Polo Impossible

I had two experiences at Nordstrom today.

First, I took the escalator to the third floor to the children’s clothing area to pickup a pair of jeans for my daughter. We purchased them last week, but returned them to be hemmed. I gave the woman my name,and she quickly retrieved them from the back. The transaction took less than three minutes.

Then, I visited the men’s department looking for a simple dark-colored polo shirt. I found one I liked and took it off the rack. As I was holding it up to myself, a woman approached me and asked if she could help.

“I’m fine. I’m just sizing this shirt”, I told her.

I assumed she returned to the register while I continued looking at shirts deciding between black and navy. But no, she had an armful of shirts and was coming towards me. I thought she might be trying to bury me in short-sleeved dress shirts that look great on J. Crew models, but make me look like high school math teacher.

“Here’s what you want. These don’t need ironing and will look GREAT with a blazer. I’m sure you have several navy blazers.”

I do own one navy blazer but haven’t worn it since my wedding.

“I found what I need”, I told her.

But she wasn’t listening to me because she had already pulled a navy blazer off the rack and tucked the shirt into it. “Doesn’t that look great?” she asked.

It did look great. And it should have because the shirt was $125 and the blazer was $450, or just about what we spend at Costco on diapers and toilet paper each month.

I turned around and started back towards the register.

I was annoyed. All I wanted was a black shirt.

I was less than ten feet from the register when this woman practically ran up next to me. What is going on here, I wondered. Why should it be this difficult to purchase a solid color polo shirt?

“That shirt you have would go GREAT with our no-iron khakis. They come with or without pleats.”

Really?

But the worst part of the experience was driving home, knowing that she earned a commission on the forty dollar shirt I purchased.

Here’s a picture of the shirt being modeled by someone who looks like Jim Carey sporting the no-pleat khakis I left for men who model for a living.

Everything Is Working

I caught the tail end of the science fair at the kid’s school last night. I wasn’t in the mood to go out in the rain on a Friday evening, but I’m glad I did because I ran into a friend who was there supporting his son’s project.

We began talking about work because that’s what men talk about. But the conversation quickly diverted to other topics I’m seldom prepared to discuss outside of technology. Yet that’s why I intentionally seek out this person because our discussions are never boring, and he pushes me in directions that are occasionally uncomfortable. And it’s on those edges of discomfort where I tend to learn the most.

At one point in our conversation I explained how I don’t like to stay in the same area for more than a few years. In less than a year we moved from Seattle to Ogden to St. George and back to Seattle where we’ve stayed put for the past five years.

That’s when my friend said, “I know the feeling. Yet everything is working here right now.”

I left the science fair with my son. He held my hand as we walked across the now dark parking lot. I felt as though I was dragging him and turned to give him a “let’s get moving” tug, when I noticed he’d tilted his head towards the sky and was attempting to catch raindrops with his tongue.

As I drove home I thought about his words: everything is working here now. I was not expecting to hear them. They certainly couldn’t apply to me.

Or could they?

One reason I have a difficult time believing this is the area where we’re supposed to be is because so little thought and research was given to our initial decision to move here. When people ask how we ended up in Auburn I tell them I worked in Seattle at the time we were looking for a home, and liked the idea of being able to commute into town by train.

That’s it. The job in Seattle and easy commute lasted two years.

It’s easy to be swayed by real estate agents preaching the value of school scores, crime statistics and all sorts of various metrics used to help support your decision to live in one neighborhood versus another. There have been times when I thought, “If I could live in (whatever city) I’d be happy.”

We’ve lived in enough cities to know that’s seldom true.

I wish our backyard and driveway were not built on an incline. I wish our neighborhood were home to more families, and I don’t love living on a hill where frequent late-night helicopter drills are performed.

But I love the twisty road that winds up the hill to our home and how my car devours it in 3rd gear. I like living at the end of a cul-de-sac where my children can safely create art with sidewalk chalk, and where I can play basketball without interruption from passing cars.

What I enjoy most about the area are the friendships I’ve made. From the friend who brings us BBQ and fresh cinnamon rolls to the neighbor who wakes me at 5:45 am to play basketball. Or the neighbor who filled up our van today after borrowing and driving it less than five miles when his car broke down leaving his wife stranded.

