Too Much Information, Sam

One year ago this week, I managed to endure only a few hours of bad television advertising while under the influence of drugs. The message of fear, delivered across a number of industry sectors and brands was painful to hear again and again: fear of diaper rash. Of sunrise burglar attacks. Thankfully, I was able to tune it out, either by changing the channel or taking a nip from the NyQuil jug.

Now? I swear that none of us can escape the barrage. I’m lucid and healthy, yet I can’t change a channel or turn it off. It’s inescapable. One cannot escape the dull, monotonous pounding of the message of fear, thinly veiled as a call for frugality, savings, and do it yourself, pumped through every 30–second time slot on networks, cable, and online. The source of this pirate signal? Arkansas.

Listen, commercial giant: I fully appreciate the gravity of the economic situation, without your condescending reminders. When I finally settle in to watch television—either on the tele or online—the last thing I need are six commercials during one episode, with your annoying little voice encouraging me to save a little dough, live a little high life. No doubt, your advertisers are brilliant. But there is such a thing as too much.

Has anyone else found the off switch? Mind telling me where it is?

Two words, donkey: Shut. Up. —Shrek

The Two-Way Street

Today, I had the general manager of a new vendor partner pull me aside, after more than a week of kickoff meetings and process flow mapping. She stated that after reviewing our services agreement, it was important to keep everything “on the up and up.” She then informed me that the vendor business currently works with two of our competitors.

A terribly insecure manager in our group is quick to call on all of us to “stay on the same page.” It’s her usual script during team meetings and strategy reviews. Funny. We never hear from her in-between the meetings. Literally. She doesn’t respond to questions or requests. We usually find out after the fact of some project she’s approved, some spending she’s allocated, or some discussion she’s had that directly implicates all of our work. Staying on the same page is for her benefit, alone.

Trust is a precious commodity these days in business. I wish my colleague and the vendor suddenly on very shaky ground would try and remember that.

Trust everybody, but cut the cards. —Finley Dunne

Can Companies Really Find Common Ground?

Oh, OK, shameless plug: I love the Citizens League. I take so many great cues for business by listening to its civic discourse over policy (usually served up with a fresh pint of beer). As I listen to the discussions, I begin to think they’re being too civic, and I mentally formulate a faster, more decisive (and often unilateral) way to help further their nonpartisan agenda. I realize that’s counter to the entire point of finding common ground, but hey, works for me!

And I’m fascinated by Nate Garvis, who presented last week at the CL annual meeting. “Naked Civics” was a follow up to his 2007 “Outrage Industry.” His premise today: No one does well in a bad community, so working toward the common good is not just smart—it’s wise.

There were a slew of good nuggets during his presentation:

• There are social implications of consumption; think better designs for how we consume.

• The best leaders are those who listening closely to those they lead.

• Lulan is an example of a startup doing well in business by doing good.

But I couldn’t help it. My brain tried to reconcile his points with typical corporate leadership—and I got nowhere. So I started tweeting out questions and statements of my own:

• Table manners are conversational regulation? Oh, I can think of a few of those in biz.

• Networks are taking over hierarchies; how should one with a career built on hierarchal progress cope? What does biz think?

• I’m thinking we need a Sesame Street curriculum in the workplace.

• How do we help the bean counters to care like this? We can’t.

I believe in the notion of common ground, of better design for business and communities, for improved consumption patterns that save money and resources over time. I’m enamored by the entrepreneurs who not only profit by helping to bolster those in need, but look so cool while doing it.

And I am convinced that the organizations with the greatest power to drive common good—i.e., corporations—will never be able to make that kind of impact.

Not without a little outrage and uprising on the inside, that is.

No, I’m not suggesting unions—that’s a tired bunch of B.S. Rather, we have to cycle out the old biz thinkers to get to common good. I still think we let the wrong people go this past year.

So how do we help the bean counters care like this? I don’t think they can. Do you?

“We focus on tools. We need to focus on elements. Common good is designed well.” —@NakedCivics on Twitter

WIIFM Revisited

Times are indeed tough. And it’s times like these when people like you need to get creative to get what you really want. Perhaps it’s an informational interview, an opportunity to pitch your product, service or capabilities, access to good information, or just a human voice on the line.

