Let’s cut to the chase and not waste any of your valuable time, shall we?

Some of you may disagree, but service on the east coast can be a vastly different experience from anywhere out west. My wife and me moved back here after 13 years and noticed the difference immediately. From supermarkets, landscapers, HVAC service providers, shitty waiters and fast food stores.

I remember Susan coming home from food shopping our first week back swearing and throwing the groceries on the counter after the check out lady at Shaw’s reprimanded her for not knowing how much an item cost. Compared to Arizona, these people are doing you a favor. Ask ’em, they’ll tell you.

When we lived out there, the grocery stores all had the “six foot rule,” meaning that if a customer came within six feet of you and you were an employee, you should greet them. By name if possible. I thought that was weird at first, but I got used to it. I thought these guys were hitting on me. Waiters would kneel down next to you and point out specials on the menu and just about follow me into the men’s room with tongs. 🙂

It’s not unusual to check out of any store around here and never make eye contact as they mumble “Have a nice day” in a Stephen Hawking-like voice. We recently had our water heater go out on us and had to have it replaced. We called the family owned company that had just installed all new appliances in our kitchen. He was the oldest son and very customer savvy. We were happy.

But the water heater was his dad’s specialty, so he shows up and within four hours we are up and running again. I pay him and never think to go down to the basement and check it out. That night I go downstairs for something and see a drainage tube strung across the room like a clothesline. I couldn’t believe it. This was the absolute dumbest, not to say dangerous, setup I had ever seen. Surely this was a temporary fix.

We called and he showed up the next morning, looks at it and says “what’s the problem?” Long story short, I get him to take the clothesline down and have it drain into the floor like it had been before. On the way out he says “You happy now?” He walks back to his truck shaking his head. The nerve of me.

There’s worse disappointments but these are the most recent. I am not shy and I am not averse to giving out as good as I get. Having worn knee pads most of my professional life, I’m not taking shit from a rookie.

The real catalyst for this rant has to do with an experience I had with a landscaping equipment rental store near my house. We got tired of dealing with the latest methadone addled crew who like to make crop circles on our lawn and thought we would try and do this stuff ourselves.

I have zero experience in this field and barely knew how to start the lawn mower. I had to find out the hard way that you should never try to mow down a steep hill with a push mower. Man, that hurt but I’ll do anything to entertain my neighbors.

To make my life more exciting, I rented a power saw to cut down some trees blocking our entrance way. When Susan’s family heard that I was in possession of a dangerous power tool, they freaked. No, Bobo, No!

So now I have the stump I have to get out of there and figure there’s a tool for that and drive over to the equipment rental store for a thigamajig or whatever. I took a picture with my iPhone so I could explain the situation. This guy gave me so much shit I couldn’t believe it. He says “yeah, it’s a stump, what do I look like McGuyver?”

He goes back to filling out a form and makes a phone call. I wait because he’s the only one in this big store at the moment. He hangs up and says, “look, you wanna buy something, or are you waiting for me to go over and pull it out for you?” Besides, he said, “you’re in the wrong department. See that sign up there? It says SERVICE!”

Oh, sorry, what was I thinking? Why was I bothering that poor man? I couldn’t understand how I could have been so insensitive. I was stumped!

I asked if he owned the store and he said no. I said “Yeah, figures” and left.

Westward Ho!

If you have any questions or need advice, please feel free to reach out to me here.

Bob O’Hearn

113 Wintergreen Lane
Groton Ma. 01450
508-517-6714
bo*@*************ve.com

No matter who you’re dealing with in the business world, everyone you come in contact with is constantly giving off signals that, if you are conscious, will help you connect. That’s why you need to “size ’em up.”

In October of 1961 I was formally expelled from St. Clement’s Catholic School after being summarily beaten to a pulp by two very celibate and violent nuns for dropping the “f bomb” when told I had to stay after. My infraction had been putting a garden snake on the shoulder of the girl who sat in front of me in class. Her name was Eleanor Spinosa. She was a big girl. She stood at least a head over me and probably had 30 pounds on me. When she saw the snake crawling down the front of her school uniform she froze.

I was a bit disappointed until I heard the water dripping on the floor all around her. She was in a catatonic state and lost control of her bladder. Then… the scream, which almost shattered the windows. Sister Anscilla came running down the aisle and quickly put two and two together. The snake, the pee, the hysterical Eleanor and me.

O’Hearn! Again! She smashed me until her arms got tired, rolled me onto the floor and stomped me until her legs wore out. She went back to the head of the class and dismissed everyone but me. She said I would have to stay until 6:00 pm and clean up the pee as well as the whole class room. I muttered “fuck that” and she heard me. That was the last straw. Down to sister superior’s office where they double teamed me. One of them even kidney punched me. I’m thinking, these nuns get some heavy duty tactical training.

Anyway, they’d had enough of my shenanigans and disruptive behavior over the last six years and I was out. While walking through the parking lot everything that was in my desk came flying out the third floor window. Bless me father…

Now, I’m still fourteen at that point and by law I have to attend school. Getting expelled from the eighth grade was the least of my problems. My only option at that point, was the Western Junior High School right behind my house. So close, you could hear teachers yelling in the classrooms.

What I had never anticipated was when I was home, I shot all the windows out with my BB gun and all the kids were forced to hide under their desks, was that I would have to meet the principal, Dr. Horn, the military styled dictator with a crew cut so flat you could land a chopper on his head, to gain entrance to WJHS.

He knew who I was, what I had done, (he had once sent 20 patrol boys over to surround my house) and was looking for $250.00 for those shattered windows before I could enter his domain.

When my father got the news from my blabby brother as soon as he stuck his head in the back door, what I got from the nuns was merely foreplay. This was at around 9:30 pm, bowling night. Bad timing. Very bad. I lay on the top bunk pretending to be asleep when the BB gun came crashing down across my knees. He grabbed me by the collar and the crotch, pulled me towards him and let go. Nice little five foot drop. I’m awake now.

This little session went on well past midnight. His favorite technique was to keep asking you questions you couldn’t possibly answer. Like “why are you so stupid?” (How the fuck should I know?) And “the fake.” He would keep faking a punch until you would beg him to hit you, lest you flinch yourself to death. I needn’t have worried, he granted my wish dozens of times.

I stayed home the rest of the year and healed. I took a test at the Western that fall and they advanced me to the 9th grade. Skipped the eighth entirely and was still ahead the class. Thank you, sisters. But alas, high school was never to be. I was working for my neighbor who had a pizza truck complete with oven and propane tank.

I was driving it all over the place, ball parks, carnivals and universities every night. I was fifteen years old and no license. I learned a lot in those years, about people, liars, hustlers, pimps and gangsters. What’s called emotional intelligence today, was called “street smarts” back in the day.

Even in the crowds I ran with, there was always some conspiracy going down. Sometimes you were the target, sometimes not. Someone always had an issue and you had better be in the loop. Sucker punches, cuffing, (putting lit cigarettes in your pant cuffs) and having to all of a sudden fight someone who wanted your spot in the pecking order. Talk about mean streets.

The truant officer was making frequent visits to the house to make matters worse. My father was working so hard for so many hours, six days a week, to support 12 people, he could hardly find the strength to beat me up anymore. Whew!

At fifteen and nine months my mother wrote a hardship letter to the school system saying that she needed me to work and help support the family. They accepted and I was on my own. The school of hard knocks was accepting applications though, and I was going to get my MBA. I studied street fighting, alcohol, drug abuse, incarceration, war zones and mastered in hypochondria. There was no graduation ceremony.

Sizing ’em up!

I said all that to say this:

If you don’t have “people instincts” or what I call “situational gut” your business career or personal life will be much more difficult. I read a few really great books years ago entitled “Reading People“ and “Emotional Intelligence,” that reinforced and confirmed what I already knew but could never verbalize: that you need to take special care when dealing with other human beings. Dale Carnegie goes without saying.

Seven things you need to take into account when meeting someone for the first time and having to make a lasting impression or even conducting a sales call are:

1. Personal appearance

2. Body language

3. Voice

4. Communication style

5. Content of communication

6. Action

7. Environment

By failing to take into account and listening very closely, (really close) you will not be able to make the connection so needed in this digital world where in-person communication really counts but is vanishing.

We’ve all heard nightmare stories about e-mail miscommunications or misunderstandings that have trashed a deal or relationship. And folks, the knothole is getting smaller by the minute. As noted above, I got my particular brand of emotional intelligence or street sense by ducking punches.

When I was in sales, calling on docs, I looked for overall composure, expression on their face when they see you, neatness, patience, eye contact, listening, (watch checking is a slight hint,) shined or scuffed up shoes, stains on their lab coat, the way they treat their staff, their staff, (direct reflection) and if they leave me in their office alone for any amount of time I will scan that place like I’ve just arrived on a murder scene. Shame on you if you use that time to check your iPhone.

A sales call or meeting has a certain rhythm to it. Failure to feel this rhythm can make your next meeting harder to book. I have mentored many a budding rep that couldn’t pick up on little clues like exhales and “anyyywaays” to know when it’s over. Like in stand up comedy, you want to leave them wanting for more.

On that note…

If you have any questions or need advice, please feel free to reach out to me here.

Bob O’Hearn

113 Wintergreen Lane
Groton Ma. 01450
508-517-6714
bo*@*************ve.com

The lizard brain has a function but the dinosaur brain…

Thirteen years ago, I was relocated from sales in Arizona, to an in-house position in Billerica Ma., to what was then Bristol Myers Squibb Medical Imaging, ostensibly to head up an on-line marketing/detailing and video production program. I came up with a viral marketing concept after reading Seth Godin’s bestseller, “The Idea Virus.” It was all about opt-in, permission based marketing and how companies should stop with one hit messaging and build a conversation over time and instill the type of trust that is required today.

I came up with the idea of creating an e-mail newsletter and sending it to all the attendees of an upcoming in-house  meeting I had scheduled to unveil the concept. I put a photo of me on the cover dressed in medical cap and gown with a surgical mask for flair and called it “Outbreak” hoping to drive home the viral approach. I sent it to everyone in the building with an invite to any and all that would like to learn more.

I ordered forty-five copies of  “The Idea Virus” and placed them all around the room. Hmmmm, Virus. A bit of an unsettling term back in 2003 I was soon to learn.

When the meeting commenced, I opened with a spreadsheet of all attendees that had received, deleted or not opened the communication known as “Outbreak.” Then I dispensed with the data. I told the folks who had received, opened, forwarded it and where they went on the document and that I now had all this information in a database. Think the NSA gets a chilly reception?

I told Jill she had opened her’s at 6:38 am, then again just before the meeting and what click-throughs, or articles on the page she visited. She was clearly unnerved and called the experience “intrusive and creepy.” She, from marketing. A product manager no less.

The program I was using would also allow reps and clinical specialists to create their own specific e-mail newsletters with “pre-approved” content and boilerplate messaging like “thank you, and here is the info we discussed when we met.”