And, of course, the friend I met up with last night who is a middle school principal. Despite our contrasting backgrounds, we’ve become good friends. He’s introduced me to a number of books and movies along with some music that I’ve enjoyed. Given my background in technology, I assumed we had little in common. I’m glad I turned out to be wrong.

I doubt I’ll ever feel entirely settled. The idea of remaining in one area working at the same job does not sound appealing to me in the least. But right now, it feels like the right decision to embrace a modicum of stability and familiarity. I imagine that will benefit not only me but my children as well.

Given that my job runs out in less than two months, I expect to feel anything but secure. As strange as it feels to write these words, I do feel secure, although I can’t explain why. But I believe it has something to do with the the neighbors, friends and family who’ve provided words of encouragement over the last couple of difficult months.

Maybe not everything, but a lot is working right now.

And that could be enough keep us around. Raindrops and all.

Lazy Managers Create Policies

When I was serving a mission in Germany I looked forward to each Monday because that was our preparation day. We did our laundry and grocery shopping in the morning and wrote letters to family in the afternoon.

But what I looked forward to the most was being able to play basketball, go jogging or play indoor soccer. Given the many miles I rode my bike around town, I was in some of the best shape of my life and I couldn’t wait to shed my Mr. Mac suit for shorts and Nikes.

About six months into service, our mission president banned all forms of physical exercise because a fellow missionary was injured while jogging. We were only allowed to participate in activities that we could perform while wearing a suit and tie. That sounds as absurd today as it did twenty years ago.

With nearly 200 missionaries serving in our mission, the occasional injury is bound to happen. I couldn’t understand why the fluke injury of one person should result in a ban for the remaining 199 of us.

I’ve experienced similar misguided blanket polices since then. I once worked for a manager who, instead of dealing with the rare employee mistake, would create pages and pages of policy foolishly assuming he was repairing the problem. Each time a new policy was added to the employee manual, everyone at the company received an email that began with “TEAM” in large red fonts. We quickly learned to ignore these emails because they were written in such condescending language.

I’m reminded of a quote from Mark Twain: “There were more exceptions to the rule than instances of it.”

Attempting to alter behavior by creating new policies is the work of a lazy manager. It’s not difficult to sit at a desk and craft a policy that makes you feel important. You create while others follow.

But it’s never that simple because for each new policy or procedure you create you’re quietly telling your employees, “I trust you less than I did before.” Not to mention, you anger the larger group of employees who followed the guidelines to begin with.

Instead of creating a new policy, ask yourself if the problem is best solved by discussing it directly with the employee who brought it to your attention. I’ve often found through those conversations that my understanding of a rule or guideline did not mesh with that of the employee. That’s not always a bad thing because it gives me an opportunity to listen and share my views.

If you absolutely must create or change a policy, try delivering the changes in person instead of email. It’s more difficult because it opens up a two-way dialog where others can provide input and ask questions. But it’s more personable and effective. Plus, if you’ve reached the point of your career where you’re managing by email, maybe it’s time to ride off into the sunset on your horse.

The Perfect Spiral

While killing time at Fred Meyer waiting for my son to finish scouts, I walked down the sporting goods aisle looking for a youth sized football. I have an old rubber football, but it’s too large for his hands and it’s difficult to grip.

I found a shelf full of footballs of various sizes and decided to buy one that fit his 8-year old hands. It’s shiny black. I can’t tell if it’s rubber or cheap leather. And at eight bucks, a steal.

Yesterday afternoon as I pulled into the driveway, guess who was standing on the steps to greet me with his football in hand? It had been raining all day. The driveway and grass were soaked.

Immediately, I thought of our newly cleaned carpets. Then siblings and neighbors showing up to join in the action. All that mud and grass that finds its way onto children’s feet, faces and hands. I imagined muddy footsteps painting designs on the light colored carpets.

When I purchased the football, I pictured a casual game of catch with my son on a warm sunny day. I’d stand behind my son and show him how to release the football in order to make it spiral. Isn’t that the goal of anyone who picks up a football? The ball doesn’t have to hit its intended target. But it must spiral.

