably all three. Yuk!
2. Men who tell a woman that if she plays her cards right she could “get lucky.” You call that lucky? (By the way, this doesn’t count if the woman you are saying it to is your wife, although the question, “You call that lucky?” may, in some cases, still apply.)
3. Men with a heart-wrenching story. Life is too short to waste your time on a sad sack. Tell me about your miserable divorce within the first 30 minutes of meeting me and watch me run for the hills!
4. Men who make jokes about dumb and/or heartless women. Hello! I am a woman!! At the same time, this rule does not apply to women who make jokes about how dumb and/or useless men are – those jokes are funny. Plus, most women are bright enough not to tell them out loud until after we are married.
5. Men who are obsessed with money, either how much they have or how little they have. I’m interested in a relationship with you, not your wallet.
6. Men who are obsessed with religion. Don’t tell me about your personal relationship with God on the first date. If you’re that religious, why are you trying to secure “fun-time” with me on the first date anyway?
7. .Body odors of any kind. I don’t want to smell you before you walk in the door. That goes for cologne and/or aftershave as much as it does BO. Check all assaults on my olfactory senses at the door, please.
8. It’s all about me/you! The first impression should be a two way street. I want an equal exchange of information. Talk about yourself endlessly, and I’ll think you’re not interested in me. Grill me about my life without sharing anything in return and I’ll think you have something to hide. You should give as much as you take.
9. Pay me a modest compliment. Nothing overboard, but a modest compliment lets me know that you are paying attention to me and not just cruising the bars trying to score with anyone that breathes.
10. Don’t love ‘em and leave ‘em. If you really want to have “fun-time” it will require a modicum of effort on your part. Don’t wait a fortnight before calling me. And if I say, “I’m busy,” give me one more chance and then give it up. Don’t stalk me. Two requests indicates interest. After two requests, the ball is now in my court.
In looking back over my list, I realize that first dates really are like interviews. How do you make a good first impression on a job interview?
1. Dress reasonably – nothing outlandish.
2. Don’t brag or exaggerate.
3. Don’t bad-mouth your previous employers.
4. Don’t make fun of anyone or tell inappropriate jokes.
5. Don’t bring up the subject of money in the interview.
6. Never bring religion or politics into the interview room.
7. Shower before the interview and skip the cologne or aftershave.
8. Ask pertinent questions about the job duties. Don’t just talk about yourself.
9. Do your homework before the interview. Let them know that you have an interest in being part of the company rather than just getting a paycheck.
10. After the interview, send a prompt and brief “thank you,” and then don’t bug them. The ball is now in their court. After that, you “gotta just sit back and take being ignored.”
Are we having fun yet?
At first glance it appears that someone out there is not having good luck with women or job hunting (or both), and is getting a tad bitter about it. But, in truth, I suspect that he may be on to something.
I suspect that when you interview for a job, within 30 seconds of walking into the interview room they have a pretty good idea of whether you are a viable candidate or not. In fact, I would venture to say that it may be even faster than that. Job interviewing is a subjective business. I suspect that within the first five seconds of meeting the interviewer, you may not have secured a job but at least half of the time, you’ve already lost it.
I used to be in the film production business and I know that there are few things as subjective as that of casting an actor for a part. Even if the client and director don’t have a preconceived notion of how they want the actor to look, I can guarantee you that they have an unconscious instinct of how they DON’T want the actor to look.
I used to try to explain in SAG (Screen Actors Guild) seminars that 90% of the time, when the actor walked through the door of the audition studio, he or she was automatically eliminated for reasons of pure subjectivity. The actor was too old, too young, too fat, too skinny, too tall, too short, too glamorous, too plain-Jane, and (the worst sin of all) too ethnic! In the film business, “ethnic” is a code word for “looks Jewish," much like in the HR business, where “overqualified” is a code word for “too old.” I used to tell actors not to be so hard on themselves; what are they going to do, act taller?
First impressions are important. In job hunting, you meet the interviewer and are likely to have been eliminated right off the bat for much of the same reasoning as an actor is eliminated in an audition. Bosses are human and that means they carry around a lot of subjective opinions. The same can be said for buyers of products. That’s the reason that branding is so important – it creates an unconscious sense of the buyer’s perceived “experience” with the product.
