When I come home at night after work, my wife and I typically talk about what we did that day. My wife gives me a journal description of her day from the time she got up until we finally meet at night. She's quite articulate in her adventures of the day which may explain why she looks puzzled at me when she asks me how my day went and I respond by saying simply "Fine" or "Good." Actually, I have a "Bad" day now and then, but not too often. I usually have but one a year, and I don't mean a type of day where you run into some problems at work or a key decision doesn't go your way. I'm talking about a day where everything consistently unravels before your eyes and you are powerless to do anything about it. Maybe a better adjective would be a "Rotten" day. I had one a couple of weeks ago thereby ruining my day.It began on a cold Wednesday here in Florida, which may sound like an oxymoron, but on this particular occasion a cold Arctic blast came down from Canada. We may have not gotten the snow or frigid temperatures that the Midwest received, but getting into the 30's is still cold by my estimate. As I was leaving for lunch I noticed my car had a flat tire on the left-rear side. "Oh, great," I lamented to myself.
A friend who happened to know my local mechanic mentioned he had an air can containing compressed air which may be able to inflate the tire long enough for me to drive it into the shop where it could be fixed. This sounded like a good idea, so he drove down and retrieved the can for me. The can was rather old and strange looking. Actually, it looked like a rusted and overgrown Jiffy Pop machine turned on its side and built around the time of the first World War. I had visions of Dough Boys using it in the Battle of the Marne to fill their gas masks. Nevertheless, I took the Jiffy Pop machine and hooked its hose to my tire stem. "Pffffst" and only a small puff of air came out of it before it died. I think I should have given it a military funeral in my dumpster right then and there.
I then resigned myself to the fact I would have to change the tire myself with the spare I had in the trunk. Now most people would call AAA or a local service station, but my masculine ego kicked into gear and I was determined to do it myself. After all, I had changed many tires over the years, "What is one more tire?" I said to myself. Unfortunately, I had never changed a tire on this particular vehicle, a Kia from South Korea. Dutifully I took out the tools packaged neatly in the trunk. So far, so good. There was a screwdriver and wrench, as well as a jack and tire iron. However, calling it a "tire iron" would be overly generous. It looked more like an overgrown silver Pixie Stick, approximately ten inches in length.
Before you jack-up a car to remove a tire, it is a smart idea to first loosen the lugnuts. I used the Kia screwdriver to remove the plastic lugnut cover from the wheel, a feat in itself as it stubbornly did not want to come off. I then took the Pixie Stick and tried to turn the lugnuts much to no avail, they were on simply too tight. It was about this time that I noticed sweat developing on my forehead and removed my jacket as I was becoming too warm even in the cold weather. After fifteen minutes of pushing and bending the Pixie Stick (which included some choice expletives on my part), I concluded this was a futile effort. Still determined to see this job through to completion, I borrowed a car and drove home to get an industrial strength tire iron I had in my garage. My house is only five miles from the office, but it wasn't until I was halfway home when I realized I left my house key in my jacket back at the office. Not surprising, there were more expletives.
I turned around and returned to the office where I picked up my keys and headed for home again where I performed a frantic search for the tire iron in the garage. It was, of course, in the last possible place to be found in the garage but I was pleased nonetheless that I had found it. I then drove back to the office where I applied my tire iron to the lugnuts. Even with the considerable leverage afforded me by my tire iron, the lugnuts openly resisted my attempts to loosen them. By this time, I noticed my shirt was no longer tucked in my pants which were now drooping as I was bouncing up and down next to the tire like a pogo stick. Just when I was convinced the people at Kia had welded the lugnuts on to the wheel they finally started to loosen with a rusty squeak. One-by-one, squeak-by-squeak, lugnut-by-lugnut, curse-by-curse, they finally surrendered to me.
With the lugnuts loosened, I then went about positioning the jack under the car to raise the vehicle. Actually, it looked more like a toy than a jack. Years ago, cars came with jacks that were made of big hunks of steel you used to raise the vehicle, and it was actually fun to do so. My Kia jack though was no bigger than my two hands put together and was based on a screw mechanism which came with another Pixie Stick to turn the screw. This required me to use my first Pixie Stick tire iron to turn the other. Since the two were so small, I found myself kneeling on the ground spinning the two Pixie Sticks like you were rapidly peddling a bicycle. I'm sure it was quite comical to watch. Slowly but surely, the jack raised the car up until I could replace the old tire with my spare. I then lowered the car and tightened the lugnuts.