Arms started folding, people started slinking down in their chairs and brows furrowed. Not one saw benefit. They only saw risk. The air conditioning went on all of a sudden, in December. Totally Jurassic!

Once, I had actually digitized and animated a sales piece for an imaging product and presented it to the CEO on a tablet PC long before the advent of iPads. He laid it down on his desk and starting rubbing the glass screen furiously and asking me if I was sure no reps could possibly alter the content. He wanted me to prove it. I went on vacation.

Sadly, we haven’t come very far, at least with some of the dinosaurs I’ve encountered. It’s not that they don’t have the tools, it’s just that they don’t know it or how to use them. IT can sit in their office and read the paper because there won’t be any flashes of lightning coming from the second floor. A lot of decision makers just don’t think in ways that would benefit them in the digital realm.

When I get in a meeting and start talking possibilities and how to maximize reach, frequency and relationships, I get that wide eyed look. I’ve gone too far. My wife usually packs a sock in my brief case for just such occasions. You can be in possession of all the latest toys but if you don’t know what they’re for, or how to use them, you will still be wearing a loin cloth and living in a cave for the foreseeable future because the digital dinosaur population hasn’t dwindled much at all.

If you have any questions or need advice, please feel free to reach out to me here.

Bob O’Hearn

113 Wintergreen Lane
Groton Ma. 01450
508-517-6714
bo*@*************ve.com

Tell you tomorrow. This is what it feels like when you upload your resume into the abyss. Like the old pneumatic tube system, you shove it up there and hope for the best. After that, you have no idea what happens. Did anyone get it? Did a keyword search disqualify you? You don’t know and they won’t tell. All you can do is wait and hope for the best. What a futile, demoralizing system! You are now the equivalent of a mushroom. (I won’t go into that analogy)

I have so many well qualified and talented friends that are living in this black hole of uncertainty. It effects their confidence and social skills as well as their home life. It’s the not knowing and not getting the opportunity to present themselves in person and state their case. In most cases the odds are stacked against you because of this lack of proximity.

Being an independent video producer with years of sales and marketing experience, I have a good idea of who I need to get to, then create a personalized video introduction with b-roll of my past accomplishments and send the uploaded link to that person. You can get that information from their web site, maybe a friend who works there, or by asking the person answering the phone. A little finesse is needed here.

When they get the link and see that I am addressing them personally and what I can do for his or her organization, it is usually well received. If you don’t get the gig at least you get points for creativity and might stay on their mind if another opportunity opens up.

If you should go the video route, don’t use your cousin Lenny’s Flip Cam or iPhone. Send a well produced video that shows you are serious about the opportunity. Remember, we are all professional movie and TV watchers and we know a crapola afterthought when we see one.

Give it your best shot (pun intended). Leave the suspense for Netflix. If my target doesn’t know what I do and how I can help after my video introduction, I should be selling Mary Kay.

If you have any questions or need advice, please feel free to reach out to me here.

Bob O’Hearn

113 Wintergreen Lane
Groton Ma. 01450
508-517-6714
bo*@*************ve.com

On tables. In a restaurant. The higher the scale, the better. The stress will be incredible. The hours, the customers, (regulars are the worst) the staff, like chefs, cooks (note the distinction) bartenders, managers and worse, owners, will push you to your limits of patience and endurance. You will be the conductor in a symphony of a hopefully successful dining experience that someone has paid good money to receive.

You will have difficulties: like miscommunications, timing, not understanding the menu, garbling the specials, kitchen conflicts (cooks usually win) no clue on body language, giving the check to the man when the woman gave you the credit card, food complaints, check disagreements, stiffs, drunks, and when the place starts filling up, so will your tension levels.

You’ll ask someone to watch your station while you find a stall to have a cry in. Meanwhile, the host or hostess is plopping menus down on all of your tables while scouring the area for you. I spent twenty five years in the industry and I’ve seen them break by the hundreds.

No amount of training will get you totally ready for this experience. You are set up to make or break someone’s birthday, anniversary, business dinner or romantic interlude. It’s on you. You will do the hustle double four time. Multitasking is an understatement in that business. But, as they say, whatever doesn’t kill you…

Contrary to popular belief, people don’t go to nice restaurants just because they’re hungry. I don’t. You can serve me a shit sandwich and get away with it as long as you pay attention to me and make me feel like your guest for the evening.

I spent thirteen years in sales and I went to restaurants for a living. If I was hosting a large dinner with important clients, I would arrive into town early, get to the manager or owner, give them my credit card info, told them if all went well, don’t drop the check at the table and just add 20 percent, send me the check later.

I usually carefully picked my seating to be sure I didn’t have swinging doors and bar patrons distracting me and more importantly, don’t give me a stiff for a wait person. That was critical.

So there’s more going on at these tables than what goes on at Chipotle’s. It’s your show and one slip can have a cascading effect and get ugly in a New York minute.

Now, why would you want to do something that horrible to yourself after you’ve gotten that degree and the world is waiting to offer itself up to you? Because some of you breast fed little weenies haven’t had to have a linear conversation in the last four years, looked up from your iPhone for more than a minute and never had to take care of anyone but yourself. That’s why.

This is your finishing school. You’ll learn politics, diplomacy and empathy. You will learn to placate, juggle and come up with amazing excuses. Yes, you will become extremely, desperately, creative.

You’ll be more focused and pay close attention to even the most minute detail. It’s a wonderful opportunity to ready yourself for the real world. I am always amazed at some of the people skills young people exhibit when I go out to dinner. You just know they’re going to do well in life and I usually make a point of telling them so. So if you can’t join the Marines, wait tables. Be all that you can be.

We usually frequent an Italian restaurant that serves delicious focaccia bread with olive oil as soon as you’re seated. Our waiter never brought any. We thought maybe Paparazzi’s had changed their policy. When some one sat next to us as we were finishing, I saw they got the bread.

When I asked our waiter what the deal was, he said, “well, I saw you were having pasta and figured you didn’t need the extra carbs.” Must have gone to Harvard.

He looked pretty well off, so I figured he didn’t need any extra money.

If you have any questions or need advice, please feel free to reach out to me here.

Bob O’Hearn

113 Wintergreen Lane
Groton Ma. 01450
508-517-6714
bo*@*************ve.com

Conducting my audience.

Years ago, my uncle told me a joke. It was about a guy’s first day in prison. All through the day, he heard inmates yelling out numbers followed by gales of laughter. This greatly confused him and he asked his cellmate what was going on. His celly told him that most of the prisoners had been there so long and told the same jokes, they just numbered them from one to a hundred for brevity. So when someone wanted to tell a joke, they just yelled out that number. His cell mate told him to try it. So the guy yells out “forty-nine.” Nothing. “Sixty-eight.” Nothing. Now he is confused and bewildered and yells “thirty-three.” Still…nothing.

His cell mate says, “let’s face it, you just don’t know how to tell a joke.”

Giving an effective, memorable and enjoyable presentation, be it business or otherwise, is similar to doing stand-up or telling a joke. Even singing a song. It’s about rhythm, pacing and connection. I’ve seen the same material used on different occasions with wildly differing results. Sometimes it has to do with the energy in the room or your comfort and belief in the message. I know “bombing” from personal experience. It can be bewildering but instructive.

My sense of humor has always been a blessing and a curse. It’s kept me from getting beat up as a kid and been used to bludgeon me at performance reviews years later. “Well, Bob, we’re just kind of concerned that you might not be taking the job seriously enough.” I thought I was all done after a particular business skit almost brought the house down and me with it.

After that, every word I spoke, people listened and very often, repeated. People were craning their necks at times to catch my random, disruptive, irreverent comments at meetings. Much to the chagrin of upper management. The point is: the more unpredictable, interesting and humorous you are, the more attention you are likely to receive. I never cared what they said about me as long as they spelled my name right. Shameless!

Ever sit in an audience of thousands and watch that speck on the stage move you emotionally, spiritually, make you laugh, cry, empower you, keep your attention and keep you focused? As you sit spellbound in the palm of their hand?

It’s magic, isn’t it? It’s what we, as business leaders, should be striving for. Otherwise, we end up as the only barrier to the bathroom or the coffee machine. Attention is currency. Don’t spend it foolishly.

A presentation of any kind should be an experience to the recipient. A sharing of common humanity. That’s why comedy works. You connect. You’re laughing at the sudden revelation of your own quirks and habits. It’s truth, humility and connection. Some comedians will go to any lengths to get your attention and end up looking dumb and vulgar. Others respect your intelligence and make the connection on a higher level.

Silence. Having been a musician and stand-up most of my pre-business life, understanding the power of silence is the most valuable part of any performance. It’s what you leave out, not what you put in, that makes something special.

Imagine a song, a poem, or a great speech without that space of silence that allows you to appreciate the words or notes you’ve just heard. Silence is extremely powerful when used as part of the rhythm of your performance.

You become the conductor of your audience. They understand at once, your power, confidence and human connection.You are providing the experience.

Overcoming the impulse to keep gabbing nervously and not taking stock of your audience, leaves you in a room by yourself with that self conscious spotlight blinding you to the experience you should be sharing, not trying to survive.

If you are called on to give a presentation and have some reservations, watch comedians, motivational speakers, even preachers and watch how they take command of that stage. They own it. They prowl from end to end, engaging and challenging and sharing. They leave nothing to chance. To survive, they need to pull them in.

If you have the desire to achieve success, reach and move large groups and influence you need that center stage real estate. No getting around it.

Forty-four!!!

Silence.

I have a friend who keeps telling me he has the best job in the world. There’s no pressure, the coffee and all refreshments are free, he has a ten minute commute and he can come and go as he pleases. Oh and a minor detail: he makes big bucks. Bigger than he’s ever made in his whole career. What’s not to like? He’s found a home. This is it for him, he says, the dream job. A nice soft, happy landing.

To my friend I would say, start packing. Do not ditch that resume. Ever. Not even for a minute. If you’ve landed someplace where you’re not frying Chicken McNuggets, start paying close attention. Your mission is now critical.

Start packing your cranium with every thing you can about that business. Learn to make yourself a more valuable commodity as technology gobbles up your business, your value and your ability to survive. Think of it as TDY as they say in the military, temporary duty, because that’s all it is, really, notwithstanding the rolling thunder bullshit company line barreling out of HR and across the lips of your upper management. Start packing every experience, job title and committee your bona fides will allow and then some. School is back in session. Forever. Fuck Alice Cooper.

Cram! Cram the big picture of that company to understand how it all works. Don’t get comfy. Find all the moving parts. On day one, get interested, get moving and get motivated. Ask questions and volunteer your ass off. As soon as you zig, they will zag. You might have been able to amass 30 years in days gone by but this ain’t your father’s corporation. Sure, it cost them a lot of dough to onboard you but outboarding is always in the budget.