HR people want to hire a candidate that is not only competent to do the job but will also fit into the corporate culture of the organization. A joker in the mortuary business is probably not a good match, but that same joker would fit right in at Google’s corporate headquarters.
You only get one chance to make a first impression. I first read that phrase in an article by job expert/columnist George Gurney, but I suspect that George stole, oops, I mean borrowed it from somewhere else. Whatever. Job counselors have written reams on how to dress for a job interview, so as to create the best possible first impression. Or more correctly, so as not to be eliminated in the interviewer’s mind before he/she gets a chance to get to know you and find out how repulsive you really are.
But we all know how to make a good impression in an interview, so let’s go back to the more interesting statement comparing recruiters to us loathsome, judgmental women and whether you guys really “just gotta sit back and take being ignored,” or can genuinely improve your chances of “scoring” with us.
Gentlemen: I cannot speak for all women, but let me give you a little list of things that will guarantee that you will not “have fun-time” with me:
1. Pinky rings. Honestly, does anything scream conceited asshole quite as quickly as a man with a pinky ring? Especially pinky rings with flashy jewels in them. And while we’re on the subject, is it just me or has anyone else ever noticed the strange correlation between men who get manicures (the kind with a coating of clear polish), men who wear pinky rings and men who smoke cigars? I don’t know why, but odds are if you have any one of those traits you will have at least one of the others and probably all three. Yuk!
2. Men who tell a woman that if she plays her cards right she could “get lucky.” You call that lucky? (By the way, this doesn’t count if the woman you are saying it to is your wife, although the question, “You call that lucky?” may, in some cases, still apply.)
3. Men with a heart-wrenching story. Life is too short to waste your time on a sad sack. Tell me about your miserable divorce within the first 30 minutes of meeting me and watch me run for the hills!
4. Men who make jokes about dumb and/or heartless women. Hello! I am a woman!! At the same time, this rule does not apply to women who make jokes about how dumb and/or useless men are – those jokes are funny. Plus, most women are bright enough not to tell them out loud until after we are married.
5. Men who are obsessed with money, either how much they have or how little they have. I’m interested in a relationship with you, not your wallet.
6. Men who are obsessed with religion. Don’t tell me about your personal relationship with God on the first date. If you’re that religious, why are you trying to secure “fun-time” with me on the first date anyway?
7. .Body odors of any kind. I don’t want to smell you before you walk in the door. That goes for cologne and/or aftershave as much as it does BO. Check all assaults on my olfactory senses at the door, please.
8. It’s all about me/you! The first impression should be a two way street. I want an equal exchange of information. Talk about yourself endlessly, and I’ll think you’re not interested in me. Grill me about my life without sharing anything in return and I’ll think you have something to hide. You should give as much as you take.
9. Pay me a modest compliment. Nothing overboard, but a modest compliment lets me know that you are paying attention to me and not just cruising the bars trying to score with anyone that breathes.
10. Don’t love ‘em and leave ‘em. If you really want to have “fun-time” it will require a modicum of effort on your part. Don’t wait a fortnight before calling me. And if I say, “I’m busy,” give me one more chance and then give it up. Don’t stalk me. Two requests indicates interest. After two requests, the ball is now in my court.
In looking back over my list, I realize that first dates really are like interviews. How do you make a good first impression on a job interview?
1. Dress reasonably – nothing outlandish.
2. Don’t brag or exaggerate.
3. Don’t bad-mouth your previous employers.
4. Don’t make fun of anyone or tell inappropriate jokes.
5. Don’t bring up the subject of money in the interview.
6. Never bring religion or politics into the interview room.
7. Shower before the interview and skip the cologne or aftershave.
8. Ask pertinent questions about the job duties. Don’t just talk about yourself.
9. Do your homework before the interview. Let them know that you have an interest in being part of the company rather than just getting a paycheck.
10. After the interview, send a prompt and brief “thank you,” and then don’t bug them. The ball is now in their court. After that, you “gotta just sit back and take being ignored.”
Are we having fun yet?
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Clean Up Your Own Mess!
Note: Is this a business story? You bet it is. Dog poop and business practices have more in common than any of us want to admit.