My son’s excitement got to me and I told him I’d change my shoes and return.

I stood in the street and had Lincoln stand on the grass. Even though the grass was wet, the incline would help him get the ball to me. We tossed the football back and forth. Occasionally one of us would miss and the ball would roll into the gutter where water was waiting.

I thought back to the times my father threw the football with me on our front lawn. He could make the ball spiral on every throw. I so badly wanted to be able to throw like he did. My father would stand behind me and show me the proper arm mechanics and ball grip.

As I showed my son the same techniques my father taught me, it brought back a flood of good memories and made me wish he could see my son more often.

“Are you ready to go inside yet. It’s getting cold”, I told him.

“Not until I throw a spiral”, he replied.

So we tossed the ball back and forth for a while longer. As much as I wanted the ball to spiral for him, I didn’t mind that we had more time to spend with each other.

As it was getting late, I took the football and dried it off on my shirt before handing it back.

“We’ll practice tomorrow”, I told him.

The AT&T Microcell

For the past two years I’ve been taking calls on my iPhone from the deck off the back of our home or in the middle of our backyard or from our driveway. Pretty much anywhere around our home but never inside our home.

And it’s not just a problem with AT&T’s coverage. I had Verizon and Sprint service before that and their phones were even worse. Calls to my mobile number went to voicemail. It wasn’t worth trying to find a spot in the yard with coverage. Not to mention that Seattle doesn’t have the ideal weather to be making a lot of outdoor calls during much of the year.

But this week a letter from AT&T arrived in the mail. I assumed it was another “you can talk and browse the web simultaneously so please don’t leave us for Verizon” plea and nearly ran it through the shredder. The letter detailed how I could pickup a Microcell for free at the nearest AT&T Store.

The Microcell dwarfs my black Motorola Cable Modem/Wireless Gateway

In short, a Microcell is a signal booster that plugs into my broadband connection. AT&T says it’s like having a cell tower at your home. It does a bunch of other stuff too, but what I care about is this: it gives me five signal bars from anywhere inside my home.

It almost sounded too good to be true. But two friends have the same device and swear by them. As much as I wanted one before, I didn’t feel like I should have to pay $200 for a device in order to make calls from home on top the thousands of dollars I’ve already given and continue to give for my service.

As instructed, I took the letter to the AT&T Store and left with a new Microcell in under 10 minutes. There were no hidden fees or slimy upsells. They didn’t even make me sign anything. The device looks like a large cable modem (If that model were made by Fisher Price) that I plugged into my Netgear gigabit switch.

Once I had the Microcell installed, I activated it at the AT&T website and added the phone numbers that are allowed to access it. I can currently add ten numbers but only four can access the Microcell at one time. We have two iPhones so that won’t be a problem. When friends and family visit, or at least those with phones on the AT&T network, I can give them access as well.

Last night I made a 90 minute phone call on my iPhone from my computer in the basement. Two days ago that wasn’t possible. I’ll hold off before I dropkick my old-school Panasonic land phones across the yard. But that day is coming based on how well the Microcell has worked this week.

Engadget provides more details on the AT&T offer here.

Hanging Our Shingle

This past week, I did something I’ve wanted to do for years: I started a consulting business with a friend. Brandon and I have worked together since 2004 and have collaborated on a number of projects over the years.

When friends and family ask what it is we do, I’m not sure what I should tell them. But, in short, Brandon brings years of design experience to the partnership while I focus on WordPress training and consulting. We’ve combined our skills to help small businesses and individuals create a professional looking web presence minus the three-hour recurring meetings and complex project plans.

We’ve worked on large and complex projects that take months to complete. But projects that size are not our focus. Instead, we are focused on small projects. Small businesses move quickly. They don’t have large budgets or months to spend creating new branding, logos and blogs. We’ve found that their needs match up well with our skills. So we decided to make it official and create a business.

In that regard, we started Ox Consulting with this in mind, and are tackling projects we can complete in a few days instead of a new months. Without having to sacrifice quality.

We are nowhere near being able to quit our day jobs. Maybe down the road. But today I’m enjoying getting to meet people who are full of passion, energy and big ideas. Large companies have layers of bureaucracy. Making even small changes to a color scheme requires meetings, approvals and delays. Contrast that with working alongside the owner of a small business who likes the new logo we created, and in minutes, says, “Let’s go with it!”

