God Bless the Marines for...

God bless the United States Marine Corps for their generous support to the Toys for Tots program... AND... for protecting our freedoms, both abroad and domestically.

Fire Chief (ret.) Richard B. Gasaway, PhD, EFO, CFO, MICP
Executive Director, Center for the Advancement of Situational Awareness & Decision Making
Chief Scientist, Public Safety Laboratory
www.RichGasaway.com

The tale of Mr. Medium Shot (a.k.a. Kip the Cage Fighter)

Recently I was on an airplane and we were on our taxi to the runway when from behind there’s a cell phone ring. They guy answers it and carries on a conversation. This is after the flight attendants have announced three (3!) times to turn off all electronic devices.
But, as I have seen, the rules only apply to those who are not as important as Mr Big Shot (which, I might note was sitting in the economy cabin… thus diminishing him to perhaps Mr. Medium Shot). Anyhow…

Electronic devices being used within seconds of our takeoff roll is a real peeve for me because I have read accident reports were interference from electronic devices have caused problems in the communications and navigation equipment. Think about it… the federal regulation exists for a reason. Duh! But Mr. Medium Shot thought nothing of putting the lives of 150+ people in jeopardy.

I turned around in my seat and sternly said “Turn that phone off now!” I stunned him enough that he complied and from the adjacent seats I heard several “Thank you” comments.

When the plane landed, Mr. Medium Shot followed me off the plane and told me I had no right to talk to him like that. I could have asked him nicely. To which I thought… Ya, the three (3!) times the flight attendants asked you nicely worked so well, didn’t it? But I didn’t say anything. I just kept walking

Then Mr. Medium Shot told me his uncle is a pilot and told him that cell phones can’t interfere with the plane’s electronics. To which I thought… Wow, ignorance runs through several stains of your blood line. But I didn’t say anything. I just kept walking.

Seeing he wasn’t getting the response from me that he’d hoped for, Mr. Medium Shot told me he was a cage fighter and he was going to follow me out of the airport and kick my ass. To which I thought… My God, it’s Kip from Napoleon Dynamite. But I didn’t say anything. I just kept walking.

Then Mr. Medium Shot said I yelled at him because I have a small penis and yelling at him made me feel like more of a man. To which I thought… Really? You’re bringing my penis size into this? I must have really wounded your ego when I told you to turn off your phone.

Mr. Medium Shot realized he wasn’t provoking me as he’d wished. This made him even more angry so he started pushing me and poking me. Lord, is this buffoon really going to start a fight with me right here in the terminal. I could not help be imagine how he much struggle with the relationships in his life. I thought about asking him about it. But I didn’t say anything. I just kept walking.

Mr. Medium Shot then got more verbal and more physical. As he was so focused on his aggression he failed to realize then while I was walking… with my eyes focused straight ahead, I was on a quest. A quest to find an Atlanta police officer and when I did, I walked right up to him as Mr. Medium Shot continued to berate me, not even taking notice of the police officer standing there.

I politely told the officer what happened on the plane, to which Mr. Medium Shot told the offer I should not have spoken to him in the tone of voice that I did. The police officer then said to Mr. Medium Shot… Do you realize that having your cell phone on after the boarding door closes is a federal offense?

As Mr. Medium Shot stuttered and stammered to come up with a response, I politely thanked the officer for helping to ensure Mr. Medium Shot would not follow me out of the airport and assault me, as he had promised. Then Mr. Medium Shot turned his anger toward the officer. I just giggled and walked away. I was probably 100 feet down the corridor when I looked back and there were now two officers talking to Mr. Medium Shot.

As I walked to my connecting gate, I had to smile inside at the irony of it all... not about what happened... rathar that I was able to keep my mouth shut as he gave me so many opportunities to fire back some really funny one-liners.

Fire Chief (ret.) Richard B. Gasaway, PhD, EFO, CFO, MICP
www.RichGasaway.com

Maturity meter

Someone needs to invent a maturity meter. It would be a device that you could point at someone and it would provide you with a rating of the other person’s maturity. Imagine how handy that would be when selecting employees.

In almost every situation where I have observed or heard of employees behaving poorly it almost always ties to immature behavior being displayed by adults. This validates of the most accurate observation I have shared so often: Growing old is mandatory but maturing is optional. Most of my employee problems arose from those who chose not to mature.

I was asked once during a program what field of study an aspiring supervisor should study. Without hesitation, my response was simple: “Child Psychology.” As I have studied child psychology, the misbehaviors of my adult employees have become more and more predictable (both the desired and undesired behavior). I would also recommend learning how to influence behavioral changes in children and this will, in turn, help you influence behavioral changes in your adult employees.