Let me tell you about my dog poop story. When I was a kid I had a Cocker Spaniel named Skippy. OK, actually I had three dogs in succession – all Cocker Spaniels, all named Skippy. Perhaps it was through my various “Skippys*” that I learned that husbands are much like dogs – if one runs away or is hit by a car you can always get another. Just keep giving them the same name and move on with your life. But I digress…..I loved those dogs. My parents were trying to teach me responsibility (they were always trying to teach me something – the key word there was “trying”). Anyway, we had a fenced-in yard and we would let Skippy-du-jour out the back door to do his business. It was my job to pick up the poop in the yard because, supposedly, Skippy was my dog. Never mind the fact that my father chose the dogs and purposely picked a duck-hunting breed as my own personal pet-of-choice. Nonetheless, my dog – my responsibility.
If you, or in this case – your dog(s), make a boo-boo in the yard, it helps to clean it up right away. You can try to ignore it but chances are somebody will step in it and track it through the house and there will be BIG TROUBLE. Or if you’re lucky (or unlucky, depending on your point of view) you will be able to continue to pretend it never happened and it will just lie there endlessly with the sun's rays pouring down, heating things up until the whole backyard smells to the high heaven. Keep ignoring it and eventually winter frost will come and the snow will cover it up. By then you will have conveniently forgotten that it ever existed in the first place. Happy, blissful snowy winter!
Alas, Spring inevitably arrives and with it, the thaw. The dog poop has, regrettably, not disappeared during the winter as you had hoped; it was just covered up. But now it reappears with the crocus and, guess what? You still have to clean it up. Only now it’s all soggy and mushy and it falls apart when you try to lift it. Now it’s twenty times harder to get rid of and more likely to leave behind residue. BTW, if you think that dog poop loses its odor by being frozen you are sadly mistaken. I am saying this from experience. You can Fabreze the crap out of it (little pun there!) but it will take a long time before the vague scent of eau du dogie leaves the air.
I have never forgotten the dog poop story of my youth. We all have messes that we have to clean up in life. Some of them are of our own making, some are accidents and some are messes that others made but become our responsibility to handle. No matter how the mess started or with whom, it’s always better to go right out and clean it up immediately. It may be an unpleasant task, but the longer it lies festering in the hot sun, the more unpleasant it will be to get rid of in the end.
Even when we are trying to do the right thing all of the time, it sometimes seems as though cleaning up our own messes is a full time job. How can someone with such good intentions unintentionally step on so many people’s toes? I am not perfect, but I try to do my best. My attitude is:
1. Recognize your mistakes and own up to them;
2. Clean up your own messes without being asked; and
3. Don’t go away mad. But do go away.
Are we having fun yet?
*Is the plural of Skippy, Skippys? Or Skippies? I struggled with this.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Social Networking – Sometimes You CAN Pick Your Family
I have a dirty little secret. I have a second family stashed away in cyberspace. I didn’t choose them on purpose – at least not at first. But when I became unemployed, my friend Kathy Kamauu pushed me to use LinkedIn for business networking. So I joined a couple of professional Groups. This is as close to a sorority as I’ll ever get. I had to “apply” and I got positively giddy when I was accepted. Let’s face it, I’m not getting that much positive reinforcement these days.
In one of the groups, I was seduced by a subgroup – Professions and Industries. Now this is hard-core – sort of like joining a gang except you’re not required to wear your pants below your underwear which, I think you’ll agree, is a blessing for all of us.
There are lots of things that you can do in a LinkedIn group. You can go to the Job Board to see what’s available; you can check out the Promotions for free webinars and upcoming events; you can search other members’ blogs; or you can join a discussion group on a specific topic. I gleefully started discussions of my own and participated in others. I made some interesting on-line acquaintances. And then one day I stumbled into the greatest LinkedIn Group of all time: The CAREER INSIDER NETWORK.
And I was home.
There’s no explaining it. This is a group unlike any other. Some discussion “threads” have strict rules. This one has no rules at all. We give each other advice (some of it actually worthwhile). We uncover recruiting scams and gleefully name names to warn others. We cheer each other’s victories – be it a full job offer or merely a 2nd interview. We dispense sympathy when an offer falls through. We are a support group! We welcome newcomers with open arms, but woe to the newbie who wanders into “The Thread” and attacks someone personally, because we are fiercely protective of our family unit.