Afterwards I got back on my feet, straightened myself up and was sharply reminded of the arthritis cultivating in my back. I was sweating, my clothes a mess, and my hands soiled with tire filth. Did I mention it was still freezing outside?
After cleaning myself up, I put the tools away properly in the trunk, along with the flat tire and the Jiffy Pop air can from World War I. Finally, I drove my car to my mechanic's shop to drop off the air can and have him replace the tire. Elapsed time: two hours, not to mention my afternoon was shot down as it took me some time to regain my composure. The experience: priceless.
The lesson here is that you should always carry a proper set of tools in your car, have a change of clothing, and wait for proper weather conditions to change a tire. Either that or lose the ego and call a mechanic.
As mentioned, I don't experience "Bad" days often, but when I do it has been my observation they are defined by the domino effect that takes place whereby a series of interrelated screw-ups cascade from one to another. Such events are incredibly frustrating thereby testing your patience.
When I got home that evening, my wife as usual asked me how my day went. I answered "Fine" as I didn't want to see the dominoes progress any further.
Keep the Faith!
Note: All trademarks both marked and unmarked belong to their respective companies.
Tim Bryce is a writer and the Managing Director of M. Bryce & Associates (MBA) of Palm Harbor, Florida and has over 30 years of experience in the management consulting field. He can be reached at timb001@phmainstreet.comLike the article? TELL A FRIEND.
Tune into Tim's THE BRYCE IS RIGHT! podcast Mondays-Fridays, 11:30am (Eastern).Copyright © 2011 by Tim Bryce. All rights reserved.
Have you ever wanted something so bad that you worked night and day in a Herculean effort to obtain it? No? Then you do not understand the concept of persistence and determination. You probably also feel you should be entitled to something simply because you are who you are or were present when something happened, regardless if you put forth any effort or not, a kind of winning the Lottery phenomenon. If so, I consider such an attitude as tragic as you will never value anything nor likely experience success of any kind.
Over the holidays I read President George W. Bush's new book, 
My father has been gone for six years now. We worked together for nearly thirty years and in that time, he taught me the ins and outs of the information systems industry and the corporate world. What I particularly miss about him is the arguments we would get into. I don't mean vicious discourse but rather serious debates on a variety of topics. He had a good logical mind and we would often spar if for no other reason than to clarify an idea or concept. My dad was old school though who was of Scottish stock and came up the hard way. If you screwed up, he would let you know about it loud and clear. There was no sugarcoating a mistake with him. Over time I came to learn the reason he jumped down your throat was that he didn't want you to commit the same mistake twice, and to his credit, you wouldn't.
A person's trustworthiness can be measured by the number of metal keys he possesses. Each key represents a trust or responsibility the person has committed to maintaining. I tend to believe the more keys a person has, the more he is trusted; the fewer keys he possesses, less so. I have three sets of keys I maintain; one set for my office and home, one for the Masonic Lodge where I serve as Secretary, and a set of car keys; in all, I generally carry 40+ keys which is a lot and quite uncomfortable if I try to carry them in a single pocket.
People in the Capital are only now beginning to realize the size of the federal government is too massive and thereby contributing to our deficit. The president has ordered wage freezes to which I say, "So what?" as it is only a temporary solution. Even the president's debt reduction commission has come to the realization the government is simply too big. To illustrate, from the commission's "Moment of Truth" report: "Washington needs to learn to do more with less, using fewer resources to accomplish existing goals without risking a decline in essential government services." The report goes on to suggest trimming the government's work force by 10% and budget by 15%. No doubt this will save money, but it is only a guess as to how much to trim. I contend they could trim as much as 25% or more of the work force and still provide adequate government service.
When new people join companies and nonprofit groups there is a natural tendency for them to try and change the culture to suit their work habits, attitudes, and customs. Such changes are sometimes welcomed by the culture, but more often than not, it is steadfastly resisted and the person is rebuffed. Those people who believe the culture should adapt to them, as opposed to the other way around, are in for a rude awakening.