May 22: The bad guy
"Make me the bad guy."
My dad used to tell me that when I was having trouble getting my friends to abide by the house rules. We had about five flats of Pepsi in the garage and somehow, my friends got it into their heads that the Pepsi was free for the taking. I do believe my dear old pops actually busted one of them walking out of the garage with a couple Pepsis in hand. I wasn't even there. I believe I was off at a trumpet lesson.
"I don't want you friends having anymore Pepsi," my dad told me once. "I didn't buy it for them."
I think I tried reasoning with him... telling him that I was entitled to certain perks at my friends' places so they should be entitled to certain perks at mine. But my dad was having none of that. Our garage was meant to store the vehicles and, in this one instance, house Pepsi. It was never intended to be a convenience store where everything is free.
Tried telling pops that my friends would be upset and they'd call it unfair and that's when my dad gave me one of the best pieces of management advice I've ever received.
Make me the bad guy.
"All you have to do is say 'Fellahs, I know you want a Pepsi. I want one too. But my dad says he doesn't want you guys drinking Pepsi any more of his Pepsi and that's just the way it's got to be."
And my friends were mad. "How long are you going to let your parents push you around?" one of them asked. "It's like you're their puppy and they have you on a leash."
He continued berating me for being such a wuss and then something extraordinary happened to pushover me. I started to get mad. I looked at my friend and I asked him, point blank, what made him think he was entitled to just barge into the garage and take as much Pepsi as he wanted. I asked him how he would react (or how his parents would react) if I went over to his house and started taking items out of the fridge.
My friend had no answer but he did have a few new terrible names to call me. I called him terrible names back. I suggested that he was a stupid drooling moron if he couldn't grasp the simple concept that simply being on my dad's property was a privilege, not a right. I reminded my friend that, last time I checked, he had not contributed one red cent to our family's mortgage bill, grocery bill, phone bill, water bill, electricity bill, or any other bill for that matter. As such, he could simple STFU if he thought he was getting a raw deal at Casa Shteevie's Papa.
But that's years in the rear view. Nowadays, "make me the bad guy" is awesome advice for newspaper editors dealing with their reporters.
Editor: "I want you to call your source back and find out how many years the school board has been trying to pay off this debt."
Reporter: "But I've already called him five times. he's going to be mad."
Editor: "I don't care if he's mad. Make me the bad guy. Call him back and tell him that you think the story is fantastic as is but your idiot bonehead editor is having a conniption because of this one totally silly and unimportant detail in the story."
Reporter: "Okay."
Editor: "I want you to refer to me as an idiot bonehead too. C'mon... lemme hear you say it."
Reporter: "Uhhh... no."
Editor: "Okay. But make the call anyway."
Reporter: "Sure."
Editor: "Great. Want a Pepsi?"
My dad used to tell me that when I was having trouble getting my friends to abide by the house rules. We had about five flats of Pepsi in the garage and somehow, my friends got it into their heads that the Pepsi was free for the taking. I do believe my dear old pops actually busted one of them walking out of the garage with a couple Pepsis in hand. I wasn't even there. I believe I was off at a trumpet lesson.
"I don't want you friends having anymore Pepsi," my dad told me once. "I didn't buy it for them."
I think I tried reasoning with him... telling him that I was entitled to certain perks at my friends' places so they should be entitled to certain perks at mine. But my dad was having none of that. Our garage was meant to store the vehicles and, in this one instance, house Pepsi. It was never intended to be a convenience store where everything is free.
Tried telling pops that my friends would be upset and they'd call it unfair and that's when my dad gave me one of the best pieces of management advice I've ever received.
Make me the bad guy.
"All you have to do is say 'Fellahs, I know you want a Pepsi. I want one too. But my dad says he doesn't want you guys drinking Pepsi any more of his Pepsi and that's just the way it's got to be."
And my friends were mad. "How long are you going to let your parents push you around?" one of them asked. "It's like you're their puppy and they have you on a leash."
Hi there. I just left Shteevie's garage. Can't you tell?
He continued berating me for being such a wuss and then something extraordinary happened to pushover me. I started to get mad. I looked at my friend and I asked him, point blank, what made him think he was entitled to just barge into the garage and take as much Pepsi as he wanted. I asked him how he would react (or how his parents would react) if I went over to his house and started taking items out of the fridge.
My friend had no answer but he did have a few new terrible names to call me. I called him terrible names back. I suggested that he was a stupid drooling moron if he couldn't grasp the simple concept that simply being on my dad's property was a privilege, not a right. I reminded my friend that, last time I checked, he had not contributed one red cent to our family's mortgage bill, grocery bill, phone bill, water bill, electricity bill, or any other bill for that matter. As such, he could simple STFU if he thought he was getting a raw deal at Casa Shteevie's Papa.
But that's years in the rear view. Nowadays, "make me the bad guy" is awesome advice for newspaper editors dealing with their reporters.
Editor: "I want you to call your source back and find out how many years the school board has been trying to pay off this debt."
Reporter: "But I've already called him five times. he's going to be mad."
Editor: "I don't care if he's mad. Make me the bad guy. Call him back and tell him that you think the story is fantastic as is but your idiot bonehead editor is having a conniption because of this one totally silly and unimportant detail in the story."
Reporter: "Okay."
Editor: "I want you to refer to me as an idiot bonehead too. C'mon... lemme hear you say it."
Reporter: "Uhhh... no."
Editor: "Okay. But make the call anyway."
Reporter: "Sure."
Editor: "Great. Want a Pepsi?"
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