Serious friendships have developed. People have met face-to-face as a direct result of this group. Members pass along confidential information privately when they hear of an opening that might be right for someone. We bitch. We cheer each other up. We occasionally tell “Knock Knock” jokes. OK, that’s not totally true. Sharn in Thailand occasionally tells KK jokes. The rest of us groan. Professional recruiters and employment consultants such as Rick in Los Angeles and Kim in North Carolina regularly dispense advice both publicly and privately to members, generously giving away what others pay good money to get.
Swifty in the UK tells us that outsourcing is such a problem over there, he fully expects the government to outsource the Queen to China. Mark Dennis in the Philippines is our resident wisecracker and pun enthusiast. Marissa in San Antonio shares great Tex-Mex recipies and George “Stud Muffin” Gurney tells terrible jokes but since he owns the discussion, there’s not really much that we can do to stop him.
This, folks, is social networking at its finest. It is different from “social media” where people use blogs and discussion groups to try to sell their products or drive traffic to their websites. And it certainly isn’t FaceBook, which I have always considered to be a strictly “social” kind of networking between friends.
This is one of those rare instances when lightning strikes; when all of the windows turn and line up perfectly. An unusual occurrence when a business group turns into a family while remaining within the context of conducting business. We in this dysfunctional little family are virtually all in the same boat. We are all formerly middle or upper-middle management types who have, as a direct result of the economic collapse, inexplicably found themselves unemployed, often for the first time in our lives. From that misery has arisen a support group unlike any other. With people from at least 20 different countries, we have forged a bond and discovered that frustration and disillusionment is the same the world over.
This is pure social networking on a business level. It’s not for everyone. But to quote Lynn, one of our newest members, as she said this morning, “I don't know what I would do without you all. I love this board :)”
In one of the groups, I was seduced by a subgroup – Professions and Industries. Now this is hard-core – sort of like joining a gang except you’re not required to wear your pants below your underwear which, I think you’ll agree, is a blessing for all of us.
There are lots of things that you can do in a LinkedIn group. You can go to the Job Board to see what’s available; you can check out the Promotions for free webinars and upcoming events; you can search other members’ blogs; or you can join a discussion group on a specific topic. I gleefully started discussions of my own and participated in others. I made some interesting on-line acquaintances. And then one day I stumbled into the greatest LinkedIn Group of all time: The CAREER INSIDER NETWORK.
And I was home.
There’s no explaining it. This is a group unlike any other. Some discussion “threads” have strict rules. This one has no rules at all. We give each other advice (some of it actually worthwhile). We uncover recruiting scams and gleefully name names to warn others. We cheer each other’s victories – be it a full job offer or merely a 2nd interview. We dispense sympathy when an offer falls through. We are a support group! We welcome newcomers with open arms, but woe to the newbie who wanders into “The Thread” and attacks someone personally, because we are fiercely protective of our family unit.
Serious friendships have developed. People have met face-to-face as a direct result of this group. Members pass along confidential information privately when they hear of an opening that might be right for someone. We bitch. We cheer each other up. We occasionally tell “Knock Knock” jokes. OK, that’s not totally true. Sharn in Thailand occasionally tells KK jokes. The rest of us groan. Professional recruiters and employment consultants such as Rick in Los Angeles and Kim in North Carolina regularly dispense advice both publicly and privately to members, generously giving away what others pay good money to get.
Swifty in the UK tells us that outsourcing is such a problem over there, he fully expects the government to outsource the Queen to China. Mark Dennis in the Philippines is our resident wisecracker and pun enthusiast. Marissa in San Antonio shares great Tex-Mex recipies and George “Stud Muffin” Gurney tells terrible jokes but since he owns the discussion, there’s not really much that we can do to stop him.
This, folks, is social networking at its finest. It is different from “social media” where people use blogs and discussion groups to try to sell their products or drive traffic to their websites. And it certainly isn’t FaceBook, which I have always considered to be a strictly “social” kind of networking between friends.
