Friday Night Quarterbacking

Sometimes, it takes me a few days before my consciousness finally catches up with the decisions I've made. And as I mentally audit the past, there are those unfortunate moments when you realize that you should have paid attention the first time around.

As I brushed my teeth tonight, I suddenly thought back to this past Tuesday, when my friend CMUG out of the blue called me at work.

"Hey! What are you doing next week?"
"Hmm. Working."
"Do you want to go back to our high school for Career Day and talk about what you do?"
"I duuuuunnno." I open Outlook and look at a day packed with appointments. "I'm pretty tied up with meetings and projects. Things are pretty rough these days."
"Are you sure? It would be so fun! And they only do it every two years."
"Yeah.... I don't think I can get away."
"Alright then, just wanted to check. Talk to you later."
Click.

It took me nearly four days to finally think over this exchange. Suddenly, tonight, I snapped to my senses and realized that I just passed on the most amazing opportunity to share my experiences with those who could really benefit from some advice - teenagers toeing graduation and their foray into college or the working world.

I realize that I passed on an unforgettable experience for one that will be utterly forgetable - another day of frenzied paper pushing, emails., and conference calls. Somehow, despite my impending departure, my loyalty to my work prevented me from seeing the bigger picture and answering when opportunity knocked.

Damn.

Did I mention I always dreamt of such an opportunity to help guide young lives? In fact, I've thought out several business schemes involving life tutoring and counseling for the youth.

Damn.

Don't ever get lost in the thicket my friends. Maybe I could have shuffled my meetings around. Who knows, maybe they will get Cancelled anyway. Don't ever shut doors on yourself. Don't ever convince yourself out of doing what you've always wanted to do.

And above all, don't ever forget what's important ... and what isn't.

A Rock, A Hard Place, and Katie

The heavyset, wheelchair-bound lady in the dirty ski jacket made her announcement to the crowded Bart train.

“My name is Katie and I have multiple sclerosis. I need to see the doctor and I have to pay a 20 dollar copay. Can anyone help me?”

My fellow passengers stewed in the awkward silence that followed and several of them passed to Katie their spare dollars.

Disgusted, I looked away. Was it my place to say something? Was it my battle to fight?

Was it my place to tell these unassuming Samaritans that “Katie” had just announced the same story right in front of me only two minutes before – while we waited for the Bart train?

Was the $20 dollar bill from the corporate real estate broker who sat next to me not enough to cover this supposed $20 copay? Were the five singles that followed from the young Asian man not enough to cover any extra gap? [In fact, she had called out that she only needed one more dollar after getting the 20 – and when the man came over, riffling through his wallet, she casually said – the other bills would be nice too. He complied.]

Initially sympathetic to the woman’s plight, I cast her the darkest of glares during the rest of the Bart ride.

I know your plan, lady. Your audacity is shocking and your easy lies prey on the innocence of others. You probably don’t even need a wheelchair.

As my feeling of loathing slowly ebbed, I wondered if I, in a position of financial comfort, could justly condemn the woman. What if she was on the brink of starvation? What if she were living out of her car – or worse, completely homeless? When it comes to starvation and poverty, perhaps any tool to assist with survival is justified. This woman had found a loophole into people’s hearts and wallets – the need to pay a copay for multiple sclerosis treatment somehow resonated further than the standard “can you spare a dollar?” It was a con game, no doubt about it, but do the code of ethics still hold when your back is against the wall and you’re just fighting to stay alive?

I’m not advocating in anyway that her fake story was in anyway justified. It further tore at the already threadbare fabric of our public compassion. But still I wonder, when someone is at the foot of Maslow’s pyramid, if ethics stood between people and their basic needs, what would happen?

I Swear That I Don't

Grabbed sushi with Yangstar today and we got on the topic of mingling into the right crowds. In the context of work, getting to know the right people and relating to them on personal levels may bolster your professional future as well. As we surveyed our place in our companies and reflected on our own personalities, Yangstar shared this insight:

"You are too squeaky clean. People like to have a little bit of dirt on others. That helps them relate better."

What he was getting at was that, because I don't swear and rarely get crass, I will have difficulty bonding with others who favor such characteristics. I see what he means. When you are at your most comfortable, you typically don't watch your language and you get silly and stupid. A person like me, who doesn't swear nor has a "frat" version of myself, can seem a bit too pristine for anyone looking to just kick back and be beer buddies. It's like pairing up Homer Simpson, a casual, laid back, man's man, with Ned Flanders. They're from different worlds.

Rule No. 1: Coworkers that swear at each other, stick with each other.

Another characteristic I lack is any contemporary knowledge of sports -- and particularly college sports. This is one of the core subject areas of any sort of off-duty guy mingling.

Rule No. 2: Sports is the lifeblood of alpha male conversation.

This particular challenge has surfaced quite often - most recently in Japan. I was hanging out with some of the guys on the trip and the topic of last year's Cal football roster came up.

Guy 1: Yeah, next year is going to be tough. You guys are losing a lot of key players
Guy 2: Definitely. But you know what, at least you'll have that running back. Hmm, what's his name...
Me (only guy from Cal, representative of the "you guys" in this conversation): Hmm...yeah, what was his name.... [feign deep thought ... I actually have no clue at all]
Guy 2: Mark? Marshall?
Me: Hmmm .... yeah, maybe that's it.
Guy 1: Marshawn Lynch. I think that's him.
Me: AHHHHHHH. right-o.

It's unfortunate that my knowledge of sports came to an end after the mid 80s, when I loved the Lakers (real showtime), Bears (superbowl shuffle!), and A's (bash brothers!). If I knew now what I knew then...maybe I'd be joshing with the fellas around the proverbial watercooler, rather than eschewing the latest twist in Desperate Housewives.