Fire Chief (ret.) Richard B. Gasaway, PhD, EFO, CFO, MICP
Executive Director
Center for the Advancement of Situational Awareness & Decision Making
www.RichGasaway.com

The pride of being #6 and #7

During my programs I regularly pause to acknowledge and honor our service members in my audiences, asking veterans, active duty and reservist to stand and be recognized.

I did this recently at a breakout session at a state conference and when the presentation was done a gentleman came up to me, almost in tears. He said “You’re number six.” I didn’t know what that meant so I asked him to explain.

He said I as the sixth person who ever thanked him for his military service. He said he was a Vietnam War veteran and when he came back from the war he was spit on and defiled for what he’d for his country.

I shook his hand, and told him that I, and many other Americans appreciate what he did and the sacrifices he made.

The next day I gave the keynote address and, once again, gave thanks to the service members in the audience. This gentleman was in the audience again. I told the entire delegation what he’d told me the day before about being number six and how sad that was, yet how proud it made me feel to be number six. And now… I felt honored to be number seven.

Fire Chief (ret.) Richard B. Gasaway, PhD, EFO, CFO, MICP
Executive Director, Center for the Advancement of Situational Awareness and Decision Making
www.RichGasaway.com

Brilliant to Buffoon in 10 Seconds Flat

Recently I took my son on a three-day adventure for school to Deep Portage Learning Center.

For the most part, the trip went as well as one could expect, chaperoning a cadre of exuberant fifth graders on outdoor adventures.

The problems started the first night and it wasn’t with a student. It was with a parent. The fellow chaperone sharing our room snored so bad that I did not sleep at all the first night (making me wish I would have taken my computer because I would have had lots of time to work on things). But I didn’t because I was being the “good father” who left his work behind. Being up all night with nothing to do when I had so much to do was quite the source of frustration.

I was so bored that I did the crossword puzzle in an old newspaper that was sitting in the break room. For anyone who knows me well, you know I was in agony.

By midway through the second day I was having so much fun that I actually forgot about the misery of the first night. But it all came back to me about 10 minutes after “lights out” and the snoring erupted. Honestly! Is it possible for someone to make that much noise and not wake themselves up? That is a medical mystery that needs research!

I could not take it anymore. I got out of bed and I went on a quest to find earplugs. Surely this was not the first time something like this had happened and the staff would be prepared. But the staff were all in bed and I was to fend for myself.

Snooping around in the break room I found… mini marshmallows. Brilliant! They looked to be about the size of ear plugs. I pulled one out of the bag and depressed it between my thumb and forefinger. It was soft and pliable. I tried one in my ear for fit. It was perfect. I had found my solution. I felt like Edison must have felt after discovering the telephone.

I stuffed one in each ear and off to bed I went. They worked splendidly. I could still hear a faint sound that had snoring features, but it was dulled enough that I could sleep. And off to dreamland I went.

I awoke sometime during the night, realizing I needing to use the restroom. I got up and walked to the bathroom and while I was in there I realized my earplugs were working so well that I could hardly hear my stream hitting the water in the toilet. Again, I marveled at my brilliance.

As I walked back to bed I thought it’d be wise to check the positioning of my earplugs before I bedded down again because they were working so well I surely didn’t want one to fall out. As I reached into my right ear with the tip of my finger I realized, immediately, that I had a BIG problem. The marshmallow had melted.

The reason my earplugs were working so well is that they had formed an airtight seal of goo in my ear. What a buffoon! Why didn’t I realize they would melt? What do I do now? If I go back to bed and they continue to melt and ooze back to my eardrum I’m going to have a really big problem on my hands.

Fortunately, my survival skills kicked in as I remembered that I had brought Q-Tips along. I took one Q-Tip and gently rolled it in a circular motion at the entrance to my right ear and, even to my amazement, it worked. The marshmallow clung to the cotton and I was able to extract the entire blob out. A second Q-tip had equal success in the left ear and I was once again elevated to brilliant status.

And then… it was back to purgatory as I had to listen to the other dad snore the rest of the night. As I lay there, I contemplated the possibility of stuffing mini marshmallows up his nose. Not that I thought it would stop his snoring, but at least he'd have a big mess to clean up when he awoke refreshed. And I'd start my day off feeling vindication for my "near deaf" experience.

Fire Chief (ret.) Richard B. Gasaway, PhD, EFO, CFO, MICP
www.RichGasaway.com

Just doing my part...

Recently I checked into my hotel after a long day of travel. It's not unusual for me to be on 5-8 airplanes in a week so when I get to my hotel, I always welcome a fresh, clean and inviting room. Little things mean a lot to a road-weary traveler. After I unpacked I decided to take a shower and settle in for some reading before bed.