This is one of those rare instances when lightning strikes; when all of the windows turn and line up perfectly. An unusual occurrence when a business group turns into a family while remaining within the context of conducting business. We in this dysfunctional little family are virtually all in the same boat. We are all formerly middle or upper-middle management types who have, as a direct result of the economic collapse, inexplicably found themselves unemployed, often for the first time in our lives. From that misery has arisen a support group unlike any other. With people from at least 20 different countries, we have forged a bond and discovered that frustration and disillusionment is the same the world over.
This is pure social networking on a business level. It’s not for everyone. But to quote Lynn, one of our newest members, as she said this morning, “I don't know what I would do without you all. I love this board :)”
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
The Land Beyond O’Hare
Before I moved to Paradise (i.e. high cost of living, lousy wages, no jobs, but absolutely fantastic weather), I used to live in Chicago. Not the “greater Chicago tri-state area,” but CHICAGO. Right downtown. Across the street from Water Tower Place.
I make this distinction because in Chicago, as in many places, people get very defensive about their territory. In truth, it’s not really about geography but about the mindset that accompanies the geography. Rather like the famous 1976 New Yorker magazine cover that depicts a typical New Yorker’s point of view of the U.S., with everything west of the Hudson River lumped into one small barren blob.
In Kansas City it’s important to know if you are from the Kansas-side or the Missouri-side of town, because the Missouri side is chic but the Kansas side is not. Although my cousin Courtney claims to live in Cincinnati, she really lives across the river in Covington, Kentucky; but she would be as horrified if you referred to her as a Kentuckian as she would be if you had suggested that she marry her brother.
In Chicago, there are the city-folk, i.e. Chicagoans, and the suburbanites, whose suburb-names are not even differentiated in the city as anything other than “The Land Beyond O’Hare.” (O’Hare Airport sits just inside the city limits.) Chicagoans don’t like to go to the suburbs. They get lost. There are these vast expanses of nothingness, called “fields.” Very disconcerting. Then there is Woodfield Mall in Schaumburg, whose 278 sq. mile parking lot has it’s own “Woodfield Mall Parking Lot, I Hate You” Facebook page with 3,887 members. Really.
In return, my Uncle Donn and Aunt Char lived in The Land Beyond O’Hare (OK, technically it was the suburb of Northbrook). They avoided the city like the plague. When Uncle Donn was forced to attend a dental convention at the Palmer House in Chicago, he hated every minute of it. Driving in the city made him nervous. Parking was always a problem. The prices drove him crazy. When they spoke of going to the “theater” they meant Drury Lane Dinner Theater in Evergreen Park to see the 156th revival of “Guys and Dolls.”
See, it’s a mindset. In business and in life, we don’t like that with which we are unfamiliar. We tend to do business with folks we know, which is why networking is so important these days. We want to see multiple references on your job application, hopeful that we will recognize one of them because we don’t like to deal with strangers. I am currently job-hunting and I keep avoiding “straight” for-profit postings, even though I was once President and CEO of a large Midwestern corporation with offices on both coasts. But that was years ago and now I feel more comfortable in the nonprofit world where I know where all the bodies are buried (one of them may be mine).
I don’t eat food that Norman Rockwell didn’t paint. My mother always read Roger Ebert’s review before deciding whether to join us at the movie (that way she would guarantee avoiding something that wasn’t upbeat). My son no longer dates, because he knows that eventually whomever-she-is will dump him. My husband has projects in the house that he has promised to fix for three years but has never even attempted, because he is worried that he won’t know how and he would rather be seen as a lazy bum than a failure.
Think of all of the things that we are depriving ourselves of because they are unfamiliar or uncomfortable or might make us appear to be less than competent or question our preconceived values. In defense, we mock the unknown as beneath us, uninteresting or tasteless. (My West End Avenue Manhattan friends, upon hearing that I had a ticket to see “The Addams Family” could not have been more appalled or horrified if I had intentionally smeared excrement across their white designer sofa.)
No matter the cost, we stay in our little boxes where it might be damn uncomfortable but at least it’s familiar. It defines us; who we are and what we do. It is our neighborhood, even if the geography is actually located squarely between our ears. Because, let’s face it, it’s pretty scary in our own neighborhood but it’s really scary out there in The Land Beyond O’Hare.
