Wedded bliss...for only $10,000 an hour.

One of my favorite jokes is about the 3rd grade teacher who asks her students whom they consider to be the most important person in history.

Little Susie raises her hand and answers, “Abraham Lincoln, he was a great man because he freed the slaves.” Jimmie blurts out, “Plato, because he was a philosopher and he started the very first school.”

The teacher, Mrs. Ellicott replies, "Those are very good answers, does anyone else have someone in mind?" That’s when Robert raises his hand and replies, “Yes, the most important person in history was Jesus Christ.”

Mrs. Ellicott smiles. “Robert that was the answer I was looking for. But I’m surprised. As a Jewish boy I wouldn’t think that would be your answer.” “Yeah, everybody knows it was Moses, but business is business.”

Years ago, I met Victor Kiam. He’s the man who liked the Remington Razor so much he bought the company. He also bought the New England Patriots in 1988. A rather colorful man, Mr. Kiam was bemoaning the fact that his Patriots were a terrible football team. Looking to brighten the moment, I suggested at the very least Mr. Kiam was making money. Are you kidding me? I’m losing $10 million dollars a year on these guys,” said Mr. Kiam. Why then, I wondered aloud, do you even own the team? His reply? “Because I bought them for $84 million, I’ll lose another 30 million and sell them for $150 million. And that son is how you make money.” Thus, the basis for one of Mr. Kiam’s famous quotes: “Even if you fall on your face, you're still moving forward.”

While a great businessman, Mr. Kiam’s math didn’t work out very well.  In 1992 he sold his share of the Patriots for $23.5 million to a wealthier man who also assumed the team’s $45 million in debt and an additional $38 million owed to another minority partner.  Eight years later, Tom Brady came along.  Timing is everything.

Admittedly, losing $10 million a year is a staggering number, but it pales to comparison to Kim Kardashian. She lost more than $10 million in 72 days. Don’t feel sorry for her, she’s still worth more than $35 million. And Kim’s soon to be ex-husband, Kris Humphries, makes an average of $2.5 million per season in the NBA (if they ever settle the current NBA lock-out). After 7 years in the league Humphries has managed to hang on to about $8 million. Clearly, he’s the more practical of the two.

But it gets better. Kim and Kris get to keep the wedding gifts. ABC News reported the couple's wedding registry requested items like a Baccarat Cosmos vase valued at $7,850. There’s also the “Havana” crystal ashtray, reasonably priced at $840. I should note neither of the couple smokes, but you never know who’s coming for dinner at the Kardashian’s. If you’re looking for something more affordable, choose from two Lalique nudes at $325 each and Lalique's "Wisdom" set of three "See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil" figurines, priced at $735 though they're only three inches high. If you’re really on a budget, the least expensive item in the registry was a $12.50 cloth napkin. But I think you need to buy at least six to get a table at the reception.

Hold on. There’s more. Reportedly, Kim earned $17.9 million in broadcast rights for the four hour wedding extravaganza. Fox News estimates the couple was paid a little over $10,000 per hour of wedded bliss. If the courts rule the income was part of the marriage, then California’s 50/50 split gives Humphries half of the broadcast fee after Kim’s Mom, Kris Jenner takes her 10% commission for negotiating the deal. Did I mention Kris Jenner has a book coming out today? Timing is everything.

In January of 2001 I was smitten by a beautiful red haired woman. It was love at first sight. For me. She required considerable convincing. One evening, shortly after we'd met, we were having drinks with a group of friends at a restaurant and the woman, not knowing I was already emotionally committed to her, said, “I’ve already married for love. The next time I marry it’ll be for money.” I was devastated, but I didn’t give up. After a courtship and engagement that was somewhat longer than the 4 months Kim was willing to wait, we were married. I didn’t get my wife a 20.5 carat engagement ring and I think the Justice of the Peace charged me $40 for the ceremony. Dinner and drinks for a few close friends at a local Tex-Mex Restaurant was another $200 and my bride's dress set her back $40.  Almost ten years later we’re still going strong. Some businessman I am. Our average hourly rate of wedded bliss is less than a tenth of a cent. But some things are priceless.

To paraphrase Deal or No Deal’s Howie Mandel, “I made a great deal.” Victor Kiam and Kim Kardashian picked the wrong case. But business is business and everyone knows timing is everything. So, to Kim and Kris, I lift a $350 Waterford Goblet and offer a toast: maybe next time.

Related articles

• Kim-Kris kaput: By the numbers (popwatch.ew.com)
• 5 reasons the Kardashian-Humphries union was doomed (ctv.ca)
• Kris Jenner Claims Kim Didn't "Make A Dime" From Her Wedding To Kris Humphries (perezhilton.com)
• Kardashian divorce: Are you surprised? (cnn.com)
• Kim Kardashian And Kris Humphries: By The Numbers (mtv.com)
• Everyone Wins From Kardashian Divorce, Except Their Wedding Guests (foxnews.com)
• Kim Kardashian/Kris Humphries...It's OVER! (kymx.radio.com)
• Tattle: After 72 days, Kim kisses Kris bye (philly.com)
• Breaking News: Kim Kardashian to file for divorce (heatworld.com)

Where Are Your Manners?