In the bathroom there was a sign that said the hotel had gone "green" and they were doing their part to concern our precious natural resources. In this case - water. The sign informed me if I wanted to reuse my towel, I could hang it up on the rack and that would be the indicator to housekeeping that they would not have to replace it. If I want to have the towel replaced, then I should leave it on the floor.

As I was getting into the shower I wondered if campaigns like these are really effective or if they are just the hotel's way to jump on the "we've gone green" bandwagon. I didn't think about it long though. For as I turned the water on, I realized the shower head was no ordinary shower head. Oh no. It was the Speakman S-2222-HS-CP dual showerhead with two full spray 50-jet nozzles and massage spray features attached to a solid brass manifold with chrome plated plungers.

After what seemed like an hour in the bliss of this shower Nirvana (an exaggeration of time.... I'm sure it was no more than 30 minutes... ok 40 minutes max), I got out, dried off and hung my towel on the rack. I wanted to be sure to do my part to conserve our precious natural resources, in this case - water.

Fire Chief (ret.) Richard B. Gasaway, PhD, EFO, CFO, MICP

http://www.richgasaway.com/

The land of the free and the home of the brave

I have known for almost a year of my son’s plans to become a United States Marine. His decision to go that route did not surprise me much. He has always been patriotic. He would always sing the National Anthem when it was played. I notice things like that – especially as I would notice the other young men around us standing silent. Did they not know the words or were they choosing simply not to sing the Anthem? Though I wondered, I guess the answer didn’t really matter. What mattered to me most was MY son stood proud with his hand over his heart singing.

He shipped off this week for his thirteen weeks of basic training – an adventure I affectionately termed “summer camp” fully aware it would be unlike any summer camp he’d ever attended. Was he prepared for this? Had we raised him right? How would we know? How does any parent know when the day comes to turn your son or daughter loose into the grown-ups world if you’ve done it right?

The comfort I drew from as I contemplated these questions did not come from anything I had done, but what he had done that proved him ready – proved him worthy – of being a Marine. He had been a fire explorer and rose to the highest officer rank within that organization. He was a competitive swimmer for six years and was selected to be the co-captain of the high school swim team and receiving awards for being most-improved and most inspirational. He took EMT class as a high school elective, competing in (and winning) the state high school EMT competition. Then he went on to the national competition in Orlando and won third in the nation. He had been a boy scout for eight years, rising to the rank of Eagle scout, being inducted into the Order of the Arrow and was voted into the Vigil – the national honor society of the boy scouts – a honor bestowed on less than one percent of all scouts.

Reflecting back, it seems as though nearly everything he did from age 12 through graduation culminated in his rise to a leadership position. Yes, he was ready to be a United States Marine.

Even as he prepared to ship he was setting goals. “Dad, I want to be the Company Honorman.” I didn’t know what that was so he had to explain to me that each company has one person selected to carry the Guide (the flag of the company) during the graduation ceremony. This will be the only Marine in the company in a Class-A uniform. I remember thinking to myself, almost humorously, “That sure will make you easier to see at graduation.” (But I didn’t tell him that.) The selection criteria for company honorman is not widely known but if it is based on leadership, I think he is well prepared.

There are several good websites designed to support Marine recruits and their families. These sites tell parents what their Marine sons and daughters will be doing every week of their training. Watching the videos on those sites assure me that the Marines are doing a thorough job of preparing my son for the honored task of protecting the freedom all of us enjoy, and many take for granted. Remember, we are the land of the free because we are the home of the brave who protect our freedoms around the world.

Semper Fi, my son, and to all service men and women – recruits, reservists, active duty and retired.

Richard B. Gasaway, PhD, EFO, CFO, MICP
www.richgasaway.com

Marine support websites
www.recruitparents.com
www.marineparents.com

If you want a big tip from me, you'd better give exceptional service.

Recently during my travels I had dinner alone at a restaurant. That's not unusual at all as program hosts usually want to go home to their families after a long day in the classroom and I am left to fend for myself for dinner. Ok, enough of the self-pity party, that's not the point.

For dinner I had a Cobb Salad (one of my favorite on-the-road salads) and a glass of water to drink. The bill came to around $9.50. I realize that's not a big ticket dinner item, but the service was lousy. The waiter didn't even come back to my table during my meal. The salad was delivered by someone else, so essentially I saw this waiter two times, once when he took my order and once when he dropped off the bill. I had a $50 bill that I wanted to change up for a cab ride in the morning so I set the $50 on top of the bill at the end of the table. The service was not good and I contemplated how much tip I should leave.

As I was contemplating what to leave for a tip the waiter came by, picked up the money and the bill and said "Do you need me to bring you change?" I realize that is probably a standard waiter response when they pick up a check and I suspect he said it without even looking at the denomination of the money, but he should have.