I make this distinction because in Chicago, as in many places, people get very defensive about their territory. In truth, it’s not really about geography but about the mindset that accompanies the geography. Rather like the famous 1976 New Yorker magazine cover that depicts a typical New Yorker’s point of view of the U.S., with everything west of the Hudson River lumped into one small barren blob.
In Kansas City it’s important to know if you are from the Kansas-side or the Missouri-side of town, because the Missouri side is chic but the Kansas side is not. Although my cousin Courtney claims to live in Cincinnati, she really lives across the river in Covington, Kentucky; but she would be as horrified if you referred to her as a Kentuckian as she would be if you had suggested that she marry her brother.
In Chicago, there are the city-folk, i.e. Chicagoans, and the suburbanites, whose suburb-names are not even differentiated in the city as anything other than “The Land Beyond O’Hare.” (O’Hare Airport sits just inside the city limits.) Chicagoans don’t like to go to the suburbs. They get lost. There are these vast expanses of nothingness, called “fields.” Very disconcerting. Then there is Woodfield Mall in Schaumburg, whose 278 sq. mile parking lot has it’s own “Woodfield Mall Parking Lot, I Hate You” Facebook page with 3,887 members. Really.
In return, my Uncle Donn and Aunt Char lived in The Land Beyond O’Hare (OK, technically it was the suburb of Northbrook). They avoided the city like the plague. When Uncle Donn was forced to attend a dental convention at the Palmer House in Chicago, he hated every minute of it. Driving in the city made him nervous. Parking was always a problem. The prices drove him crazy. When they spoke of going to the “theater” they meant Drury Lane Dinner Theater in Evergreen Park to see the 156th revival of “Guys and Dolls.”
See, it’s a mindset. In business and in life, we don’t like that with which we are unfamiliar. We tend to do business with folks we know, which is why networking is so important these days. We want to see multiple references on your job application, hopeful that we will recognize one of them because we don’t like to deal with strangers. I am currently job-hunting and I keep avoiding “straight” for-profit postings, even though I was once President and CEO of a large Midwestern corporation with offices on both coasts. But that was years ago and now I feel more comfortable in the nonprofit world where I know where all the bodies are buried (one of them may be mine).
I don’t eat food that Norman Rockwell didn’t paint. My mother always read Roger Ebert’s review before deciding whether to join us at the movie (that way she would guarantee avoiding something that wasn’t upbeat). My son no longer dates, because he knows that eventually whomever-she-is will dump him. My husband has projects in the house that he has promised to fix for three years but has never even attempted, because he is worried that he won’t know how and he would rather be seen as a lazy bum than a failure.
Think of all of the things that we are depriving ourselves of because they are unfamiliar or uncomfortable or might make us appear to be less than competent or question our preconceived values. In defense, we mock the unknown as beneath us, uninteresting or tasteless. (My West End Avenue Manhattan friends, upon hearing that I had a ticket to see “The Addams Family” could not have been more appalled or horrified if I had intentionally smeared excrement across their white designer sofa.)
No matter the cost, we stay in our little boxes where it might be damn uncomfortable but at least it’s familiar. It defines us; who we are and what we do. It is our neighborhood, even if the geography is actually located squarely between our ears. Because, let’s face it, it’s pretty scary in our own neighborhood but it’s really scary out there in The Land Beyond O’Hare.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
You Heard Me Say WHAT??
“That’s not what you said.”
This person is intelligent, articulate, and a friend. How could he possibly not understand what I said? I was very clear. Wasn’t I? Well, wasn’t I?
English is my mother-tongue. I have spoken it all my life. So I am always surprised when I say something very clearly and the other person hears something entirely different. Maybe it’s a simple language barrier: We both speak English but his is Mars-dialect and mine has a very distinct Venus-accent. Bad translation, perhaps.
And we weren’t even in conflict. Conflict communication can get really tricky. My thoughts go back to the office not so long ago when what I really wanted to say is, “Hey lard-ass, the presentation is tomorrow and Michelle suspects that you haven’t even started to write it, which means that she will be stuck here at midnight putting together the PowerPoint; so why are you busy posting a funny picture on FaceBook?” But I didn’t say that, because I am a caring boss who wants to empower my employees and constantly reinforce their self-worth to inspire a more team-driven end-product. Instead I said, “How’s the presentation coming?”
