Watch out for the one who lives to throw a wrench in the works.

I have this idea. Rather than having the nuclear codes reside in the White House, they should embed with the American people on a rotating basis. Not unlike the Stanley Cup, which overnights in each offseason residence of the members of the NHL championship team. Do the same with the car keys to obliteration; move them from place to place nightly. Think of the possibilities: who will have the effrontery to keep up with the Joneses, especially when they have the power to unleash Armageddon with one push of a button? There goes the neighborhood, indeed. Think twice before criticizing their taste in wainscoting. Consider if the nuclear football kicked off in a house with Polish heritage and a long memory, still seething over the “stolen” Russian win in the gold medal game of the 1972 Olympic basketball tournament. Revenge is a dish best served with beer and hors d’oeuvres, watching live cable, and Poles do not fancy Russians. Talk about checks and balances. What could possibly go wrong with this exercise of grassroots democracy?

Three road trips underscore the importance of connecting.

Recently I traveled to the Atlanta area on business. The meeting was outside of Atlanta, in a suburb, a fair distance from both the airport and downtown. Given that distance, and Metro Atlanta traffic, I had a perfect chance to observe life from the back of the ridesharing car while the Lyft driver navigated and fulminated about 8 mph traffic and the consequent decline of civilization.

It’s remarkable what you can observe in 90 freeway minutes while not driving. The molasses pace of “rush hour” illuminates a new world beyond the dashboard, much of it disagreeable. Like billboards. Scads of billboards. A throwback to the visual blight of the pre-Earth Day, zero-regulation, strip mall ’60s, in the eyes of this Southern California-raised resident. Easily 100 billboards graced the shoulder and assaulted the senses between Hartsfield Airport and my hotel. Lest I doubted the evidence of my own eyes, the return journey from hotel to airport, 48 hours later, confirmed that my triple and quintuple takes weren’t a mirage. Their sheer number paid throwback tribute to the nonregulatory state. Something we had in California when Lyndon Johnson was president, which we the people had the good sense to banish.

Unreasonable demands warrant blunt responses.

A young man called me. He didn’t want to call me. It was Friday. Friday is for vanishing, not confrontation. He persisted throughout the preceding week in sending emails, hoping someone on our end would engage. No one did. Not our customer service manager. Not our operations manager. Not our business/office manager. Without exception, all directed the young man to me.

Options reduced to one, he finally capitulated and called me. He was audibly nervous. He talked fast. When I was allowed the (rare) opportunity to reply, he cut me off and talked over my answer. The ensuing word jumble accomplished nothing. In exasperation, I finally admonished him, “You know, studies show that a conversation works optimally when the first party speaks and the second listens, after which the roles reverse. Can we try that as an experiment in achieving better communication?” He seemed reluctant. He kept on speaking nervously. Clearly, he did not appear comfortable with the message he was assigned to deliver.

The names may change, but the (unwanted) pitches stay the same.

An unwanted constant in my life is weekly unsolicited queries, like this:

Hey Robert,

With just one signature, I could wire you $10,000,000 if you were willing to sell your company.

I sent you an email Wednesday explaining that we have set aside $100,000,000 to buy electrical companies.

We’ve already bought five companies from this fund and we expect to spend the entire $100,000,000 by the end of 2024.

To find out how much your company is worth and receive an offer of $10 million or more before our fund runs out, please book a call with the link provided below.

Best,
Chad