There’s a raw excitement being around those who put everything on the line to chase their dreams. I love sitting across from someone listening to why they decided to drop off the corporate ladder, and try to make it on their own. Many are working more hours than ever before and loving it.

Brandon and I are taking things slow. That means turning down projects that aren’t in our wheel-house or would require we put other projects on hold for months on end.

We’ve also noticed that short timelines result in fewer meetings and status updates and a higher likelihood that both parties will satisfied with the work.

Of course, if your needs aren’t a good match for us, we’ll always try to recommend someone who is.

Anatomy of Greed

Imagine hanging signs around your home that include words such as honesty, integrity, and respect while expecting those virtues to magically rub off on your children. It sounds absurd, doesn’t it?

Teaching your children how to respect others takes a lot more work than simply hanging a sign on the bathroom door. If you’d like your children to learn respect you’d probably start off by showing respect to them and others. Over time, your children will recognize that your actions match your values.

As foolish and ineffective as hanging signs around your house sounds, it’s exactly what executives at Enron did to the employee parking garage. Each floor of the garage was decked out in signs that included Enron business virtues such as ambitious, undaunted, innovative and smart. I came across this fact while listening to the audiobook, “Anatomy of Greed” by former Enron trader, Brian Cruver.

“Anatomy of Greed” is the fascinating story of how Enron executives took financial short cuts and thought they were above the law. Masterminded by Jeff Skilling, they decided the laws of accounting did not apply to them because they were smarter than everyone else. The downfall of Enron proves that all it takes is a handful of crooked individuals to bring down one of the most admired companies in the world and kick thousands of employees to the curb. Of course, Skilling saw it coming and, like a rat, jumped ship before the company sunk, but not before he cashed out Enron stock worth several hundred million dollars.

He’s currently serving a 24-year prison term.

Clearly the signs around Enron had no influence on employee behavior. In fact, employees began to mock the virtues at meetings and around the water cooler. And it’s easy to understand why: employees don’t want to feel like they’re being brainwashed.

I’m reminded of a manager who demanded each employee hang a sign on his or her office door inscribed with the company’s values. Of course, there was as much enthusiasm to hang the sign as there was to attend a mandatory company party. Nobody wants someone else’s values shoved down their throat. My favorite memory of this experience was how this same manager attached a values sign to one of the main doors using white athletic tape.

No frame. No push pins. Just two-inch wide athletic tape.

Each day I wonder what virtues I’m passing on to my children. And even “passing” is probably too strong a word. I hope they recognized, through my example, what virtues I try to live each day. If I’m lucky, maybe they will pick up a few in time.

As for the athletic tape, I’ll save it for wrapping my aging ankles.

Batting Practice

It’s never too early in the season to get in a few swings and, apparently, never too cold either. I’m not sure what the kids enjoy more: my wheel-house pitching or drilling line drives at my head.

Either way, the second I step foot into the backyard, they beg me to play baseball with them, and by that I mean they want me to toss the ball, watch them smack it into the neighbors yard, and then listen to them replay the big hit to friends and siblings.

All while they give me helpful pitching tips.

I’ll kick the soccer ball around the yard with them, although I didn’t play much as a young boy and have little to teach them. They are still young for basketball, but they enjoy dribbling the ball up and down the street. My son only recently discovered football, and I’ve been teaching him how to throw a spiral. I’m a poor instructor when it comes to tossing a gorgeous spiral like my father and brother can throw. Mine looks more like a lame duck. Maybe by the time my son’s hands grow to where he can grip a football, I’ll have mastered the art of the spiral. But probably not.

But baseball is different. Even the smallest child can pick up a bat and swing it, piñata-style, at someone . Each child has a unique swing. Luca’s quick wrists allow her to pull the ball into the sliding glass door. Lincoln uses the bat like a fly swatter while Anna looks like she’s chopping wood.

Only my three-year old son has a natural swing. Hand him a bat and he’ll shift his weight to his back foot, rest the bat on his shoulder and aim his chin right at me. I like to humor myself by imaging that I passed on the Rod Carew swing gene to him, but I know it’s not true.