I was tempted to ask if he thought the quality of his service and the personal attention he had paid to me during my dinner was worth a $40 tip on a $10 bill, but I didn't say a word. I let my tip do the talking for me... which is a shame because I have been known to give 30-50% tips when the service is impressive.

Fire Chief (ret.) Richard B. Gasaway, PhD, EFO, CFO, MICP
www.RichGasaway.com

Above the rules

Recently I was on a flight from Minneapolis to Denver. The forward door was closed and the flight attendant instructed everyone to turn off and stow their electronic devices.

Apparently the guy sitting next to me had some sort of special dispensation from the rules as he continued to text. No big deal, we haven't pulled away from the gate yet, so I let it go.

Then we started our push back... still texting.

Then we were on our taxi down the tarmack toward the runway... still texting.

If there is a downside to all the research I have done on aviation safety it's knowing a little too much about how accident occur, including how latent two-way devices (like cell phones and wi-fi) have impacted the navigation equipment on the flight deck.

I politely asked the guy to turn off his device. He snarled and cussed at me and told me to mind my own business. I guess I could have told him it was my business because if the plane crashes because of his text messaging, I would be very inconvenienced by that.

I simply said the flight attendant had instructed the passengers to turn off and stow all electronic devices. He cussed at me again.

I told him if he didn't turn it off I would call for the flight attendant. He snarled and cussed again. DING - went the bell as I depressed the flight attendant call button. The flight attendant had already been seated and belted so she was not real happy to get up and come back to see what the problem was.

I told her what had transpired (and the guy was STILL texting). She told him to turn it off and stow it. He cussed at her and told her he'd turn it off when he was done. She told him if he didn't turn it off right now, she'd ask the pilot to return to the gate and he would be removed.

He turned it off, jammed it down into the carry-on bag between his legs, searched through the bag and angrily pulled out a copy of "Flying" magazine and prominently set it on his lap so I could see it.

Honestly, did he think I would be impressed that he owned a magazine with a Cessna on the cover? Well, if that's what he was going for, he was surely disappointed when I didn't apologize for asking a "pilot" (assuming he was one and hadn't simply found a copy of the magazine on the floor in the bathroom stall) to turn off his cell phone during the taxi.

He spent the next forty minutes turning the pages of the magazine with such anger that each flip made a loud noise. He wasn't happy with me and I was sending me a message.

Why do some people think they are above the rules?

Fire Chief (ret.) Richard B. Gasaway, PhD, EFO, CFO, MICP
www.RichGasaway.com

Is the message you are sending what you intended?

One of the greatest frustrations many people face is being misunderstood. When you are having a conversation, it is much easier to realize it is happening because the other person might tell you they don’t understand. But what about when the communications isn’t face to face. For example, the boss drafts a memo or policy and posts it on the bulletin board for everyone to read… and “understand.” But do they?

Allow the attached picture to serve as an example. The first grade teacher’s assignment was simple. Draw a picture that illustrates what your mommy or daddy does for a living. Armed with their Crayons and colored pencils, the kids went to work, proudly drawing a parent hard at work.

When one youngster brought the assignment home, imagine the horror on her mom’s face as she viewed the picture. What must the teach think of Mom? Had little Sally revealed the family’s deep, dark secret of how the family affords to live in a nice neighborhood and drive a nice car?

Read on…

After viewing the picture, Mom wrote a note to the teacher explaining that she is not a pole dancer in an exotic club, as the picture might depict. Rather, she works at Home Depot and she had recently told her daughter about her day at work when there was a snow storm coming and everyone was trying to buy snow shovels from Mom.

What kind of pictures are you drawing in your communications with others?

Fire Chief (ret.) Richard B. Gasaway, PhD, EFO, CFO, MICP

www.RichGasaway.com

I was having such a good day...

I was having such a good day. What does a good day mean in my pathetic life? I woke up (I always count that as a good start to the day). Got the kids up and off to school and went to the office (the neighborhood coffee shop). Read and sent some e-mails, wrote a blog entry, and made a couple of phone calls. Yes, that’s as good as it gets on most days for me.

I left the coffee shop with a fresh cup of java around lunch time to check my post office box. I had a couple of checks in the mail! Booya! My good day got even better. As I was leaving the post office something happened that was going to change all that.

In front of me a blue-haired lady driving a early model sedan pulled right out in front of me. I remember thinking to myself… Hmmm… this is not good. She didn’t even see me, she’s going about 4 MPH and I am now sliding in the icy roadway approaching the rear end of her car at about 15 MPH. I did some quick calculations which resulted in the realization I was going to meet her in a very unpleasant way rather soon.