Scram! You can do it two ways, mentally or physically. Or both. As soon as you arrive, prepare for your departure. You think the military sits around all day waiting for a war to start? Anticipate any and all threats to your professional survival. Don’t fall asleep in your foxhole. Ever hear someone describe the day they got canned? Hemingway couldn’t compete with that. Total shocking devastation and a cardboard box. Buh bye!

In my role after I resigned, I put on a clean white shirt and rang the front door bell as an in-house video producer. I got to see how the sausage gets made. When a large company gets ready to make an impactful presentation or announcement, they squeeze that thing through a pastry bag. They anticipate, play devil’s advocate and try O.J. all over again. They get real granular. They have to, lives are on the line. Theirs. Ever wonder why whole floors are devoted to legal departments?

In those executive video production sessions, I got more than words, I got more intentions, scenarios, possible blow back and “what ifs” than a defense attorney. They’re not evil, just careful. Although, I have met a few diabolical HR and PR assassins, (you know who you are.) You can usually spot them with a clipboard and a cup of tea peering over the top of their glasses at you if you happen to find yourself in disagreement with them.

But, back to you. Every job is an opportunity. Seize it. Every position is a class. Learn it. Your development should be your top priority. Always. If you get into a position that is so specialized that it’s only specific to that organization, I can tell you first hand, the carnage and havoc that will wreak on your cortisol levels. But there is always a salvageable skill buried in there somewhere. Find it.

The most devastated are the ones who never ran their own fire drills and then developed a touch of the vapors when their tough shit ticket got punched. Don’t let that be you.

Remember, they don’t love you, they don’t cherish you and they don’t want you to make a lot of money, especially from them. They are only doing business with you. If you’re like most “employees,” you know more about football PSI than what’s going on across the hall.

As my mother used to say, ” a word to the wise is sufficient.” So, cram, scram and say thank you ma’am!

If you have any questions or need advice, please feel free to reach out to me here.

Bob O’Hearn

113 Wintergreen Lane
Groton Ma. 01450
508-517-6714
bo*@*************ve.com

Oh, you’ll do nicely!

I get a lot calls from all types of agencies, looking for video production companies like mine to lay off projects on, to provide the video services, as well as help develop ideas and strategies to their existing and potential customers. Seems to be a growing trend because my phone is ringing quite a bit lately. It’s usually some young person looking to secure my company in a hurry because they have some clients on the hook and now they have to reel them in. Oops!

They talk fast and want to move the process along quickly so they don’t get stuck having to answer some very basic client questions about which they have clue none. They keep putting me on hold to retrieve information they should have had readily available before they called my office. Get’s embarrassing. They also want you to think they’re pros at this and very critical questions are considered minor details.

When I ask for collaterals like logos, graphics or branding items, they usually tell me the will have to meet with their graphics team (which is usually some high school kid in a back room) to secure those items. If you’re a meanie like me, you might want to keep them on the line and make them sweat by asking them questions they should know. Imagine committing time and resources to some of these carnivals? Never mind, your money?

Bottom line: If you use an agency, PR or otherwise, and you go to them with help on a video or graphic design project, know this, most of them don’t know either. They get on the phone and call someone like me. I did some work for a local agency recently after I survived a five person grilling on a conference call. You would of thought I was going up against the parole board.

Frankly, I was intimidated and even a little defensive. Until I worked with them. They were calling all the shots until it started going off the rails. I was getting a rash. This was getting painful, but hey, they’re the pros I thought. Finally, the president called my house and told me to cut the shit and take over the project. She inferred that I knew they were really thrashing around and I was enjoying watching them choke on their own bullshit. I was.

I asked this kid once, for fun, if they would be using a “sky jack” on the shoot. He put me on hold and came back with, “yes, they will.” Hire a young person for twenty-five grand, call him an associate director, blow some smoke up their ass and stick him in a cube, then have a seat by the cash register. Now, that’s a plan. Bring some food and water with you. You’ll need it.

P.S. I like ’em stupid, too!

Point a camera at him.

I have to admit, I used to get more than a little confused when I would get called to produce a company-wide global message from the CEO of a large company. Usually, someone in PR or Human Resources would set it up and get the shoot on his or her calendar. But when I arrive and start setting up, the fun begins. Or not. Flop sweat. In buckets.

You would think it was 11:59 on death row, judging from the reactions I get from these captains of industry when that red tally light activates on my camera. Most company leaders are usually never lost for words, but they lose them quickly when they are being captured for posterity.

This is their big opportunity to reach their world with clarity and empathy. Beats hanging around airports doesn’t it? This is the way to go but it can’t be an afterthought.

“I suck at this.” “I’m no good on camera.  I don’t have time, really. I think I have a meeting somewhere. Oh, no, who told you to do this?”

They get dry mouth, blotchy, sweaty and can’t concentrate. 15 takes later, reading words they wrote themselves from a teleprompter, it finally comes together. When every word counts, teleprompters are critical. They’re not just for politicians. Most clients never prepare and have to be told what the subject matter is and where it’s going.

There can be lots of tension, temperament and temperatures rising during these sessions, because in spite of what they think is good enough, I can’t let them out of that room until I get what I came for. The real deal. The on camera capture of the real person. The person who provides the almost spiritual leadership that needs to transcend that piece of glass and will have to serve as the next best thing to being there.

Sadly, not everyone gets how important it is. It can take a lot of cajoling, cheer leading and changes in scripts and delivery to move their intended audiences.

And so it goes: natural born leaders, symbols of inspiration, vision providers and battle tested veterans of M&As, hostile takeovers, layoffs, downsizing. and product recalls, wither under the demand for an on camera interview or presentation.

I have heard this all before ad nauseam and I will say this: Captain, you have nowhere left to run. This is your opportunity to jump through that lens and shake up the world. It takes practice, though. (I can help)

Coaching, resolve and dammit, gumption. We are not just international anymore, we are global. Let that run over your tongue a few times. Global. Your impact needs to be felt up close and personal. Can’t phone it in these days. Get over it! Please. 🙂

Maybe if you had this guy pointing a camera at you, you might get a little tense, too!

If you have any questions or need advice, please feel free to reach out to me here.

Bob O’Hearn

113 Wintergreen Lane
Groton Ma. 01450
508-517-6714
bo*@*************ve.com

Listen to the podcast to endure my rantings on the run.

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This article is for those of you that have spent their whole lives in the system and realize, sadly, a little too late, that the world has changed and you are being forced to reinvent yourselves just to survive.

So, looks like you’ve made it. You spent 40 years grinding it out in the corporate blender and punched out before you got automated or digitized. In all of those decades, you always had a pretty good idea of where you stood in your own little world. Buying in to the perception that your last reward or recognition would carry you through to a retirement party in a fancy restaurant. How’s that working for ya?

Sure, the knife holes are healing and most of your real or imagined career threats have moved on or retired. Or better yet, passed on :). You lived through new management, take overs, gossip, buy outs, and let’s not forget that scary venture capital mess. You somehow managed to survive it all. Your annual reviews reflected your strengths and weaknesses and your career path, (from their view,) and of course, your contribution to the mother ship, that entity that controlled everything from somewhere in New Jersey or Delaware, where some nameless, faceless auditor could end your career with one funky expense report. My biggest fear.

But, let’s be honest, you had to give up a lot, (almost everything) to maintain your lifestyle to feed and educate your family. You were effectively (and voluntarily) bound and gagged and put on the “team” and you let them set your career trajectory for you. So who are you now?

That nagging little question that gnaws away at you while you’re shaving both your chins in the morning on your way to the pancake house to talk sports and politics with your other “out to pasture” brethren. Who are you now?

For years, review after review, you sat across some clown who couldn’t carry your laptop and you had to endure every word or “concern,” as they like to put it. You proved yourself flexible and tenacious. You took it on the chin, or other places, for the team. You really had no other options, did you? You forgot it was just a game. Smoke and mirrors with a punchline. Should of thought about that, eh? That was then.

Finally, you hit the finish line. The end zone. You can ditch the knee pads, the pretense and the false modesty. You can shake it off. Now, you’re all dressed up with no face to go. Who are you now?

If you are one of those unfortunate individuals who considered yourself doing time and sat there rigidly at your desk with an egg timer, then this piece is not for you. Every day for you is your parole date on a Groundhog Day schedule. A day full of doing nothing is better than what you were doing. All those years devoted to something you would never voluntarily do on your own. And who are you now?

The price you paid for your comfort is working against you now, isn’t it? You never got the opportunity to develop You, Inc. You didn’t have to. Those skills atrophied over the years and now, when you need them, are nowhere to be found. All your career you could sell anything…. but you. You never became who you were supposed to be.

If you are anywhere from your mid forties to mid sixties, you know first hand what I’m talking about. If you’ve been rolled out of an organization you thought was a “womb to tomb,” proposition and have been uploading your resume into nowhere, you know that empty, confused feeling. You have been rejected by a keyword. Ouch! Shit, we have lots of “you’s” to fill those rapidly diminishing positions. So who are you now?

Everywhere I go these days, I see offices full of thirty-somethings doing mundane tasks and fetching coffee with a joyful attitude and of course, a very modest salary. What used to be your competitive salary. They still live with their parents and not only drinking the Kool-Aid, they’re bathing in it. I provide multimedia services all over the east coast and it’s the same everywhere I go.

In my career of 32 years, I had an advantage because I never once did anything in my whole career that was considered inside the lines. I personalized, bent and distorted every position I was ever given and made it virtually impossible to follow me. I could be completely unmanageable.

But I had the numbers. It worked against me at times. It kept me in sales, or carrying the bag, far longer than I wished. I used to puke in the bushes on the walkway of the account I was visiting. It became unbearable. I started to love confrontations with unmanageable customers. I enjoyed it even more when my manager was with me. They hated it.

My opinion: If you carry a bag for more than five years, you are only fooling yourself. You are just waiting for a bus. You can’t wake up every day in that Willie Loman existence and give everything you’ve got. Sales is about timing and opportunity. Anyone in a home office that’s never done it, should never be in that position.

For me, sales became torture. Liar’s poker with a company car. Everyone should spend time in sales but It’s not a lifetime commitment. But, not to worry, some geek is engineering your replacement now, so you might give some attention to developing yourself as a marketable commodity. You better have a chair when that music stops.

Taking advantage of the archaic system I was part of and being forced to stay conscious during a process I cared absolutely nothing for, my Type A mind would always wander off. Luckily,  I learned video production on their dime and turned my job into a virtual studio. It spread quickly and soon I was in demand all over the west.

Before the web became what it is today, I bought every domain name of every existing and potential customer in my territory. I got calls years later inquiring about my ownership and asking if I would relinquish it.

I was off the reservation because I always made it up as I went along. I didn’t have formal training in anything. For that, I am very grateful. I will be continuing this conversation because I think it’s important given the ever changing landscape and how most career paths are turning into dead end streets.

Your life, from now on, will depend on your ability to generate ideas and niches that only you can fill. Big companies don’t want you anymore unless it’s on their strict and frugal terms. We are living longer and we need to stay relevant. If you think you can just be Principal, (insert name here) Group, Consultancy, think again. So let’s do, let’s think again.

