Sincerely Yours,

It was George Orwell who stated, “the great enemy of clear language is insincerity.” 

Ever thought about it?

So how do you rate when it comes to sincerity?

You can instantly tell when somebody has their own best interest in mind (and you don’t like it). Conversely, you always get a good vibe from somebody who you can trust. Somebody who is sincere.

Such an overused word – sincere. We sign letters with “Sincerely yours, . . . ” but do we really take time to consider the word’s meaning? “Daddy, what does ‘sincere’ mean?” “Honey, it means – do you really mean what you say? Or are you just saying it to get something?”

While logging in to write this AM Blog this morning, I noticed 455 messages in our “comments” tab. That means 455 people had something to say about our last blog which was published in April. Disappointingly (but not surprisingly) 451 of those comments were hard-line Chocolate Frosted Dog Crap (see Appreciation Marketing, Chapter 5).

In other words, 451 different people (or companies) posted (mostly) computer generated responses to our blog post, explaining how insightful the post was and how they are either offering search engine optimization software, lists, leads, sneakers, sunglasses, knockoff Rolex watches, tee shirts, concert tickets, or handbags.

So touched by the genuine sincerity of all our wonderful fans who took the time to read the blog, I’m going to get out my credit card and buy from them. Seriously? Does this stuff work?

Instead I’ll spend ten minutes deleting all the spam. What’s wrong with the world today?

As Maya Angelou (whose wax twin I recently met at Madame Tussaud’s Museum in NYC) said, “People don’t care how much you know, until they know how much you care.”

If you don’t care . . . just stay away.

Think about that as you present yourself to your friends, your associates, or your potential customers. Because they can tell.

Sincerely.

Mean People Suck

After a few hours at the town playground last night, I took my nine-year-old daughter over to grab dinner at Denmo’s (an outdoor, walk-up spot in town).

Denmo’s cooks all of its items short order and people stand around for a few minutes waiting. I was immediately impressed with the teenage girl who took our order. She was friendly and polite . . . two traits that always go a long way with me. I, being on a health kick, ordered a diet Coke with my foot-long chili dog and Cassidy had chicken fingers and french fries.

We sat at the picnic tables and took in the sights and sounds of this pleasant spring evening. Well, not pleasant for long.

A woman, who had to be in her eighties marched up to the side window and banged on the glass. When the teenager opened the window and politely asked, “can I help you ma’am?”

“WHERE’S MY ORDER?!” the woman barked?

“I’m sorry,” the girl said, raising her eyebrows in a concerned way. “What did you order?” 

“A CUP OF MAPLE WALNUT ICE CREAM!” the woman scoffed, as though anyone would be an idiot not to have known the answer.

The cup of ice cream was sitting in the window, four feet away, where the old woman had ordered it. Apparently, when her number was called, her husband grabbed his ice cream and left hers there.

Just a few minutes later another woman – maybe around sixty – stormed back up to the window.

“THIS FISH SANDWICH HAS TARTAR SAUCE!!,” she screamed. “I SAID NO TARTAR SAUCE!”

“I am so sorry ma’am,” the young girl, now very flustered, answered. “Can I have them make you a new one, or would you like your money back?” 

“THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE MY DINNER! SHAME ON YOU! SHAME ON YOU!”

The teenager, now in tears, is consoled by the other workers.

My daughter, aware but almost unfazed by the whole ordeal, looks up at me and whispers, “Somebody needs a happy meal!”

Are you somebody who views every situation from the lens of “how does this effect me?” Or are you compassionate for the thoughts and feelings of others. Yeah, I know, you should expect to receive the order you placed. But really?

Some readers here will say, “So what’s the problem? I would have done the same thing.”

And that’s your right. But being a jerk never does anybody any good. There’s always a ripple.

Incidentally, when the fish sandwich woman sat down with her husband, she unknowingly sat in a puddle of ice cream that a little girl had just dropped there. It made my day.

Mean people suck.

 

Living (Not Bringing) Your “A” Game

We’ve all been guilty of polishing up our “A” game in order to entice the sale.

You needed a favor. You wanted permission. You hoped for another date. Or, maybe you just wanted to close a business deal.

Children learn the queues as infants and perfect “A” game usage throughout life, again, pulling out “the good stuff” at opportune times in order to get something. Being extra kind. Being extra nice. Extra helpful. Going the extra mile. Being extra thoughtful.

But what if you trained yourself to always bring your “A” game? What if you left the light on all the time?

Recently I attended a corporate dinner function at an upscale restaurant. The people at the table were all well-educated and professional. I, of course, was the square peg, the entrepreneur, the free spirit, the one without the need to impress or put on airs. I just did me.

I made the toast, “to new friends and to our individual selves who help to create the perfect whole.” I pulled out chairs for the ladies, asked the server’s name (Dawn) and addressed her by it all throughout the night, and stood up to greet the people who arrived late and again to say goodbye to those who left early. I sent a special “hello” to the head bartender who (maybe not so ironically) I knew. I complimented the chef for a great meal (for which he came out to the table to express his thanks).

I just didn’t have the need to be viewed as important and instead treated everybody else as though they were.

I wasn’t putting on a show. I was just doing me.

The immediate result was better service (for me, anyway), increasingly more-generous pours in my red wine glass, and my drinks comped by the bartender. At the end of the night, as everybody shook hands with the out-of-town guest, I went in with the two-handed handshake, pulled him in for a “good ol boys” hug, called him by his first and last name, complimented him, thanked him for coming, and told him how glad I was to have met him. His clever response; “Scarecrow, I’ll miss you most of all.” And I’m pretty sure that’s true.

Who knows? Maybe the guy thought I was a jerk. Probably not, though. I always notice when people are nicer and kinder and more polite than the norm. And I’m guessing that other people notice those things as well.

Before you accuse me of self-canonization, let me confess that I often forget to bring that “A” game home with me for the people who deserve it most. We all forget. We all slip. It’s a conscious work in progress.

If you turn your heat off at night, you’ll wake up to an icy cold house. But if you leave it on all the time and just turn it down a little at bedtime, you can be comfortable all winter long. It might cost a little more – from an energy perspective – but I think its worth it. Others will too.