Polite. Inquisitive but not prying. Said in a friendly supportive tone of voice. But what he heard was, “Hey lard-ass, the presentation is tomorrow and Michelle suspects that you haven’t even started to write it, which means that she will be here at midnight putting together the PowerPoint; so why are you busy posting a funny picture on FaceBook?”
Strange. I didn’t say that. So he countered with, “Listen Bitch, stop riding me so hard. I could write this in my sleep and, besides, I’m taking a personal break here so why don’t you back off before I go postal.” No, actually what he said was, “Almost finished,” which meant that Michelle is probably right, and it’s not even started.
So in my best upbeat voice, while turning away, I said, “Great! Let me know if you could use a hand.” Which, in Kay-speak means, “Why do I even try to give these people more responsibility? I could have written this in my sleep.” And I go back to my office.
Given our tendency to hear what we expect to hear, miscommunication can happen easily. In addition, body language and tone of voice add heavily to the message being conveyed. I often tell my husband, “It’s not what you said, it’s how you said it.” He takes great exception to this, by the way, and always feigns complete innocence. Sure.
Most of us in the business world have taken some kind of seminar on communication where they teach you active listening, and positive spin, and putting yourself in the other person’s shoes. We learn to respect the other person’s belief, eliminate ambiguity, and most importantly keep our communications non-confrontational.
“Constant kindness can accomplish much.” said Albert Schweitzer, “As the sun makes ice melt, kindness causes misunderstanding, mistrust, and hostility to evaporate.” Albert clearly never visited my office.
By the way, Michelle refuses to think of this as an opportunity for growth; she wants overtime for having had to stay after midnight.
This person is intelligent, articulate, and a friend. How could he possibly not understand what I said? I was very clear. Wasn’t I? Well, wasn’t I?
English is my mother-tongue. I have spoken it all my life. So I am always surprised when I say something very clearly and the other person hears something entirely different. Maybe it’s a simple language barrier: We both speak English but his is Mars-dialect and mine has a very distinct Venus-accent. Bad translation, perhaps.
And we weren’t even in conflict. Conflict communication can get really tricky. My thoughts go back to the office not so long ago when what I really wanted to say is, “Hey lard-ass, the presentation is tomorrow and Michelle suspects that you haven’t even started to write it, which means that she will be stuck here at midnight putting together the PowerPoint; so why are you busy posting a funny picture on FaceBook?” But I didn’t say that, because I am a caring boss who wants to empower my employees and constantly reinforce their self-worth to inspire a more team-driven end-product. Instead I said, “How’s the presentation coming?”
Polite. Inquisitive but not prying. Said in a friendly supportive tone of voice. But what he heard was, “Hey lard-ass, the presentation is tomorrow and Michelle suspects that you haven’t even started to write it, which means that she will be here at midnight putting together the PowerPoint; so why are you busy posting a funny picture on FaceBook?”
Strange. I didn’t say that. So he countered with, “Listen Bitch, stop riding me so hard. I could write this in my sleep and, besides, I’m taking a personal break here so why don’t you back off before I go postal.” No, actually what he said was, “Almost finished,” which meant that Michelle is probably right, and it’s not even started.
So in my best upbeat voice, while turning away, I said, “Great! Let me know if you could use a hand.” Which, in Kay-speak means, “Why do I even try to give these people more responsibility? I could have written this in my sleep.” And I go back to my office.
Given our tendency to hear what we expect to hear, miscommunication can happen easily. In addition, body language and tone of voice add heavily to the message being conveyed. I often tell my husband, “It’s not what you said, it’s how you said it.” He takes great exception to this, by the way, and always feigns complete innocence. Sure.
Most of us in the business world have taken some kind of seminar on communication where they teach you active listening, and positive spin, and putting yourself in the other person’s shoes. We learn to respect the other person’s belief, eliminate ambiguity, and most importantly keep our communications non-confrontational.
“Constant kindness can accomplish much.” said Albert Schweitzer, “As the sun makes ice melt, kindness causes misunderstanding, mistrust, and hostility to evaporate.” Albert clearly never visited my office.
By the way, Michelle refuses to think of this as an opportunity for growth; she wants overtime for having had to stay after midnight.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