Glass ceilings are career limiting but so are glass doors.

In my work as a corporate video producer/strategist, I am always juggling roles, talent, locations, scripts and opportunities. Especially while on location. You don’t want to forget a vital piece or add something you haven’t thought about that would enhance the finished piece. It’s very easy to get distracted. So, while working on a five year anniversary piece for a client, I spied the brand new head of commercial operations in his shiny new, all glass office out of the corner of my eye.

I made a mental note to get his thoughts on his new role on camera and also introduce him to the company formally. I quickly introduced myself, gave him a heads up and told him I would be back when he was free. There was no way I was going to leave that building without getting him on camera. Always thinking, that’s me.

 A few hours went by and we continued interviewing, filming and hunting down worthy targets for this momentous occasion that would be played for the whole company on it’s fifth anniversary. Finally, I see him. He looks like he’s ready. Elbows on his desk and a very pleasant look on his face. It’s 4:30 and it’s now or never. I tell my partner to get ready to wheel the equipment into his office after I rush in and set him up.

I never saw the glass door. I hit it with such force the people on the first floor felt the impact. I just remember blackness spreading through my consciousness similar to the sensation of laying under a glass coffee table and someone pouring ink on it and letting it spread.

The horrified look on the guy’s face was bad enough but most of the floor came running at me to catch me and someone demanded an ambulance. I am dazed, embarrassed and mortified.  But I need that shot. My partner is yelling “your nose is broke,your nose is broke.” I give him a look while they slap ice on me and tell everyone I’m fine. I’m not, but I have work to do.

I push through the crowd of concerned on lookers and make my way to my victim’s office. Seems he had been on a conference call when I tried to make my first grand entrance but he had time now. I nailed the interview and we packed up our gear to head home. I have a nasty headache but at least I accomplished what I set out to do.

The impact of that glass door was something I hadn’t felt in years. When you grow up in Somerville, sucker punches were a common occurrence, so I felt some nostalgia along with the gash across the top of my nose.

The next morning, my wife said I was acting slurry and thought I was hitting up the muscle relaxers. I was not. (That day) The following morning I got an e-mail at 7:58 am requesting some shots back in Cambridge. I tried to call my partner, Jesse, to cover but he was busy. So I hastily pack and start to run out the door. Susan stops me and asks me if I’m OK and I say yes, but I don’t feel good about the whole situation. Always listen to your intuition.

I never made it out of my neighborhood. I was so dizzy, distracted and preoccupied, I ended up in the trees sucking on an airbag and my nostrils were filled with something similar to gun powder.

The EMT’s showed up and I ended up in the emergency room. I was fine. Not a scratch. Amazing. I told Susan I still needed to get into Cambridge but she had already called the client. I loved my 2014 Lexus SUV but it was totalled.

I could state the obvious lessons to other Type A’s but pictures are worth more than words. Pace yourself and always trust your gut. Nuff’ said.

Podcast Intro

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Vanilla. The nothing fancy, can’t tell one brand from the other flavor that is also known as corporate speak. Don’t wrinkle, don’t ruffle, stay on message, get it done, throw a few compliments around, push it out and who knows where the fuck it goes as long as you plastered everyone’s brains with your perfunctory, cover all the bases presentation that will mean absolutely nothing in twenty minutes. Did I leave out your reluctance to even being there? You are probably too self absorbed to notice that we see it too.

You start off with the weather, then the agenda, which is usually the whole meeting with no surprises baked in, (so folks can mentally check out early) what you are supposedly all excited about this quarter and next. Then you proceed into drone mode for two hours of pie charts, financial graphs, product managers, the big fat employee compensation guy, a rehash of the company values and then you start handing out awards to names you have trouble pronouncing, written by their manager who had to pick somebody, that you have never met until you are asked to pose for a photo with them. The award language is so banal and trite it’s laughable and wreaks of discouragement instead of motivation and hope. The pain. I can’t watch!

Sound empty? It is! I’ve seen the best, or worst. The phoniest, most disingenuous, mechanical, speak volumes but say nothing, best in the business morale murderers there are. It is a one sided love affair to be sure. Pure vanilla! Note to Mr. Wonderful: It’s not about you! Oh, you never got that memo?

I used to think this was all you needed, a command of the language, a deferential manner and a straight tie.

The reason I got off on this rant is because most of the work I do involves Big Pharma and Biotech companies. So as you can imagine, you see the usual suspects from time to time making the rounds in leadership positions. Talk about empty suits. I’ve seen them in action and they can take all the oxygen out a room in five minutes. That is, if they dare speak and show their ignorance.

What I don’t know, is how they keep resurfacing in good companies. In promising environments that need and deserve good leadership. I am involved heavily with an organization that usually makes all the right moves. They get it. They understand the value of “family mentality.” On being on a journey or a quest that is bigger than the sum of its parts. This person and me are going to have to bump heads at some point and it will be interesting to watch her in action.

She is pure vanilla. I have never heard her say one inspiring or captivating sentence in her life. She also has a pretty good idea how I feel about her. The days of “My MBA” are over. The escalator to the top is broken. Street smarts, savvy and a genuine sense of caring and compassion will separate the wheat from the chaff. For sure.

You have to be more than vanilla today. You have to be bigger than life. You have to give a shit about everyone from the broom pushers to the board members. You have to remember people’s names, sometimes their personal problems, maybe even their birthdays. Not the ones who will get you somewhere. That’s leadership, if that’s what you’re aspiring to. Ice cream is always nice, but please, skip the vanilla!

I woke up with this from a dream about when we were kids. This is up there with the day we accepted that there was no Santa Claus and TV was fake.

Here’ s the strict definition:

“In order to enjoy movies or TV, the audience engages in a phenomenon known as “suspension of disbelief”. This is a semi-conscious decision in which you put aside your disbelief and accept the premise as being real for the duration of the story.”

So. In my house in the 50’s with twelve humans crowded into a single apartment, food, as you can imagine, was always scarce and there were strict rules with regard to extracting (if you dared) anything from the refrigerator.

Especially when my father was home, you had better be making a deposit instead of a withdrawal out of that thing. On Sundays, which was the only day he had off, we all tiptoed around lightly and either stayed out of the house or used sign language so he wouldn’t have to yell, “shut the hell up out there.”

We all knew full well to stay away from that white monster in the kitchen. Even as he perched himself in another room smoking L&Ms and watching sports, he could either hear the suction break on the fridge door or feel the cool air from it being open. He spent the day in his boxers, so his senses were acute. As soon as he became aware of this mid-day, unauthorized transgression, he would yell, “Hey, what the hell are you doing in there?” You had better have a good story.

One night, after we were washed and ready for bed, my brother John and me sat spotlessly on the couch and we heard “And now it’s time for Ozzie and Harriet” about the Nelson family whose story lines made Seinfeld episodes look like action adventures.

It was Ozzie, Harriet, Ricky and his older brother Dave. It was even was before “Ricky” started playing guitar and became famous. Although I never really knew why. All I remember is his nostrils flaring and him desperately trying to curl his lip like Elvis. He was a lightweight in my opinion. If it wasn’t for that show, his whole life would have been a “Garden Party.”

So, on this particular episode, the scene opens with the mother and father sitting at the kitchen table when the boys come in. “Hi Mom, hi pop!” and the usual small talk would commence.

Then, right before our disbelieving eyes. Ricky walks towards the sacred white box and actually opens it. What? Not only that, he reaches in and takes out a bottle of milk. Without asking? Right in front of his father? We are on the edge of our seat now, Ozzie is about to kick some serious ass. Ricky pours himself a tall glass and heads over to the cookie jar. Are you kidding me? Cookies too?

He sits down at the table and the father doesn’t even smack him. As a matter of fact, he never even mentions the sacrilegious act. We were dumb struck. How could something like this happen? He committed a mortal sin, no, two, right in front of his parents. Without asking permission? On TV no less. It wasn’t even dinner. Unbelievable!

This was too much for me and my younger brother. We sat there momentarily stunned, looked at each other with a knowing, “oh, now I get it,”  sudden realization.

All TV is fake and Bozo’s probably dead.

Years later, in the 70’s, I was at a party and Saturday Night Live came on and as was the ritual back then, everyone would turn on the tube to catch it. Always. This particular night, I was stoned out of my gourd. I am so high I can’t even talk. The opener had a skit about the Ozzie and Harriet Show with Rick and Dave Nelson making cameos.

They did the kitchen scene, milk, cookies and all. I am dumbstruck. It was like Lorne Michaels had set out to mess my head up. I just sat there grunting and pointing at the set. People were starting to move away from me.

I ran to the phone and called my brother. In my current state, I could hardly speak. But I didn’t have to, he was watching too. He knew. We both got the joke.

One should never go to a restaurant with the word “factory” in it and expect to get served in a single afternoon. Never again. This is the second time while shooting a gig in Cambridge I took a chance on Cheesecake Factory. Over the years, getting a seat at one of these franchises during lunch time was a daunting task. The front lobby used to look like a U2 concert. The last two times, empty. Now I know why. This time, with an hour to eat, we got the same booth, the same waitress and she appeared in the same condition, clueless. Will I ever learn?

Being the dyed in the wool, type A, asshole I’ve always been, I decide to nip this in the bud. I went and complained to the same manager I had complained to before and told him about my tight deadline. I told him my lunch took 56 minutes to be served the last time from the same knucklehead who thinks time is a relative term. I mean, I’m in the kitchen with this moron pleading my case. He shrugged me off and told me that’s just the way it is. Another salaried, “who gives a shit” gift to the planet. He says “cheesecake is cheesecake.”

Whoa, whoa, wait, let me write that down. That was pure genius. Right out of Wharton. He said it with a straight face and shoulder shrug. I stare at him in stunned silence as I start to slip my jacket back on. I am hoping they open the borders today and he is the first casualty. He deserves unemployment and I won’t mind chipping in to deactivate  this pimple on the ass of progress.

I’m like, nobody has a fucking job around here they have to go back to? What is this Europe? Three hour lunch and a siesta thank you very much? I said, “no wonder there’s nobody in your lobby.”

I guess the wait staff is on salary because to them “hustle” was a disco tune in the 70’s.

He says. “we are doing really well, business wise.” Being the total anal cavity that I am I grab his arm and push him through his swinging doors and into the dining room. Just about empty. Rows of empty tables and booths. During lunch? In a busy mall in Cambridge? I said, what are you running, a fucking furniture store? You may as well be, dick head, and we left.

Next stop, California Pizza Kitchen, no line, great service, delicious food and the check in under 45 minutes. If you have a job, a life, or something to do with your miserable existence, go there, you won’t be treated like a mannequin and I bet you’ll like it.

Tip: If you like your human existence and you want it to go on forever, go to the Cheesecake Factory in the mall in Cambridge. You won’t live years longer but will sure seem like it.

