At work a few weeks back, we were discussing creating a document where we store data that multiple people needed to access for responding to RFPs. My colleague – who sometimes mixes up words – ran with the idea, suggesting we create a central suppository.
I almost fell off my chair at the time, but in retrospect, I think there’s something clever about it. At least it would be more polite to direct someone to a “central suppository” instead of telling them directly to shove it up their ass.
Since I had to travel for work on Monday (meaning I would miss Valentine’s Day) Alan and I decided we would celebrate early by making reservations at Brasserie Beck for dinner right after work Friday night.
We were both pretty excited about it, so when my leg ballooned to the size of an elephant’s trunk and I hopped a cab for the hospital, I called him with the news, “We may need to push back our dinner reservation, because I’m on my way to the ER.”
I probably should’ve started that call with, “I’m fine and you shouldn’t be worried…” but I was too fixated on the meal to think rationally. So it was no wonder Alan promptly freaked out and jumped in his car to meet me at the hospital.
I’ve never needed an emergency room before, but this weekend I was there twice, for two separate things.
First, my work day was cut short on Friday because I looked down and realize my left calf was suddenly Hulk-worthy, measuring in at almost two inches wider in circumference than my right leg. I called my doctor and he directed me to the ER to get an ultrasound for a blood clot. (More on that in a separate entry.)
Then yesterday, thinking I would take advantage of the gorgeous weather, I ventured out for a walk. Forty minutes into the walk, while in a pedestrian crosswalk, I got hit by a car.
I recently got into a discussion with a friend about titles. Not house titles or book titles, but professional titles. As in, what does your business card say?
My friend was bemoaning the fact that her company uses titles that make sense internally, but don’t in any way correlate to the outside world. Namely, to their customers.
“I’m pretty high up in my organization,” she told me, “but my title says manager so whenever I’m negotiating with a client, their response is generally, ‘let me talk to your boss.'”
I can relate. I work for a company that doesn’t place a lot of importance in a person’s title, so we all roll with what we’re handed. For the most part it works, except that I generally am negotiating with Vice Presidents. Little do they know that in my world, everyone is empowered to help them, and “manager” means it’s generally within my jurisdiction to stop the buck.
Anyway. Back to my friend. She asked if I thought she was making a mountain out of a molehill, or if it was a legitimate beef.
My response?
First, I think it’s fine to have TWO titles. To internally have a title that conveys your function and speaks to the progressiveness of the organization, if you work for a flat organization. But when it comes to the outside world? Hell no. You need to speak the same language and translate your competency into terms your clients can understand.
You ask for respect in how you present yourself, and a title is part of that. Poor titles mean you spend a decent part of every first conversation trying to establish your credibility and defend your position. It’s a waste of time.
As I told my friend: “You wouldn’t expect to be treated with respect if you went to the doctor, pointed to your crotch and say ‘my hoohoo is broken,’ would you?”
No? Exactly.
Use words fit within your clients’ vocabulary. Otherwise, brace to have many lame hoohoo conversations.
You’ve been warned.
Yesterday would have been Ronald Reagan’s 100th birthday, so NPR ran a story discussing his life and legacy. It was a generous, human look at an actor-turned-politician.
From what I hear, people apparently adore the man. I won’t say anything beyond that, because my last few attempts to write a sentence ended up with: a) an essay about Alzheimer’s, and b) imagining how I would feel about a puppy becoming the POTUS. While both are debatably relevant to this post, neither is especially helpful nor likely to endear me to you, my patient readers.
So what I learned while listening to NPR’s profile that was REALLY fascinating to me is that Reagan allegedly pulled 77 people out of the water when he was a lifeguard. (They interviewed #70, who said that “Dutch” was a really great guy.)
A few observations…
pithypants 