To avoid this, I had what appeared, at the time, to be a reasonable option. I would swerve to the right where snow was piled along the roadside. I would probably end up way up in the snow and have to be towed. But, I would not hit the elderly lady.

I put the plan into action and steered into the snow. It seemed like such a good plan until my car did not drive through the snow, but rather, drove UP the snow bank and before I knew it, my car was in its roof.

There I was, upside down, sliding on a icy roadway, metal screeching, and glass breaking all around me. I’m thinking “This isn’t good.” Up to that moment, I was having such a good day.

And there I was, suspended upside down, taking stock of my inventory. All my body parts are present and accounted for. But, like the song, there was something warm running in my eye. I must have hit my head. I released the seatbelt and it took a little ingenuity to figure out how to get the brake pedal depressed (which was now above me) and get the car into park and turned off. That alone was a comical feat.

I crawled out of the car, expecting the person who cut me off to be standing there, apologetic for her careless act of cutting me off. Nope, she was long gone. I don’t think she even know it happened. There were no witnesses. However, it’s amazing that once you put your car on its roof you start to attract gawkers as if you were giving away free $50 bills for everyone to stop by and ask what happened.

Thankfully, my injuries were very minor. The car, on the other hand, didn’t fare so well. It was considered a total loss by the insurance company. Now, I get to go shopping for a replacement car.

I am thankful the little old lady was not injured. I am thankful I was not injured. I am thankful there was not another car coming from the other direction. That would have been painful. I am thankful I was alone and none of my family had to endure that traumatic event. So, all in all, even with the accident, it was still a good day.

Oh, the something warm running in my eye… was my coffee!

Fire Chief (ret.) Richard B. Gasaway, PhD, EFO, CFO, MICP
www.RichGasaway.com

Father-Son Bonding

Sometimes, when you’re least expecting, an opportunity for bonding comes into your midst. Such was the case today when I took my eldest son to the hardware store. It seemed like such a non-event, picking up a couple of replacement bolts and washers. But, for some reason, this trip was special for me.

Just before Christmas he decided that when he graduates he’s going to serve our country as a United States Marine. I am very proud of him and the direction he has chosen. Now, every moment spent together is even more precious. Even a trip to the hardware store and a discussion about bolts and washers becomes special time.

All parents know the day will come when our little ones leave the nest and venture out into the grown ups world. We wonder if we’ve taught them everything they need to know to be successful… to be happy… to be safe. I guess we never really know.

I recall the countless number of times I growled at him for playing video war games. Now I question if he played enough of those games to develop skills that will help him survive as a Marine. I guess those questions will be answered in time.

In the meantime, I will take advantage of every opportunity I can to bond over bolts and washers in the hardware store, and pray to God with all my might that he is ever vigilant. Semper Fi, my son, Semper Fi.

Fire Chief (ret.) Richard B. Gasaway, PhD, EFO, CFO, MICP
www.RichGasaway.com
... and proud parent of a soon-to-be United States Marine

Hot dogs are social food

I was with a friend the other day and we stopped and got a hot dog. As I was eating it and enjoying the conversation, I quickly realized that hot dogs (at least for me) is a social food. I cannot recall ever eating a hot dog alone. Maybe it's because I'm not particularly fond of the tubules of compressed pig lips and knuckles. Ya, I eat them when there's no good alternative and ya, I enjoy the taste with the right proportion of condiments. I like ketchup, mustard and relish on my dogs.

I had to think back on when and where I've eaten most of my hot dogs. By far, the first place winner is on the golf course when we've made the turn from the front nine to the back nine. They're quick and easy and they taste good with a beer. Second place is picnics and other gatherings of people in mass. And finally, at professional sporting events, where you're sure to pay for one dog what a package of dogs cost at the grocery store.

I don't recall ever getting a craving to eat a hot dog out of the blue. But I do know that when I smell them cooking, something inside me triggers the urge to have one and often causes me to recall some fond memories of being with friends and family. What other foods would you classify as social foods?

Richard B. Gasaway, PhD
www.RichGasaway.com

The Psychology of Money

I had the pleasure of working a fundraising event with my sons who are both swimmers on the high school team. They were bagging groceries for donations and I was staffing the collection box. It was a good night for a fundraiser, the night before Thanksgiving. The patrons were in a giving mood and the swimmers were thankful.

One of the tasks that I had was to take the money out of the box, count it and prepare it for a bank deposit. It was then that I observed a rather peculiar pattern. Those who gave one or two dollars folded their money multiple times or crumpled it up before they put it in the box. Those who gave 3-4 one dollar bills or gave 5, 10 or 20 dollar bills (and yes, there were quite a few who did), the money was never folded more than once (in half) and often not folded at all.