OK, these are the days I hate. The days when all my overdue editing and post productions are complete and these monstrosities need to process, render and upload to the end user. I spend so much time rendering, I should be called Sir Render. It ties up all my networks and serious computers and takes hours while the rest of the other monstrosities are inching up the escalator of insanity.

Like 93 at rush hour, when you have to be some place, my pucker factor is throbbing, the phone is ringing, and I have a huge shoot tomorrow. I have to be ready. In downtown Boston, did I mention that? Where the parking meter attendants wear Uzis and riot gear and Mace is applied freely to anyone hoping to talk one of these vultures out of a ticket.

If you want see a proven paranoid production producer in action, (and I use the term loosely,) come to the house the night before a big shoot on a location nowhere close to home. My wife grabs the dogs and takes them all for ice cream. You don’t show up on site and ask for a do-over. To be sure, I pack so much extra gear my front tires don’t touch 495 all the way in.

I have a small circular track I’ve worn into my studio carpet during client calls. I threw my blood pressure cuff in the trash weeks ago. I do jumping jacks on client calls and  walk up and down the stairs with a headset on. Some folks have told me they are not sure exactly what I’m doing all out of breath like that.

For the truly clueless, I put them on speaker and try to strangle myself with telephone cord. I try to get Susan to take notes while I tend to my anxiety and a quickly spreading rash as the ” You know, I was just thinking, or would it be too much trouble to change that whole beginning” starts filling up my padded cell.

Then my wife is yelling up the stairs for me to check my calendar cause shit be happening. She’s thinking, “There’s no way I’m not getting that new horse.” Good for you, I haven’t even met your other one. I wear sweat pants with a big hole in the ass, sneakers that will clear a room if I’m not in ’em and I only shave when I have to leave the house. Right now, you’re looking at Rasputin.

Come to think of it, maybe she doesn’t have a horse. How would I know? I’m so busy. Maybe Quito is the Mexican gardener. Hmmm. If the next horse’s name is Raoul, I’m gonna get nervous.

Here’s the problem: for the last 17 years I have been plying my art with gusto and a little relish on the side. I eat, sleep and drink my business. I lick it. I fondle it. I add and subtract to it. Everything I have ever done in my life can be applied to it. Music, humor, art, visual communication, character assassination, the list goes on. What’s not to like? I have the isolating habit of immersing myself in everything I do. Lucky for Quito. Very lucky for me, cause my wife Susan gets me. I think.

But here also, is where the big issue lies. I’m too good. ( I’m serious, don’t laugh. Ok, laugh) I know so much about what I do I can finish a client’s thoughts when we’re talking. (But I don’t.)

In the middle of a client pitch and they tell me mid-spiel I have the gig, it’s not good enough for me. “But I have so much more to say.”or “I have questions goddammit!”

“You can’t say OK, just like that. What, no push back? C’mon, ask me a question! Anything! What are you guys hiding? Why, the nerve. There has to be something. What about the art of the deal?  Fuck that! I’m not leaving, you can’t tell me what to do.

Your scope is creeping isn’t it? You’re gonna spring it on me at the last minute, aren’t you? Oh, no ya don’t, you know who I am? We are going to complicate the shit out of this thing or we’re not going to do it. I’m bored and I’m sorry, but someone has to pay.”

I was in a restroom once and I was having my Perry Mason moment in the mirror and unbeknownst to me one of my clients was on the can and heard the whole thing. He thought I was the funniest bastard on the planet. He was crying so hard from laughing, he couldn’t get his pants up. I wasn’t joking, though. Didn’t mention that him. Ha ha!

So the upside is, I have my more than my 10,000 hours to hit genius status in my own mind. I am like the old farmer, “out standing in his field.” Passion has turned to mastery and mastery has turned to laser focus for detail and a measured click by click execution. Hopefully not mine.

Yes, I am too good and that’s just too goddam bad isn’t it? “This ain’t arts and crafts” as I am fond of saying.

Guess I better kick it back a notch. Then again, that’s why Susan brings the sock.

If you happen to rise at 3:00 am and it’s not just to go the bathroom and go back to bed, you experience the world in an alternate universe kind of way. Your take is so much different now. What was gospel at 7:00 pm last night now seems like bloviation and silliness and you start to wonder if there isn’t some type of universal conspiracy going on. Where’s the punchline, here?

When the world is yet asleep, you assess the planet in a voyeuristic trance before your mind has a chance to percolate in its normal, rote manner. You are in bleary eyed amusement and wonder. I have been doing this all my life, because when you grow up in a family of twelve, you leave nothing to chance. If you want to eat, use the bathroom or capture the ironing board, you better be up early.

As a battle hardened entrepreneur, (that term is getting so old, isn’t it?) I rise every day with a live, or die by my own hand motivation, an eat or starve, think of something, make a decision, call the shots attitude. There is no lounge chair fade into the sunset, pass the margaritas Martha, ending for me.

I’m in the coliseum and the gates are locked. I am a prisoner of my own device. It’s by design and it has to work. It simply has to. This gives me a General Patton mindset. Prisoners? No thanks.

Which is why, when I get my daily briefing from the previous night’s news, I’m looking through a different set of glasses when the gotchas, the silliness and all the political red meat starts getting waved around. This where my humor and pathos get tested.

In order to win today politically, some one has to lose. Not just lose but be exposed as the fraud they always were and banished from the world stage as a loser. Opposition research kicks in on both sides and the smearing begins. Everyone goes at the carcass with relish. “Who are you going to believe, me, or your lying eyes?”

What I find offensive is the liberal notion that everyone in this country is “entitled” to a piece of the American Dream, which by the way, is a marketing slogan dreamed up by Fannie Mae just after WWII, and that life is designed to be fair in every way. Woe is you if you are chewing on that notion.

But that doesn’t stop politicians from slapping you upside the head with your God given right to a good job, good pay and a shot at a nice retirement in Boca Raton. That story is getting old. Fast. Ask any Syrian rebel.

So, yeah, call me a cynical, hard core, put up or shut up, pessimistic son of a bitch, but I ain’t going for any of that baloney those opportunistic bottom feeders are waving at me. When the music stops, and it will, I plan on keeping my chair.

We’re getting reality served up cold and it will pounce on anything that it thinks is prey. Like the antelope, your life depends on your ability to keep moving and stay two steps ahead of whatever is trying to eat you.

So when some disingenuous opportunist tells you to fight for your rights, do it. But not at the voting booth, you will be mightily disappointed.

It’s 3:00 am in America. That means you have a four hour head start on the dreamers who think life makes personal deliveries.

Think. Create. Survive, are your only options. Your head is more than a hat rack, don’t lose it.

Welcome to the coliseum.

My almost client consulting with her better half.

While I’m waiting to hear back from De Moulas’a on that new grocery bagging position, I would like to finish elaborating on a disturbing interaction I had yesterday with someone who I’ll only call the “Dry Vagina Lady.”

As previously mentioned, she sought us out through our on-line reputation in pharmaceuticals and for me, a deep interest in the subject and would like to be more intimately involved. It is a subject I’m very interested in looking into. 🙂

She is doing a project for a company based in Denmark (hint) and has written and completed an approved script. She is a writer, not a producer. Which we all know once it is legally approved it is set in stone for the most part. I have no idea how she secured this gig, but now she is facing the moment of truth and has to produce.

She previously had one of her son’s friends shoot a spec video and she was able to put together an amateur attempt at bringing attention to the issue, but it was just that, amateur, and silly, very silly. There is not one word of a lie in anything I’m putting forth here. The picture above shows her diagnosing her condition on herself complete with dialogue.

I have her face covered because after what I went through, I have no interest in seeing her face or her… other thing. Ever. So, the phone call did not go well. She was dishonest in my opinion, bristled at my inquiries about budget, tried to minimize the effort that would have to go into the project. (How about four locations in downtown Manhattan in business hours)

She needed additional talent, like a physician, and the locations were a legal morass. Starbuck’s? Without permission? She had no other talent picked and wanted me to price it based on a piece of paper. I’ve been rolled by the best of them and I’m not getting on the Mass. Pike for peanuts and a nightmare edit.

When I hung up I told my wife to tell her I had a nervous breakdown and wouldn’t be available until after the 2016 elections. Then I took a shower. A short time later a link to an even more garish attempt at corporate video shows up but no script.

Here is the e-mail Susan got from the woman whose name has been redacted, as she should have been, and my response.

“Hi Susan,
I haven’t yet sent the script because I’ve been thinking about my conversation with your husband, and have some reservations about moving to the next step.  He was trying hard to sell but didn’t fully listen to what’s been done on the project so far, and what I need from your company. I explained to him that the script has been approved and the locations chosen.  All he needed to do was read the script and then submit a price.  Yet he seemed to want to start from scratch and he asked me questions that showed me he wasn’t listening to what’s been accomplished.
Based on our conversation, I am concerned that your husband’s style of operating is too different from mine, and that we will run into too many unnecessary challenges.

Fair enough. A load of bullshit, but fair enough. I wasn’t trying to sell anything. Read the script and quote a price? Hey honey, any calls from De Moula’s yet?

Here’s my response. I admit to being a little beaned up on Kona but I spent thirty years with knee pads on and know when I’m getting the bum’s rush.

Dear Redacted,

I agree with you totally. You might think that the questions I asked you were unnecessary and I was up selling but you are way off track if you think you’re going to pull your project off in such a haphazard manner. I don’t work like that.

You are under the impression that just because you have an approved script, that you can just blow through the process without the considerations I brought up to help you.

You bristled at questions about budget and also mentioned your past experiences with your son’s friend. Who has to rent a camera? Are you kidding?

You may be an accomplished writer but you are not in my business.You don’t do what I do and will never have my experience. I have seen your past work and while it might satisfy your followers on your web site and your own creative impulses, it is amateur at best and self indulgent at worst.

I will try not to be too condescending here, but let me remind you that you are dealing with a major pharmaceutical company no matter how you want to characterize them. Yes, you should have reservations, about me, about your son’s friend and more importantly your own approach. This ain’t arts and crafts.

I do this all day every day and to me, you were being too cute by half. You weren’t open and honest with me when I could have helped you. You, even with that script are not ready for prime time.

Novo has a lot of money and if you want more of it you better deliver the goods. You don’t even have your talent selected yet.

I told my wife yesterday I couldn’t see a path forward with you. I’ve sat through thousands of pitches and client concepts that would never work and I had to find out the hard way. It cost me time, money and brain cells. But, I don’t do silly.

Good luck with your project but I won’t be lured into a foggy situation with someone I can’t help and who won’t listen to a professional.

You have potential, but you also need a steady hand and clear direction. I am always amazed at how easy people think this business is. I’m sure you will learn a lot from this experience.

I will leave you with this: Let’s just shoot it is a recipe for disaster.

Good luck,

I took Susan with me today to a couple of clients in town and had to leave the room to break out laughing in the hall way. Some days I hate this fucking business. But not today. 🙂

Whaddya mean, NO?