I was thrilled to see Anna Lynn join us on this cold afternoon. She normally shags balls hit by her sister and brother. But today she grabbed the bat and took a few practice swings. The first couple of pitches sailed right past as she swung and missed.

“You’ll get it”, I told her.

“I know that”, she shot back.

She fouled one off the fence before smacking the ball across the yard and nearly into the neighbors yard. The ball had gone further than anything hit by her older brother or sister, and she knew it.

Anna put the bat down, and put her hand out as she walked past me, and into position to shag balls.

It’s never a bad idea to step away on a high note. And it never hurts to high-five the guy throwing BP.

More Time For Rollerblading

Just over 11 years ago, I jumped off a bus in the middle of downtown Seattle. From there I walked the last few blocks to my office located in one of the older buildings surrounded by modern sky-scrapers. Honestly, my morning walk was the most interesting part of my day.

Would I catch the woman placing her wooden sign on the corner announcing to the neighborhood her flower shop was open for business? Of course, the coffee shops were bustling with suits desperate for their morning brew. The post office didn’t open till 9 am but patrons began lining up at 8:30.

These were the people that become part of my morning routine.

But this morning would be anything but routine. As I made my way up the well-worn stairs of the Skinner Building, I was met by our HR manager. I didn’t know her well. I joined the company during its infancy. A time when an HR manager was a luxury we could not afford.

“Don’t go easy on them” was all she said as I passed her. Don’t go easy on whom?

As I made my way down the hall, I noticed a group had gathered in our only conference room. What was going on? It wouldn’t take long to find out.

The company had run out of money. Nor could a suitor be found to keep us afloat. The president of the company announced that today would be our last day of work. The Seattle office would be shut down. The HR manager’s words now made sense: “Don’t go easy on them.”

Yet there was little that could be done. Today’s paycheck would be the last. Medical benefits would cease, and the company would not provide severance. Only a few people asked questions. I stood there in a daze hoping my paycheck would clear before walking down the steps and back into the city.

My brother-in-law and I worked together for the last few months and decided to celebrate the company’s demise by Rollerblading at the park. As we made our way down the path leading out of Woodinville we chatted but said little about what had happened earlier that day.

But we both knew the day was coming. Our managers stopped coming by the office. The phones stopped ringing and there was constant talk that paychecks wouldn’t be cut on time.

So when the news hit, it’s hard to imagine many were surprised.

I compare that moment to what took place two weeks ago. This time in a conference room in Redmond with about 25 employees hearing their jobs with the company would shortly disappear.

But this time nobody saw it coming. Anger was replaced with shock. As I tried to comprehend how I’d explain the situation to my spouse, I looked around the room at the faces I know well, many of which I hired. And not only hired, but convinced to join our company with hopes of acquiring valuable technical skills and and the opportunity to see various parts of the world.

As I began my job search last week, I thought back to that care-free, Rollerblading spirit of years past and realized that break and chance to clear my mind is what I needed at the time. It helped me worked off the frustration and disappointment.

And even though I have four young children counting on me to support them financially, I feel at peace as I begin my search. I have no idea what I’ll do next. I have a few weeks to figure it out. Which leaves plenty of time to strap on my Rollerblades.

Awkward Return

“No bums touched it”

I had a toilet seat to return to Lowe’s and the kids decided to tag along. Leave it to Anna to break the ice as I handed the employee a box containing the seat and a badly folded receipt.

“Did you open the box?” the young man asked.

“Yes, I opened it, but….”

Given the detail provided by my daughter, he decided to cut me off and avoid further awkwardness by quickly processing my refund.

My fault for purchasing the wrong sized toilet seat. A quick Google search would have told me there are two standard sizes; oblong and round.

With refund in hand, I headed back to the bathroom section of the store. The kids were thrilled to see dozens of toilet seats hanging from the wall. Luca liked the padded models. Lincoln thought a wooden trim would work best. And Anna wanted take one for a test drive.

I explained that we can’t test a toilet seat in the manner to which she was referring. I found a round American Standard model in white and headed towards the register.

Once the new seat was installed, guess who was the first to take it for a real-world test drive?