The hole on the lid of the box was large enough that no folding would be necessary. What was it that would make those who give less more included to multiple fold or crumple their donations. Was it embarrassment of giving such a small donation and the belief that folding or crumpling would disguise the amount given? Was it the larger contributors were proud of their giving and wanted those around them to see how much they were putting in the box? (Though, honestly, no one was watching the box that closely). Were the people giving the smaller donations more stressed and taking letting their anxiety show through their bill folding and crumpling?

As a researcher I know that such understanding would require research. I've only observed the phenomenon and have thus asked the question. The answer will have to come from one of those senseless government-funded research projects (you know, like the one that was done to determine how fast ketchup runs out of a bottle). But there's something to it. If you know... reply and educate us all.

Fire Chief (ret.) Richard B. Gasaway, PhD, EFO, CFO, MICP
http://www.richgasaway.com/

Dignity and respect earns trust and loyalty

If you are in a position of authority over others, you have an awesome responsibility. You also have been given a privilege to lead. If you are “lucky” enough to rise in your organization to a position of power, I would encourage you to keep your feet firmly on the ground and to be a humble leader. If you are a leader, people will follow you. Some will follow out of fear. Some will follow out of mere morbid curiosity of where you will lead them (see lemmings). No one will follow you out of desire unless you earn their trust and loyalty.

Trust and loyalty comes from treating people with dignity and respect. Simply because you have the right to give orders and boss people around doesn’t mean you have to. Saying please and thank you and showing a genuine interest in your employees will do more to motivate them than the threats and intimidation that so many bosses use.

Some bosses get consumed by their power. It feels good to them. Order people to jump… and they jump. Not because they WANT to jump. Rather, they fear the consequences if they don’t jump. The boss feels accomplished because the employees are jumping, just as the boss ordered them to do. The boss thinks the employees are motivated – and they are. However, they are not motivated by desire to do the company’s work. They are motivated by fear to keep their jobs.

Effective bosses do not have to be popular. However, the most effective bosses I have seen are those whose employees genuinely enjoy working for the boss and doing the company’s work because the boss treats the employees with dignity and respect. One of the problems with bad bosses is… they don’t see it. It’s like they have bad breath and can’t smell it. And no one’s going to tell the boss because the fear factor is so high it’s not worth the risk. So employees hang on and hope the boss leaves or the employees leave. Surveys of top performing employees have repeatedly shown that they don’t quit the company… they quit the bad boss. If you become a boss, treat your employees with dignity and respect and you will earn trust and loyalty.

Fire Chief (ret.) Richard B. Gasaway, PhD, EFO, CFO, MICP
www.RichGasaway.com
RBG3100@aol.com

I can't make this stuff up

I'm in the Walgreen's Pharmacy with my daughter. We're there for flu shots. There's a line. I get bored. I start walking up and down the aisles. As I pass by one aisle I glance to the left and keep walking. Then I stop as my brain tries to comprehend what I just saw. I'm struggling, so I back up and do a double-take. Yep, I really did see it. There was a customer with a package of toilet paper pulled off the shelf, measuring the width of one role of toilet paper with a seamstress tape measure. I paused and watched as the customer put that package back on the shelf and took down another (a different brand) and measured the width of one of the rolls. I SO MUCH wanted to just ask "why?" But I didn't. I just went back to the flu-shot waiting area and sat quietly in my reflection. It will remain one of those mysteries that will haunt me till the day I die.

Richard B. Gasaway, PhD, EFO, CFO
www.RichGasaway.com

The power of the first impression

I had just backed into my driveway and my cell phone rang. It was a conference director wanting to talk with me about the details of an upcoming program. As we chatted, some movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention. It was a person walking through my yard and headed right for my driver’s door.

It was not someone I knew. It’s difficult to describe how he was dressed and his general appearance without giving indication there is a bias in play. Simply stated, he was dressed in blue jeans with holes in them (the kind of holes that make blue jeans hip and stylish for a young person to wear). He had on a tank-top t-shirt and his hair was in disarray (again, stylish for young people). As he approached I wondered what he would want from me.

He handed me a flyer for a tree and landscape service. I immediately thought to myself this person does not put me in the frame of mind as a tree trimmer or a landscaper. When I think of a landscaper or a tree trimmer, in my mind’s eye the person is dressed neatly in khaki trousers and a green or beige shirt with their company logo on one breast and their name on the other. They have on work boots and maybe a pair of gloves protruding out of their back pocket just in case they need to do an impromptu inspection. Stated another way… they are in uniform… or costume if you prefer. Call it what you will. Their dress and appearance gives me a first impression that tells me, immediately, if I would even consider for a moment doing business with them.