No never means no in a tense negotiation. But you had better to be willing to walk. I write a lot about how, in such an expanded, creative universe you have to filter through the serious from the delirious in a quick and efficient manner.

The serious have it together and know what they want to achieve but more importantly even if they’re not exactly sure, they are willing to tap into your expertise and experience. In other words, they will listen. The rest don’t always have a realistic idea, you can’t tell them anything and they hold their cards close to the vest.

They will not move off the mark in spite of the inherent pitfalls and your best judgement. That ain’t good.

So, in a situation like that, I can tell it’s going to be an exercise in futility, I agree to disagree and say “Have a nice Day.”

People on my side think it’s over and think “Well, that’s the end of that.” It’s not over. It never is. At least not in my mind in a lot of cases. There is always an upside. Either you learned what you don’t want to be involved in, or you can let the other side regroup and come at it from a different perspective. It happens… a lot.

This business isn’t a farm stand. It’s not cash and carry. It’s a multifaceted, creative endeavor that can get extremely complicated in a hurry. It is rife with opinions, tastes, influences, unintended obstacles and u-turns. But once you’re in, you’re in.

So no doesn’t always mean no. There is always room to review and revisit a situation. And for folks on my side of the table, for whom mostly this is intended, there is always that upside and room for change.

There is the possibility you will have to move on and add this experience to your tough shit kit but we will never get down the road with too many drivers at the wheel.

Thanks but no thanks will sometimes save you and your prospective partner a lot of pain and misery. No?

“Let’s see, I’ll send you a script and you send me a final price.”

Remember ” How to Negotiate and Build a Corporate Video Production” in your college business classes? No? I didn’t think so. That’s because there isn’t one. I know because I see it every day. Better yet, I don’t see it every day.  Just yesterday we got a call from Manhattan from a well known entrepreneur looking to put together a two minute video for a pharmaceutical company. She said, “I’ll send you the script and you send me a price.”

So typical. So you scramble around looking for some examples of her previous endeavors and sure enough, there she is, standing in her foyer being shot vertically from an iPhone complete with hallway echo and background noise. Your heart sinks. From her web site you get the feeling of a well established business with a mission and a vision. So where do you go from here?

Let’s establish some basic facts first. Business as we know it today is over. The fat old days of huge marketing budgets, sales force saturation and waste are a thing of the past. 2008 taught us all a lesson. We don’t need to go over that. You know it, see it and feel it. You, as a business, just simply can’t go on with business as usual.

What a company needs and has always needed is to have their persona out there. How do you do it today? Video. No getting around it. Access, attention and approach need careful thought and guidance.

I’ve been a corporate video producer for more than 17 yrs. I’ve produced hundreds of corporate, small business and executive communication projects. In that time I have seen the proliferation (love that word) of video as the go to vehicle for sales, marketing, HR, corporate events and cultural communications.

What I see today runs the gamut from high quality, well thought out messaging, to what I call “weapons of self destruction.” Successful, moving, credible on camera presentations don’t usually come naturally. It takes practice and technique.

To go from credible to cringe worthy is a short leap. Video marketing without a strategy and the proper audience is a waste of time and money. Hey, no big deal, send ‘em an e-mail. Trust me, you might be better off.

We are approaching the world of “ALLABOUTME.TV.”

Everyone has access to cameras, accessories and a pathway to an on line audience. What is lacking is viewer empathy and what makes an audience move.

You are actually broadcasting yourself whether you are using social media in any of its forms. That being said, there is, and will be, enormous amounts of eye gouging, visine inducing, clutter.

The state of the art is not good. Attention is currency. How you gain it requires objective, empathic, strategic thinking when it comes to how you present yourself on camera.

In this continuing series I will be addressing issues that come up time and again as a consultant. I’ll be sharing some of my insights on how to approach this medium so that you will have a better grasp on how to create your own successful video communications to be effective today.

You want to get through that glass and reach people.

You want your audience to feel as though you’re imparting valuable information. You’re transferring emotion. You are going for impact, not trying to get them to pay a ransom.

Think I’m bluffing? Call me!

I’ve been seeing the same doc for 13 years, ever since I got transferred back to Boston. I came clean immediately on my history of drug and alcohol abuse. Her eyes were like pie tins as I revealed my penchant for altering my consciousness and the substances I would ingest on a daily basis.

Having been sober for 25 years at that point, my main objective was to get her to write me for sleep medication. Sleep was never a problem for me until I got sober. Even that was something my dark side demanded as payment for cleaning up. Being a musician, I developed tinnitus and thought I would never sleep again. The audiologist gave me a week’s worth of Ambien and said “I’m sorry, there’s no cure.” The hook was set.

Being a medical rep gave me access to what I needed to help me sleep for years until I reached here. New state, new doc, new game. Treating every doctor’s visit like a job interview. If I say this.. no, maybe if I say it like that.. maybe..

This all goes on in the waiting room and drives my blood pressure way up. Worse if they’re running behind. By the time she walks in with my chart I’m in an extremely agitated state.

“You seem very anxious to me and your BP is up. Is everything OK?

Enter Mr. Dark Side.

During my song and dance about business pressure, airline hassles and dealing with nutty clients she is writing me for sleep, anxiety and blood pressure medication with a statin thrown in for good measure
.
I’m feeling like I just hit the lottery. She’s feeling like this is just temporary. There’s a disconnect, but oh well, I’m good for now.

She’s no dope though, (pun intended) she has my history in front of her and launches into her required CYA on anti-anxiety meds and their dangers. “You need to be very careful with this. It is very powerful and addictive.” Yeah, yeah, just gimme the scrip already.

That was seven years and many confrontations ago. Since then, I have heard many horrifying stories from docs, reps, friends and relatives peppered with “dangerous” and “nasty.” You don’t want to leave home without it, trust me.

I blame no one but myself. But I have never left her office without at least an offer to try something new or a concern over a letter from Care Mark and she needs to “adjust me.” You are getting older, you know. (Stuck in the middle with me again)

I have kicked everything except smack (thankfully, never tried it) on my own and don’t respond well to short leashes.

So Doc, seeing you have never personally had to deal with abuse, (maybe you should.) you should study your charts more carefully or find another way to intentionally grow your customer base.

I just want to let you know that I am making my own adjustments and will only consult with you when I need a second opinion. See you in the spring.

Now what am I supposed to do all day?

I gave you the best 30 years of my life you sneaky sons-a-bitches. I showed up every day, even when there wasn’t anything to do. I was part of the team. I attended all those company picnics when I could of been playing golf.

I sat through all those endless town hall meetings pretending I was paying attention, calculating my 401K and my annual bonus. Why should I have to know what EBITDA means? That’s your problem, not mine. Watching you put slides up there that looked like the Iranian Nuclear Program gave me narcolepsy. Was there a hidden message there?

Now you want to dump me to make your investor’s happy? Oh, no you don’t. I stuck with you through thick and thin. The moly shortages, the manufacturer’s snafus, the fact that you couldn’t partner with a Dunkin’ Donuts franchise?  It’s not my fault you lost all your (one) customers, I have kids in college, you dolts.

I helped you spend all those millions BMS gave you. I stifled the laughter when Cory and Bob came up from Plainsboro. Seriously, that was almost not funny. Did Fellini cast that?

Isn’t the incredible feat of mental flat lining worth something to you ungrateful wretches?

I made like I had a bad cough when your last CEO put on a loin cloth and broke out the flip chart. A flip chart? Talk about time travel. The whole room went black and white and I started humming “It’s Howdy Doody Time” It was surreal. Almost had a Xanax-Zoloft overdose on that one.

Now they have a woman VP who comes to work in a Hummer, with a “Bite Me” tattoo on her neck, wearing a biker’s helmet and says ‘do you mind?” when she accidentally knocks over a file cabinet.

You owe me. I’m almost 60 with no marketable skills besides knowing how to change the water on the Keurig Coffee Maker. I’m getting casting calls from “The Last Man Standing.” But that doesn’t let you off the hook, you liars.

I had to spend the last two years working with the your “leftovers.” You know, the living dead with the defibrillators strapped to their backs? The ones who put in 28 hours a day? For the team? Who double up at the cafeteria and mow the lawn? Because they are sooooo valuable? The mouth breathing foot draggers who send safety a text if they see you doing 21 mph on site?

Corporate Al Quaeda. The ones who would rat you out for using too much ink on that out dated printer? Or making copies of your resume?

The human turnover was so great I needed a cheat sheet just to pass someone in the hallway. Now you have no money, no customers, no manufacturers and no clue. No shit! What’s that supposed to mean to me? Nada!

I did all the right things. I showed up almost everyday, when I could. I didn’t steal office supplies and I always lifted the toilet seat.

And when someone on the Executive Leadership Team needed to know how to block out their meeting calendar for the day when they were either too high or hungover, who showed them how? Me! You ingrates!

Oh, lest I forget, as your video producer, I have out takes. What were you thinking? Like the see saw of life, when the company goes down, the videos go up. See you on the red carpet.

So let’s just calm down with the Machiavellian B.S. Why would you go take a leak with a wireless mic on in the first place and rip everybody up the ass you didn’t like? Including, your humble correspondent? Did you think that blinking red light was just checking your pulse? Oh, FYI, to the guy who called me a troglodyte, I looked it up and my wife disagrees with you. Kinda! But I am working on it.

Think you’re gonna walk away after you’ve had your way with me? Oh no, you don’t. You better leave a little something on the night stand. Get some more oxygen starved investors. Let’s get the road show on the road. Get rid of the labs in Australia and Puerto Rico. It costs more money to fly there than what they make in a whole year. Get rid of stuff!  Anyone but me. Remember “Death do us part?” I do!

I never thought it would end like this. Everyone’s scattering. There’s nothing to sell. The reps are pushing real estate and one in the midwest is (really) actually working in a bicycle shop during the day to cover her ass. But me? I don’t get it. I used to blend into the woodwork. I laughed at all your jokes. I acted like I gave a flying fuck. Where’s the love, baby?

I was a pain in no one’s ass. I did hear someone say about me once, “He’s been here for years, wonder what he does? If they only knew. If I only knew. Now I’m out in the cold with a 21 day severance package. You lied to me!!!! I want my ring back. You popped my cherry, and then dumped me. You never even called. (Until you were snooping around about the footage you forgot I had.) Oops!

Now I’m home all day forced to use my own electricity, my own bathroom, using my own toilet paper, newspaper and worse, my own coffee. My wife just told me, “I don’t know what you think you’re gonna do all day, but you’re not gonna do it here.” Oh, God’s gonna make you pay.

The least you can do for me is give me a heads up when you start auctioning off your office furniture and secure me a lifetime golf membership when those two hundred acres turn into the Billerica Country Club Annex.

I’ll be watching when you hold your next town hall meeting in the gazebo outside building 600.

But as MacArthur once said, “I shall return!” As soon as I can find those fucking wire fence cutters!

