A Demonstrative Anecdote

An interesting conversation with a small business owner got me thinking of a topic about which I have very strong opinions. The business owner asked me if I found his recently installed security cameras offensive. I replied, “On the contrary, I think you should have done this long ago.”

I sometimes joke, “I've had every job it is legal to do.” While this is not accurate I have had a wide range of professions that seem disjointed when I list them but actually flowed organically from one to another. The story I recounted to the small business owner is one of them.

Before I get into the meat of the story you must understand there are few things I tolerate less than theft. My parents taught me everything worth having is worth working for. Life has taught me people who steal not only victimize those they steal from but they victimize those around them when they get a jump ahead of honest folks. I know it is old fashioned to believe in honest gains. People will say “everyone steals” or “everyone is dishonest. I'm not doing anything that everyone else isn't.” If you can think this way and sleep at night, more power to you but I can't. Thieves really piss me off.

After college I worked as a Manager Trainee for Radio Shack. There is a lot of theft in retail. There was at least one occasion where I hurled my high heels at the head of a retreating shoplifter. What is harder to take is the inside job. This means one of your co-workers can't be trusted. It is difficult to work in an atmosphere of distrust especially when one knows that until the culprit is caught, you are not without suspicion.

A ten thousand dollar business computer system turned up missing during inventory. At the time, ten thousand dollars was no small sum. I couldn't even imagine how someone could get so much machinery outside the store with no one seeing. Computers were still large in the late 1980's, early 1990's. Since there was no sign of breaking and entering and business systems were not sold in the retail store, I figured it had to be an internal theft.

I kept my eyes and ears opened and settled on one suspect. He was a computer prodigy and the youngest of the employees in the Business Division. He also took a shine to me, although that is not unusual since there were very few women working in retail electronics during the turn of that decade. He invited me to dinner at his home. With some reservation, I agreed. While there, I took down the serial number of his very impressive computer system. It was not difficult because he was proud of it and showed it off. It was state of the art and worth almost half my income at the time. His story of how he came to own it was flawed in many ways but what did I know? Back then, women in retail electronics were not considered very intelligent. All the guys knew they only made sales based on their gender.

You know where this is going. The serial number matched the stolen system. Men flew in from Fort Worth and I was a temporary but quiet celebrity after the Fort Worth Executives and the Boston Police Department knocked on his door and found the computer exactly where I said it would be. Mr. Prodigy was arrested and lost his job but as I told him when he called me, hoping I would stand by his side through the ordeal, “None of this would have happened if you had not stolen the computer in the first place.”

Other than eliminating myself from suspicion, I received nothing from my detective work. I received no promotion to my own store (the natural progression for a Manager Trainee) and no bonus but it did give me a convenient segue into a career in Loss Prevention. Did I mention there are few things I tolerate less than theft?

(Image from: http://www.watchingthenet.com/)

Good. And You?

I can not think of a social convention that irritates me more than being asked the question, "How are you?" Though many people won't admit it, I know I am not the only one. Years ago there was a group of us who greeted each other with the phrase, "Good. And you?" It was our way of thumbing our noses at convention and cutting to the chase.

Many people feel it is necessary to greet each other this way but they seldom listen to the answer so there is no value in asking the question. It is disingenuous and, at least for me, has the opposite effect originally intended. I know I have an obligation to respond, "I am well, thank you. How are you?" I don't like people making me feel obligated to do anything, especially when it is the clerk in my grocery store, my librarian, the fellow at the dry cleaners or my neighbor's daughter wanting to sell me girl scout cookies. How is it social to obligate someone to participate in a phony conversation? In the event I am not well, I dislike responding "good" or "well" because this is a lie but this is an instance where it is socially polite to lie. Now the questioner has obligated me to not only participate in a conversation I'd rather not but they've also obligated me to lie. Further, I am obligated to ask the same question in return. I personally do not believe in asking questions to which I do not expect an honest answer but I also do not want to know that the cashier at my grocery store has plantar fasciitis and their feet are killing them. I am not an uncaring person but I can't fix their problem and frankly, I just need to get home to cook dinner.

In business, when answering my telephone often the first question I am asked is, "How are you?" My stock response is, "How may I be of assistance to you?" More often than not, because the caller didn't care in the first place, they tell me why they are calling but once this did not happen. The caller asked me again, "How are you?" I repeated my offer of assistance. The caller stated he would tell me as soon as I answered his question. This forced me to explain, while I appreciated his inquiry, my welfare was none of his concern but I was eager to find out what service I could be to him. The caller became belligerent (which was likely his intent to begin with) and it took me several minutes to find out what he needed. Again I ask, how is this social?

Does all this mean I don't care about people? Of course not. I care a great deal about people. I am not going to ask a stranger how they are because it is none of my business. If they want to tell me, they will and I will
listen as sympathetically and with as much support or praise as time permits. I care even more deeply for my friends; both real life friends and friends I have a virtual relationships with. I show I care by listening. If something is wrong they need support with, they will tell me, either straight out or in the other things they say to me or to other friends we share. If everything is going well for them I will hear this the same way and rejoice in their happiness.

I'd like to see the new social convention be to listen. Anyone who really cares will close their mouth and open their ears and heart. What do you think?

Brush With Dyslexia

This is a story about a failed educational system and one person’s triumph over adversity inflicted by that failed system. Above is a picture of my brother, the hero of my childhood. He was the baby of the family until I showed up twelve years later.  I adore him.

At some point in his education the Chatham, Massachusetts school system decided he had dyslexia. As a small child I didn’t know exactly what this meant but as soon as I could read I was helping him decipher things. I even had to dial the phone for him because he was convinced he would dial a wrong number as he couldn’t read the keys correctly. I loved helping my brother. It made me feel useful and special.

I never doubted what the school said because my brother and my parents didn’t. In retrospect, I should have. In middle school, classes were divided into high, medium and low. The high class were the brightest children and the low class consisted of the slowest learners.  I was placed in the low class where I consistently received good grades. In high school I tested within the genius range and made the National Honor Society. This didn’t make me angry until I was in college where I realized I could have done so much more had my middle school years not been wasted being taught down to. I suspect it is because my family was poor and Chatham, being a very classist town, assumed poor children must have lower than average intelligence. I still feel stupid and believe I am not performing up to my potential. Try as I might, the building blocks weren’t there and I doubt I will outgrow the insecurity.

My brother went onto technical school where he earned his high school diploma and became the most talented carpenter and jack-of-all-trades I’ve ever met. There was nothing that man couldn’t do with his hands.

Years later, my brother called me to tell me he had just tested at a Grade 15 level. I don’t remember what he was testing for, and doubt I asked, because I was floored.  He tested as a junior in college. Further, he told me, they determined he was not dyslexic. After that, he started reading and writing. Similar to me, the ground work he should have had was not there but he did as best he could, miles beyond anything he had done the first thirty-five years of his life. In conversations after he lost the dyslexic label, he would casually mention something he read and I could hear the pride in his voice.  I can not think pride is always a sin when someone overcomes what he did.  I was proud of him, too. Once that label was removed, he never looked back. He didn’t say, “I can’t.” He could and he did and it only made me love him more.