If my neighborhood were populated with young, hip urbanites, he might have been able to get away with that look. But it’s not. We’re mostly older and, for sure, conservative in our values and judgments. This poor guy didn’t have a chance. I watched him knock on doors and talk with people as he made his way down the street, only spending just a matter of moments at each door.

I suspect this young man wasn’t even an employee of this tree and landscape company. Rather, he was hired to pass out fliers door-to-door. And that’s exactly what he was doing. He probably got paid the same whether someone signed up for their services or not. The sad part is, the tree trimming company spend some amount of money to have this person perform these duties and likely had a very low return on their investment. Why? Because the first impression is so powerful. Never, ever, let the opportunity slip by to make a good first impression.

Give the practical birthday gift

When it comes to my kids' birthdays, I really enjoy the idea of having a celebration and buying gifts. In fact in their younger years (and I still have one in that range) there are typically more than one opportunity for a party and, of course, getting gifts. There's the "family" celebration... consisting of mom, dad, and the siblings enjoying a nice dinner, followed by a cake, that song, and the presentation of a few gifts. Then there is the "friends" celebration, consisting of a well-orchestrated party, usually at a venue designed for them to enjoy games and festivities followed, of course, by cake, that song… again, and more gifts. It’s the kind of things childhood memories are made of.

However, when it comes to adult birthdays, I tend to be far less enthused about all the pomp and circumstance of the celebration and my choice of gifts transition from the “wants” of childhood to the more practical “needs” of adulthood. So where is all this going?

I was recently in a discussion with a friend of mine and I asked what his plans were for the weekend. “I’m going to Chicago.” My friend travels quite a bit for work so it was my assumption this was another one of those trips… long on work, short on fun. After further inquiry I learned he was taking his significant other (read: live together but still too nervous to actually get married) to Chicago to celebrate her birthday. I know it’s a violation of the unwritten gift-discussion protocol, but I had to know… so I asked: “How much is that costing you?” He explained he got a really good deal on a package that included airfare, hotel, meal vouchers, show tickets and a couple of gift cards… $600. They’re DINKs (Dual Income No Kids) so money’s not an issue for them. But still…

The instant I heard this panic set in. My mind started to scheme a way to keep my wife from finding out there are guys out there who would spend this kind of money, and maybe even more importantly, give up an entire weekend, just for a birthday. What excuse could I offer to her for this completely irrational behavior? How could I get her to understand that practical, reasonably priced gifts, like the $39 pancake griddle I bought here last year from Target was MUCH better than that gift my friend had given.

I know, I would just be honest and share my logic with her. In guy world, the measure of love when it comes to gift giving is practicality. The more the gift fills a “need” instead of a “want” the greater the display of love and devotion. It might work. We have four kids. My wife makes breakfast for us every Sunday morning… a tradition she started many years ago. About two months before her birthday the pancake griddle broke, leaving her to deal with the arduous task of cooking pancakes for six in fry pans. This doubled the time it took her to cook breakfast and, quite honestly, the pancakes just didn’t taste as good (which led to the withholding of accolades from the family units about how good breakfast tasted). I could see the angst on her face every Sunday. It was painful to see each time I came into the kitchen to refill my coffee mug. The gift of a pancake griddle would surely score a victory on so many levels. Mom=happier. Kids=happier. Dad=Hero. See, it was an easy decision.

To instill my ethic of practical gift buying, I took the kids with me to Target to pick out this culinary device of family pleasure. As we perused the selection, they locked in on the Black & Decker Family Sized Griddle. It was entirely too large for the counter space we have to work with (read: too expensive). If I was going to be that extravigant, I'd might as well just take her on a trip to Chicago! I tried to convince the kids that the Kitchen Selectives electric griddle would suffice and would be a much more practical purchase (read: cheaper). I told them it was much more in-line with what mom would like. Debate ensued. They argued “but the larger model has a warming tray underneath to keep the pancakes hot until they are ready to be eaten. Did the old griddle have that feature? No. Did the kids ever complain about eating cold pancakes? No. Conclusion: Unnecessary feature (and expense). In the end, I lost out and mom got the $39 pancake griddle for her birthday. Now, every Sunday morning, I see her face beaming with confidence and joy as she cooks breakfast for her loving brood. She would have never been able to draw this kind of perpetual bliss from some dumb old trip to Chicago.

Hammer time.

I was recently in the airport on my way to Baltimore. I was dropped off about an hour in advance, which is a little tighter than I usually like to run things, but it just started out to be one of those days. It was a Wednesday and at that hour of the morning I did not think the airport would be all that busy. Boy, was I wrong. The cars trying to maneuver in to drop people off were all jockeying for the best position. I don't get this... the person they are going to drop off is probably going to walk a half mile once they get inside the airport terminal. So stop inching your way in for the curbside spot. Just stop the car and get 'em unloaded for crying out loud.