Start packing!

 OK, nobody move and no one will get hurt, or advance, or thrive, or get wealthy, or have a second home in Scottsdale or retire without a worry. Just stand right there and let the Laws of Inertia run it’s course. Yeah, and let’s keep the running gag about your plans, about your “maybe if”s” about when you get a new boss, a new job opportunity appears out of nowhere, or your handsome prince shows up.

Break out the calculator to figure out your total net worth in 5 years 10 months, 3 weeks, 2 days and 26 minutes. Then head to the automated cafeteria for lunch.

After a shit sandwich, return to your presently, unbearably repetitive job, (that your pet monkey could perform) every day with a scowl on your face , kick your waste basket, throw darts at pictures of your leadership team and learn the correct spelling of martyr.

Then your alarm goes off! Shit! Reality bites!

Are you watching what’s going on here? Have you noticed what’s happening in the so called traditional job market? Opportunities are coming along like the MBTA on a Sunday schedule. Only it’s Monday in America. Are you taking solace in the phony job numbers the government puts out and scratching your head as the stock market turns the country into a monarchy?

Are you going to spend your sunset years picketing for dental benefits in a Wal-Mart parking lot?

Your adoptive company is in possession of more minutiae about your contribution ratio to their organization than you ever thought possible. They know to the millimeter how many square feet you take up on their property, how much heat, AC, health insurance, 401K contributions, dead air and even have an equation for how many toilet flushes you are capable of in a month. They see you when you’re sleeping….

Here’s what I would say to anyone that will listen, START PACKING! Cram and scram! Steal every fucking intellectual idea or concept that’s ever bubbled up in one of those oxygen deprived meeting rooms. Steal voraciously! Use this dump as your think tank with you being the only one actually thinking.

Start acting like this is the year you will be escorted off the property. Do it with a vengeance. Make a list of all the transferable skills you do every day and add more. Much more. Ask questions. Look interested. Weasel your way into every stupid steering committee they will give entree to.

No one remembers what they say in those things anyway. Change positions, job titles and buildings if you can. Take a transfer. Go into sales. Collaborate. You don’t have a career, you are a preferred provider. For the moment. But It’s all good. For you.

While you’re  feeling nice and warm, loved and protected in this womb-like environment, your temporary parents have other ideas. The pain is coming. Like the realization you were an orphan all along.

This might be your vaunted career, but it’s their b-u-s-i-n-e-s-s. There’s a cold shot in the nuts for ya! ” You mean they don’t love me and want to care for me and understand all my emotional needs?”

Uh, no. You are not really part of the organization. You are not on the team and never have been, no matter how much smoke they blew up your ass while your fearless, out of touch, leader floats across a fake catwalk, with “Hail to the Chief” playing in the background to give his benediction at your annual sales meetings.

We don’t need to do a SWOT analysis to understand the threats to your very shaky existence today. You can see how the digital landscape is erupting. You know all about globalization, immigration outsourcing and how they came to realize after 2008, they didn’t need half of you. Now, that was depressing wasn’t it?

You’re probably still keeping in touch and sympathizing with all your MBA drinking buddies who can’t catch a break. Big shots, captains of industry they were. All the dudes you thought had it going on. Belly flops, all of them. How can this happen? In other words, “what the fuck is going on here?”

I’ll tell you, I’ll break it to you even if your best friends won’t. You need to take stock and commoditize your ass off. You will either be a lone wolf or a dead duck. Stare in the mirror every day and ask “Who am I? What can I offer the world that can help someone? Did you forget the art of marketing yourself? Or did you ever? Can you articulate your value to anyone? “You used to be a contender, you used to be somebody”

When was the last time you interviewed for anything besides your current position? Was the last thing you negotiated a night out with the boys? Just who the hell do you think you are? Take a shot of Endust to the temporal lobe and get back in the game.

Use the opportunities buried in the confines of your daily grind to ready yourself for the future. Every mundane job function that you do should be looked at as a potential transferable skill. Learn public speaking, blog, tweet, get a web site, turn yourself into a marketable entity. Get a goddam opinion. Brand yourself, like “Enlightened Whatever” 🙂

Be…. You Inc.

It’s what I call, Parallel development.

Welcome to the jungle.

I always feel a little strange and undeserving when someone says “Thank you for your service.”
I went to Vietnam. I was drafted. I wish it was, but it wasn’t my idea. I was swept off the streets in 1966 during the largest draft in American history I’m told. Much to my mother’s horror because the war was in your face every night on the Big 3 channels.

Freddie O’Connor, 18, got on the bus with me at the Somerville draft board on September 16, 1966. He was married with two babies. I came home. He didn’t.

Not that I was doing anything that would contribute to society in those days. I was a fat, out of shape, chain smoking, alcoholic, whose only goal in life was to grope all the girls in Somerville and stay half in the bag for the rest of my life.

I had gold status at the Meadow Glen Drive-In and Martignetti’s liquor store.

Being in the physical condition I was in at the time, I have to say my induction and basic training almost killed me. I would have taken an “unfit for military service” discharge to get out of that hell. But it was not to be. Not for lack of trying, mind you There was a movie out at the time called “The D.I.” starring Jack Webb that turned our stools to water. “It’s just a movie, right?”

This was worse! Way worse. Our Drill Instructors were deranged alcoholics who could run 6 miles backwards while smoking a pack of cigarettes in 100 degree South Carolina heat and humidity. Some of them had huge bellies they could bounce like medicine balls in front of them and still out fight and out fuck any one of us. They were our worst nightmare. They could smell your particular weakness from miles away. God help you if their deadly gaze landed upon you.

There were eight of them and you could hear them drinking and laughing and coughing in the orderly room way past midnight, then they’d be tipping our bunks over at 4:00 am. What kind of evil was this? How do you wake up from this nightmare?

They pushed us, crawled us, mauled us, stuck rifle barrels up our asses, they left us in the rain, or the glaring sun at attention or push up position for hours. We learned to sleep anywhere, standing up, sitting down and even while marching. It was a physical and mental assault the likes I have never experienced. I was truly shaken to my core. You could hear a lot of these kids sobbing after lights out. They accomplished what they set out to do, they broke us.

(Me, beat down and 30 lbs. lighter)

Anything considered by the military to be improper, they could get away with, they did it. They kicked, punched, pushed, belittled and bullied. They drove us to the brink. They trained us on Sundays, they cancelled church, which was the only place we could get a minute’s peace, then out to the woods for more training so the rest of the battalion wouldn’t see us. All considered improper at the time. No one should have to miss church if you were still in the States.

Sgt. MgGhee, (think Neville Brand) once pushed me up against a wall and screamed at me in such a way that he almost swallowed my face. I had teeth marks on my neck and the bridge of my nose. The smell was beyond description. He could chew nails and spit rust.

They also had a cute little concentration camp trick they would use to break you. They would punish 200 guys unmercifully and say you were the reason. Then sometime during the night a blanket would be slipped over your head while you were sleeping and the beating from your comrades would commence. Nothing personal.

These D.I’s had an axe to grind. Seems they had lost sons, brothers, cousins, uncles and best friends over there and they blamed it on lack of real, serious combat training. And they were bitter, extremely bitter. They said, “We’re not gonna send you pieces of shit over there to get killed and have it on our conscience. If you get your dumb ass blown off it won’t be our fault.” Well, thanks, Sarge, kinda.

So what did I get out of it? I became a man. I lost 35 pounds. I got my shit together, learned how to survive and take care of myself and those around me. I grew a pair. I realized that I could push past my perceived limits, present myself in a professional manner and challenge myself in all my endeavors. That experience readied me for life. It’s with me now.

So when someone says, “Thank you for your service” I always say, no, really, thank you.

I read this piece this morning from the CEO of BlackBerry, John Chen, and became immediately flabbergasted and infuriated. Yeah, just blend in with the other stiffs and constantly use the word “teamwork.”They don’t want you to be indispensable, it makes you hard to replace. This is just what these companies want, cattle. Original thought? Prudent risk? Entrepreneurial spirit? Can’t have that. You’ll upset our nice little apple cart. You need to be dumpable.

“It’s obvious that being good at your job is good for your career. But being a superstar can actually hurt it. I know how counterintuitive that sounds, so let me explain.
Most employees think that the best way to show value to their boss and get promoted is to aggressively claim credit and ownership over everything they do. While it’s important to be recognized for what you do and the value you add, grabbing the glory is going to turn off your co-workers.

And speaking as a CEO, trying too hard to show you’re a superstar tells me that you only care about what’s best for you, and not the company as a whole.

What if you’re successful in convincing everyone that you are a true superstar, the best at your job in the entire company? Well, being irreplaceable is a double-edged sword. It not only means you’re unfireable — you’re also unpromotable. Again, from my vantage point, why would I allow one employee to be promoted to another job if it creates a huge void elsewhere?

Can you believe this shit? I can. I experienced it.

The above picture is of my company car after I got through driving all night delivering radioactive medical isotopes that had gotten lost at the Phoenix airport. Having a distribution background, I knew where to look and how to handle the situation. I even made sure I had the bills of lading right next to me in the front seat in case I was stopped on the way to Tucson. Letters from customers soon started pouring in and I started getting noticed. In a big way. My distributor was always looking to hire me away. Internally, it was handled very quietly, lest they made the C-Suite nervous.

A few months later, the same type of radioactive medical material over shot Albuquerque and landed in Phoenix. I got the call at 1:00 am. The hospitals and clinics would have had to cancel all their patients for that day. Fedex could not turn it around in time. I called a pilot I knew that had his own plane and a hazardous material license, paid him $500 in cash and he was on his way as I watched the sun come up. Then I called my boss. You know what they say about forgiveness and permission. Still hearing about that one all these years later.

Then, there was the $9000.00 jet from Memphis to Phoenix that shook the home office but saved our butts, still getting ribbed about that. Thank you American Express. We would have lost at least 50% of our business on that mishap if we weren’t able to recover in time.

Sure, I was rewarded, in a small hotel room with a check and a hand shake from my manager. “Keep it under your hat.”

There are many more instances, but that’s not the point of this piece. This is not a lot of belly rubbing about trying to be a superstar, it’s about how big companies don’t want you to push them out of their comfort zone.

My problem was, there was no category for that type of above and beyond behavior. I saw the awkwardness of upper management when these stories started leaking out. I was bending the rules and creating new ones. They didn’t want it to get out for fear someone else with lesser experience would try and fumble. You can think out of the box, as long as it’s their box.

When I got itchy and ready for new challenges I was told they couldn’t think of anyone to replace me. So I see from Mr. Chen’s article, nothing much has changed. I have my own business now and handle it the way I see fit.

I will be my own superstar, thank you very much.

Arizona, how I love that place. But not for business. There are more empty suits there than a Macy’s rack. Vegas is worse but beyond a bad gambling habit, why would you go? Their infrastructure is backing up on itself. Use bottled water.