Over the past several years I’ve had to develop some relatively “thick skin”. After receiving several hundred rejections to job applications, “thick skin” pretty much becomes a necessity of survival and sanity. On rare occasions, when I actually get in front of a hiring manager, one of the questions often asked is, “how do you handle rejection?” I have to be careful how I answer, because I wouldn’t want someone to think I’ve given up the hunt and accepted rejection. I want them to know there’s still a lot of hunt left in this old’ dog. So I usually make a light-hearted quip regarding the need to deal with the disappointment and then move on to the next opportunity. Since I haven’t had too many offers, perhaps my answer isn’t as tactful as I’d like to think.

Some companies send very nice rejection letters. They’re careful to say that they have found other candidates more qualified in this specific discipline and wish me the best of luck in my future endeavors. I’m not kidding myself, I know a form letter when I get one, but it’s still nice to be acknowledged. Someone had to lick the stamp.

Other companies handle rejection differently; they simply fail to acknowledge they received your application. It’s probably part of an austerity program, if they don’t acknowledge the application, they don’t have to waste money sending a rejection. With thousands of applications for the lowest of positions, postage adds-up. I understand that, but perhaps they should consider how much an automated email response would cost.

In a sense, I’d rather get a form letter or be ignored than receive an ugly rejection letter. One of the most valuable lessons I learned while working for CBS was how to give people bad news. Even then, the Company knew tact in the dismissal/rejection process would become a frequently practiced skill, soon to be emulated by fine companies like Clear Channel, Cox, and Cumulus. (Perhaps the moral of the story is never work for a company that starts with a “C”). When I had to terminate someone, I made sure they understood why (assuming I understood – many were cram-downs); and I made sure they left with some dignity and the knowledge I wouldn’t “burn” them with a bad reference.

When air talent sent demos for consideration, even if I thought the talent was horrible, I would thank them for their information; explain there were no current openings for which I felt they would be a good fit and that I could keep their information on file for future appropriate opportunities. And then, yes, I would carefully place their material into my circular file. Just under the desk. The custodian would come every night and file it for me, alphabetically by last name, I think.

But yesterday, on a Sunday, no less, I received the ugliest rejection letter I’ve ever seen. I really shouldn’t call it a letter. It was a word. “NO”. This thoughtful reply certainly told me I wouldn’t want to work for this man under any circumstances. Truthfully, I was offended by this two letter response. I put more than 45 minutes into a customized cover letter explaining my qualifications for the job and he managed to respond in a second. That’s assuming he’s a “hunt and pecker” typist. If he’s an average typist, just reduce my description of “hunt and pecker” by the first two words. It would have been far better had this man simply not acknowledged my application.

I’m tempted to write several proper and thoughtful rejections in a generic voice, so that he could use them for future applications. But if his Mama didn’t teach him any manners, I’m sure an email from me saying, “try one of these” next time would only cause this man to kick his dog, or, perhaps one of his employees for whom I have deep empathy.

Perhaps I should give this man the benefit of doubt, and think of his response as a simple “typo”. After all, “NO” is part of “NOTE”. Maybe he simply hit “send” before he had finished typing his note. If that’s the case, would it be wrong for me to respond with:

Dear Mr. Higgins,

I’m sure you meant “NO Thank You”?

 

The Art of Waiting

I’m not very good at waiting for things.  Everywhere I’ve worked there was always someone who would call me “Fast Eddie”.  I had an Uncle Eddie.  That was his name.  Mine is Ed.  I’d rather someone call me Mr. Ed than Fast Eddie.  Fast Eddie’s is a chain of pool halls in Texas and Louisiana.  But that’s a horse of another color.

One of the most difficult challenges I faced as a manager was waiting for things to get done.  Supremely confident, at least on the surface, I always believed I could do things faster and better than the person I was assigning the task.  Eventually, my supervisor challenged me to delegate, explaining the importance of not being spread too thin as corporate responsibilities increased.  He was right of course, and over the years I found ways of twisting the waiting into what I would call “managerial follow-up”.  That’s a fancy way of pushing people to get their task done sooner so I didn’t have to wait.

When I call customer support and find myself in the dreaded “queue” I punch every option on the keypad hoping to speak to a real person.  I don’t want to wait and I don’t want to hear some automated voice telling me how important my call is and to please hold.  If I were that important someone would have answered the phone.  I was thrilled when doctors started calling their waiting room a patient lounge and “on demand” would be the great invention of all time if it would only work.

 

I don’t like waiting in lines although I try to make the most of it by striking up a conversation with my "next-in-line" neighbor.  For example, when was the last time you walked in and out of a tax assessor’s office or the Department of Motor Vehicles?  It doesn’t happen.  So I pass the time by talking politics, or pretending I’m a rocket scientist for NASA or a government official.  The person next to me will never know and he/she might even have some bragging rights about meeting such a high level diplomat.