Carol doesn't vie for a position. She wheels up, stops, and I have about thirty seconds to unload, hug, say goodbye, and she's on her way. Very efficient... as it should be. The curbside baggage handler station was lined 10 deep. Where did all these people come from? The line for the security check point was a hundred deep and moving at a pace that allowed me to believe TSA was not prepared for this rush of travelers either. Don't these people know we're in a recession? Shouldn't they be home, curled up in the fetal position, worried about their 401k's and job security?

The time was ticking away on the large clock, prominently displayed over the security check point. I kept looking at the time on my cell phone, as if it were going to be different than the time on the wall clock. It wasn't. I was going to be late. Maybe even miss my flight. I could hear the TSA agents barking the usual orders "Remove all liquids and gels from your carry-on and put them in a one quart clear plastic bag." "Remove your shoes." "Remove your coat." "Take your laptop out of the case." My God... have these people never traveled before? It was then I realized there should be two lines. One for those who know how to get through a security check point, and one for those who think those warnings about the liquids and gels somehow don't apply to them.

I finally got up for enough to get my stuff on the roller table in preparation for the X-ray. I felt some relief. I was almost there. Only fifty minutes to my boarding time and the walk to my gate would take ten. It was going to work out after all. Then... the X-ray machine ground to a halt. I heard the screener say the lone word I did not want to hear... "Supervisor." Actually, she had to say it three times before she got one's attention. The supervisor approached and the screener pointed to something on the screen and they talked in a low voice. It was the bag ahead of mine that was causing concern... but nonetheless, the X-ray machine was not putting my bags through.

I passed through the personal X-ray scanner and waiting patiently. The TSA agent and her supervisor were still having a pow-wow. Then she turned the screen in our direction and said to the guy in front of me... "Sir, are these hammers inside this suitcase?" He replied "Yes." The TSA agent said "You can't take hammers on the airplane." The guy became angry and started arguing with the TSA agent, as if she was someone going to, on the spot, make an exception to the TSA's prohibited items list. All the while, I could hear the voice of Bill Engvall saying "Here's your sign." Come on... hammers!?! Three of them to be exact. Just Taser the dude, drag his carcass out of the way and get that X-ray belt rolling again, I have a plane to catch.

I made my plane... barely. When I got to my destination hotel, I was emptying out my suitcase and came along a stash of lotions, conditioners, and shampoos... like six bottles of the stuff... that my wife had absconded from the Embassy Suites on our trip to Oklahoma City the previous week. Thankfully, the TSA agents were hammering out bigger problems and my bag sailed right through.

You can't cheat death... but you can profit from it.

Funny the things you stumble upon when you're doing Internet-based research. Some of it is valuable... some of it is disturbing.

I never had this problem when I was a kid. If I needed to know something about the White House, I went to the library and plopped down at a table with the Encyclopedia Britannica. That was so 1970's. Now, just about anything you want to know is just a few key strokes away on Google.

Take, for example, the research I was conducting recently on mortality rates in the airline industry. The first page of the search results contained everything I needed to know. But, just out of morbid curiosity (pardon my pun), I went to the second page of the search results. I now wish I hadn't done that.

There I found a site called You Bet Their Life. It is a site dedicated to a game that "provides cold, hard cash for cold, hard stiffs." I envisioned that you actually bet on which month of the year that someone is going to die... sort of like a horse race. "I'll bet $2 on Aunt Edna in the seventh." If she wins (or loses... depending on your perspective), then someone stands to make some moolah.

Imagine if there was a link to another page for tips on how to improve your chances of your "prospect" winning. (It took me a long time to come up with the word "prospect." I could not think of a really good term to use for that person whose death you are gambling on). Since you are prospecting on their death... I guess that makes them a "prospect."

Ok... the list for how to improve your prospect's chances of dying... and thus, you winning.

1. Serve them bacon three meals a day.

2. Ask them to help you re-create how Benjamin Franklin discovered electricity.

3. Tell them raw hamburger is the new sushi.

4. Offer to take them on vacation with you... help them get on the airplane... then you get IN the airplane.

5. Take them to Spain for the running of the bulls and when it's ready to start, ask them to go across the street and buy you a Latte.

(Want to add to the list? Post your suggestion in the comment box at the end of this rant.)

It may seem cold and calculated to bet on someone's death, but from a purely financial perspective, it makes better business sense than playing the lottery. The chances of winning the PowerBall jackpot is 1 in 195 million. The chances that someone will die is 1 in 1 (a guaranteed payoff). If you have a life insurance policy on yourself, you're already playing the game (you sicko!) Unfortunately, winning that game means you're on the shuttle bus to the marble orchard.