But don’t forget—there are dozens of other people who want the exact same thing as you. And if it’s not clear what’s in it for the party you’re pitching, you might have one hell of a time getting anywhere—much less, what you want. Following me so far?

There are various forms of business communication that, as far as I’m concerned, are dead. And e-mail, in my esteemed professional opinion, is bobbing-in-the-water dead, alongside that reeking, bloated fax machine. I don’t see what’s in it for me, other than a drain on time I don’t have to waste.

I currently average 250 e-mail messages a day. Assume each message takes about three minutes to read, process, and consider—forget any forwards or responses. Seven-hundred-and-fifty minutes are 12.5 hours. I’m not going to put in a 12.5-hour day just to read e-mail messages. I have work to do.

Sadly, there could be a golden ticket in the inbox. It could be the greatest innovation for our team, save us millions, or boost market share. But when I have to read down several paragraphs of an unsolicited e-mail message from someone whom I’ve never met, much less heard of, chances are I won’t give it a chance. I’ll file away as spam or trash.

The worst is the repeat offender, who sends the same e-mail message repeatedly, hounding me for an answer and threatening to go to my chief executive to complain about my lack of engagement. Hint: this really isn’t the way to get me to pay you any attention. It just pisses me off.

In face-to-face discussions, I can quickly sum up relevance after listening to a 30-second elevator speech. E-mail doesn’t give the elevator speech a chance, since it takes up three paragraphs. So if you want my attention, forego the e-mail message. Get creative.

And if you think I’m wrong, by all means, send my chief executive an e-mail message and complain. I think he’s spending about 19 hours a day going through his own inbox. But maybe you’ll get his attention after all.

Sometimes people are talking to me and in my mind I’m just like ‘shut up, shut up, shut up . . . blah blah blah blah blaaaaah.’ —Ellen Degeneres

Age Before Hubris

What a difference one little number makes.

A few months ago, I met one of our regional managers, relatively new in his role. For two years, I’ve worked on an operational initiative, and we’ve had some roadblocks and barriers to our work in his region. So I was pleased to have the chance to meet him, discuss the circumstances affecting our work, and seek his support. I was, if anything, completely consistent with how I engage with people professionally: I was brisk, confident, and pleasant as I introduced myself.

Or so I thought.

Somehow, over the months since that first meeting, I’ve earned a reputation in his region as, as one of my regional colleagues put it, “a ball-buster.” This guy apparently didn’t like my questions, or the stories I shared of roadblocks we’ve experienced on his turf.

The good news is that he’s moved swiftly: The barriers are being examined, the roadblocks removed. And while my regional team is now getting what it needs, they never miss the chance now to thank me for making their lives a living hell. He’s sent the clear message that this initiative isn’t an option for anyone, and it should be supported. He’s also declared he’ll “never again” be “grilled” by someone like me.

What?!? I was shocked at first, then briefly, insecure: Was I too strident? Was I too bold? Then I got angry. Why the hell should I question myself? I wasn’t confrontational or berating; I treated him no differently than any other peer or superior. I finally decided I didn’t care; the work was getting the right level of support, and we’re back on track. But the reputation kept nagging at me.

I traveled back to that region recently to check in on the initiative. My legend again resurfaced during a discussion with a few direct reports to that manager. I rolled my eyes. “Seriously? What is the big deal? I didn’t attack the guy—what am I missing here?”

One of his reports laughed. “He’s only 27.”

And there it was. I suddenly saw myself as a senior in high school—and this manager as a third grader. I wasn’t dealing with a seasoned, experienced manager, but a bright young thing. I pointed out a bit of gritty reality that might tarnish his star, and he didn’t like it. His reaction, given his maturity and experience, now made perfect sense.

And now I’m done with childish things. I’m having dinner with this manager next month. It’s time to get back to what we’re here for.

Never burn bridges. Today’s junior prick, tomorrow’s senior partner. —Working Girl (1988)