Arizona is home to the thousand dollar millionaire, people who can talk more shit than a Chinese radio with absolutely nothing to offer. In fact, every CEO I’ve ever had lunch with has excused themselves when the check came. It’s all in the timing. Nothing is as it seems.

Forget doing what I do, corporate video production and e- strategy, in the medical community, they are so used to having drug companies pay for everything, coughing up a chunk of change for anything is totally out of the question.

When I was a Dupont rep, every time a hospital would call us in to see if they could get a price reduction, we had to step through all the new construction.

Soooo, I receive an e-mail from a guy who runs a marketing outfit and wants to hook up. I go to his web site and sure enough, another shit head.  It was so over the top and in such glaringly bad taste I felt compelled to set him straight as far as I was concerned. That’s what I do “no” of.

Basically, I let him know I thought he was a digital douchebag and this is not the 90’s. This stuff irks me because everyone gets hurt.

Well, I get a note back today and when I see his name in the header I brace myself. Oh yeah, an auto reply with my first name inserted, telling me how excited he was to work with me, how he can help grow my business and to sign up for his newsletter. It ain’t the heat, it’s the stupidity.

Anyone who follows my rantings knows I have little tolerance those smarmy little shits who try to get you hooked on their miraculous, revenue tripling, sky’s the limit, lead generating, all in one, life changing, step by step pathway to success. Right out of college they have the solutions you’ve been looking for. Hey, we are all young once, but when you start peeing in my side of the pool, the deep end, we need to talk.

Got a LinkedIn message from someone who wanted to connect with me because “we are almost in the same business, essentially.” I beg to differ and here’s why. It’s not about you. Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should blast everyone on the planet with outlandish statements about success, reach and frequency and fabulous lifestyles if they follow your secret road map.

Just because you see some of the big dogs do it and it looks easy, don’t kid yourself, these guys are in trouble too. Instead of three or four steady clients where they are part of the team, they need thousands of confused and jobless dreamers to pay their rent. I won’t mention them by name (again) but if you study their approach, they’re not just talking business anymore, they offer health and wellness, laws of attraction and attitude and behavior modification. Ron Popeil’s got nothing on these guys.

They all know each other too. Except for that screwball, Vaynerchuk, they freely name drop and give each other a “reach around” at every opportunity. The club for growth…theirs.

Their offers now are becoming so vague as to be laughable. I love that little clock timer on your web site to let us all know the time for signing up for your webinar is running out. Then what? Then nothing! After lackluster responses you send me an e-mail with “your last chance.” then another with a correction and I still have one more chance to change my life.

Of course, this once in a lifetime,”you were secretly picked” webinar will not be recorded because the information is so valuable. Then it shows up on You Tube a week later.

So, to put a finer point on my rant, what we are seeing here in on-line marketing is just like what happened when, as kids, we all got bows and arrows for Christmas. Carnage and confusion followed by a serious ass whoopin’.

I have a sad, cold, heart broken, disappointed feeling in my gut this morning reading the Brian Williams story. To watch him have to slink off the world stage in such a shameful fashion seems almost unbearable to me. I don’t know him, never watched his show or followed his career but I guess there’s something in all of us that makes us feel the need to be more than we really are.

I guess it’s unthinkable to go to a war torn country and have it turn out uneventful. So we embellish to make ourselves bigger than life. We’re just not that interesting in our present state.

I should be writing my will after this but here goes:

When I told my wife this story, she told me to get a lobotomy and get my attic cleaned out.

When I was a rep, one of my accounts was the University of New Mexico, School of Radiopharmacy. They used our products but they also had something of more value to me. Their students. Once they graduated, they would most likely get placed in all the radiopharmacies I made my living from. I still get birthday cards from a few of them.

I spent tons of money on them, took them to Vegas, got naked in hot tubs with them and wined and dined them until they were fattened up for the kill.

They told me stuff they couldn’t even tell their priest. I don’t drink, so I took advantage. Never trust a man who doesn’t drink.

They were so brainwashed by the time they graduated, I just had to harvest them when they were placed in my territory. I call it front loading.

So the phone rings one night and it’s a recent graduate who just got placed at a radiopharmacy in Tucson. She asked me to come down and take her to dinner to celebrate her graduation and her new job. This is what I do.

So I book reservations at a 5 star restaurant in the Catalina Mountains, Michael’s, overlooking the city. Easily securing her loyalty for the rest of her life. Like I said, it’s what I do.

After a few drinks on an empty stomach, she starts to change. I’ve seen this before. Alcohol. It takes no prisoners.

Now she is moody and becoming morose. She is festering and starts to mumble about some “rotten bastard”. I want her to spill but I have to be careful. “Waiter, more drinks over here, please!”

Then, out it comes. She had been having an affair with her clinical instructor at the university and out of the blue he ups and marries one of her classmates. Now, I know this guy very well, big, strapping, masculine, homophobic, weight lifter, 6’2 at around 260.

One more drink and now she’s sobbing, swearing, moaning and starts banging on the table. The waiter starts giving me the hairy eyeball and needs me to get this under control in a hurry.

“Well, see how she likes shoving that thing up his ass all the time” she blurts. Whoa! I mean, whoa! Rewind the tape please.

D-D-Details, how do I get more details without spooking her? Another drink and I get my wish in spades. Everything and more. Way more. Now I want to use the pay phone. But then I think, what a bitch. You tell a gas bag like me something like that and not expect it to go nationwide? She’s using me to get even with him. Have to admit, if that was her plan, she’s got the right guy. I was more effective than cable TV. I think of him again, so macho, so butch, he does have a nice ass, but nah, she’s gotta be lying. No way.

Now, I don’t trust her. Anyone who would peddle a story like that about someone, anyone for any reason is evil, I’m thinking. So after a very sloppy dinner, I carry her out of there and back to her hotel and start the two hour journey back to Phoenix.

But I am shook. I am now sitting on serious customer information (as I like to call it) and as much as I hate to admit it, I was never above a little friendly blackmail to get me to Executive Council.

I didn’t sleep very well that night. The visual. The shock. The vindictiveness. Having to keep my mouth shut was even more excruciating.

Three weeks later, I’m back in New Mexico, in his office. He says, with an evil grin, you want to see my new pencil sharpener? I say sure and he motions for me to close the door. He opens his file cabinet and pulls out a plastic object that looks like a guy bending over with cloth boxer shorts.

He gleefully pulls the shorts down and shove a pencil up his ass until this loud whirring commences. The look on his face while he was sharpening that pencil told the whole story. His eyes rolled back in his head as he shivered with delight.

OMG! The visual is back. It’s true. It’s all true.

The next week, I’m traveling with my boss Dave, back to Tucson, and I tell him the whole story. He doesn’t say a word. At first. Then his breathing quickens and he starts to softly groan which quickly escalates to screams and he opens his window and starts to try to jump out at 75 mph.

Aaaaahhh! Where do you get this shit? Why do you tell me these things? What’s going on out here? Then the screaming starts again.

Dave, I was only trying to give you my territory anal-ysis. Sheesh!

As a Dupont Radiopharmaceuticals rep, I always thought it was a good idea to invite upper level in-house people out to the field for customer visits to help both parties get the big picture and for me to change up the routine a bit and educate my customers.

There’s usually quite a bit of preparation involved, especially with regard to who the visitor was. You nail down their itinerary, book them a hotel, wash the company car, set up appointments, get a haircut and most importantly, read the package inserts so you give them the notion you know what you’re selling. Very painful.

So you plan full, all out days of customer calls, lunches, dinners and meetings. Down to the letter. Printed out. In an embossed, personalized folder. With histories, buying patterns, competitive issues and local politics. It takes you two weeks to make this one week happen because you know these pukes are going to be shooting their mouth off to anyone who will listen about probably the only meaningful thing they’ve done all year. I was glad I could help.

Sometimes, they would fly in at night, get a cab to the hotel and you would meet them at the hotel for breakfast. Sometimes for the very first time. This is where you realize, much to your horror, that not only are you not on the same page, you’re not even on the same planet. It’s then that you realize that there is such a thing as “cubicle deprivation” and you have four full days of this ahead of you.

This was in the days when you could get on the airport concourse and meet them at the gate. Usually, the plane would run late and you would start falling behind schedule immediately. The first tell tale sign you get is that we have to go to baggage claim to get their golf clubs. Or they come off the plane and yell PARTY!!! They’re smashed. Your heart is in your left sock by now and survival is your only goal.

Then they break the news that they have a conference call at 2 pm and will probably have to work into the night to get an emergency report back to the office. Now I have to start doing the Teabury Shuffle with my scheduled calls. The next day the hotel manager tells me my little buddy caused quite a ruckus in the bar last night.

A visit from hell: His name was Bob A. I don’t worry that he’ll read this because I’m sure he doesn’t have electricity. He was some big wig in the manufacturing of all our radioisotopes. I hardly knew him from the site but I became instantly aware that he was getting a lot more radiation than someone living in downtown Chernobyl.

As I sat across the table watching food accumulate in his beard and trying to decipher what he was saying, I panicked and started to plan my deceptions. I could faint. I could invent a dying relative. I could pour sugar in my gas tank. I could just… expire.

Or I could stick this fucker in the trunk and Fedex him back to Billerica.

I have a “no” button. When it gets pushed, it ain’t happening. No! Not! Never! It’s over! My survival instincts kicked in and I got on a pay phone and started cancelling. Everything. Especially the big clients I was hoping to impress. Whew! I can lose customers on my own, I don’t need any help from these people.

I took him to Arizona accounts that had populations in the double digits. Globe, Surprise, Oatman, places even low on a telemarketer’s list. He still managed to stir up trouble by arguing every scientific point with everyone. These were places where the docs wore bolo ties, cowboy boots and always had a pinch of Skoal between the cheek and the gum. One called him “little feller.”

On the last day he got pulled across the table by his tie by a muscle bound lesbian tech who had “enough of his shit.” Friday came at last and when we arrived at the airport I don’t think I ever came to a full stop when he got out.

Luckily, some of the folks who came out were a blessing. Some I took right into the gates of hell with customers who had issues with the company, our products and usually our pricing. I enjoyed that immensely. Here, have a big fat shit sandwich, shiny pants. One guy said “don’t ever do that to me again.” I had priapism for a week.

A lot of my visiting managers were just punching it in. 10 to 2 will do just fine, thank you. Maybe dinner. Some were actually put out they had to be there. Some were just looking for a chink in my armor so they could “work with me” on an issue to help them shave a few points off my annual review. Man, I gave them plenty.

I’m glad I had the opportunity to manage a territory with all the challenges that came with it. You had your own universe and no one actually knew how it operated. It made you politically savvy, cunning, fluent in bullshit, exaggeration and fantasy.

You were always six steps ahead of yourself. You learned that caller ID was the miracle of the century and to think pleasant thoughts about your childhood while these pukes cried about all the politics, unfair treatment, and who was screwing who back at the ranch.

Would I do it all over again? I have to think about that.