For some reason, I don’t mind talking to people while waiting for an elevator; but once we’re in the 4x4 cubicle, I’m staring at the numbers that glow with each floor.  When I get tired of looking up, I’ll look down at my shoes.  I’ll pass the time counting the “dings” and compare my count to the glowing lights.  I’ve missed my stop more often than I care to admit.

Instant coffee isn’t fast enough for me.  Starbucks is torture.  A drive-through line?  Perish the thought, especially after the battle of a mumbling order taker.  Besides, it’s tough to read the menu options under that kind of pressure.  Supermarket lines are probably the worst.  I try not to shop at Kroger, because their “Express Lane” is for twenty items or less.  HEB’s “Express Lane” is ten items or less.  Now stores are throwing a wrinkle into the equation with self-checkout.  On the surface, it looks great.  With only one or two items, I can zip in and out.  Except I’ve yet to use one of those self-service kiosks without needing help from the one assistant responsible for all six machines.  That’s five other people ahead of me and that means I’m once again, waiting.

Today, I’m expecting an email with a job offer.  Make no mistake, “expecting” is a fancy word for “waiting”.  Want to take a guess how I feel about that?  Pretty damn good.  Except, of course, for the waiting.

Customer Service

Customer Service. The term has become somewhat of an oxymoron, like "Military Intelligence" or "boneless ribs".

Some businesses just don't get it, or more likely, figure there's little you will do after you voice your displeasure. We've all gone through "voicemail" hell just to speak with an actual human being. I don't bother listening to the menu any longer, I just pound on the "O" key until I get someone to answer. This way, I feel like I'm venting while exercising my index finger. My middle finger seems to be overworked these days.

Typically, after waiting 30 minutes before trying to explain the problem to customer service, the agent will put me on hold for another 15 minutes and then wrap up the conversation with a "thank you for calling" and ask "is there's anything else I can do"? I'll usually respond with a simple "thanks for your help". I'm told "no problem and have a nice day". I don't let them get away with that. I've spent 45 minutes on the phone because their company screwed something up; it IS a problem.

My wife goes nuts when a waiter says "no problem" when we ask for water, or an extra napkin. I don't blame her. I would hope it isn't a problem, I think it's their job. Last night, we joined our good friends and neighbors for dinner at a local Mexican Restaurant. Our friends ordered frozen margaritas. They got a melted down slushy. My friend showed the waitress the watery concoction and she offered to bring another. "Sure, if they're frozen", replied my friend. The waitress dutifully trudged to the bar and returned empty handed. "I'm sorry, they just started a new batch and they aren't very frozen". Then, she asked if he wanted a margarita on the rocks. "No," said my friend, "I'd like it frozen". The waitress replied with a "sorry 'bout that" and went on with her duties. She couldn't have been too sorry, she charged him for both watered down drinks. I'm willing to bet the manager of the restaurant would have removed the drinks from the bill; but the waitress who comes into the most contact with clients either didn't have the authority or the wits to figure out the proper solution. Think my friend will return to the restaurant soon? They lost a customer over a a $4.95 house margarita. Silly. No, stupid.

On the other side of the story, my wife gave me a gift last March for our anniversary. A beautiful desk clock set in a wooden box with a compass. Why, I don't know, but when I reset the clock back an hour for standard time, the clock died. A new battery didn't solve the situation. So, I went to the store where she bought the clock, Ann's Fine Gifts in Houston, and asked if I could order a replacement for the clock insert. They wouldn't think of it. Nope, they came out and replaced the entire mechanism and sent me on my way. How much goodwill did that gesture create? While I can't yet put a dollar figure to that thought, I will tell you Ann's is where I'll be doing the majority of my Christmas shopping this year.

Customer Service. Ann's has proven it' s not an oxymoron. Apparently, at this store, it's a policy. And the restaurant? Well, let's just say it's something to "Chuy" on for a while.

Pink Slip

While it no longer makes the headlines, every day thousands of people across America are losing their jobs. Some get the news by an email, others in a mass conference, or, a breaking news story may alert them of impending doom. I imagine a few companies still use the proverbial "pink slip".

For the benefit of unemployment benefits, none of us in the field of broadcasting have ever been fired. We have, however, been laid off. We've been laid off because of the budget, declining revenue, a change in direction or whatever cliche is in vogue at the time.

Once, when a manager told me he was "changing direction", I asked if I could change with him. "No" he replied, "I don't think so". I wondered how he could know without giving me a try. After all, I'd been with the station for 7 years; he'd been with it for two weeks.

It seems telling people they've lost their job has become a lost art. Not that I'd ever want to be proficient in this skill-set. I've seen managers walk the hallways after a dismissal telling remaining employees how difficult it was to make the decision, only to invite the staff to a reception that evening for a new employee. I've seen memos wishing the former employee "all the best" while in the next paragraph announcing his/her replacement. Saving a tree, I suppose.

Some companies don't like to fire people. They "re-purpose" them. Personally, I hate that expression. Maybe if management used the "F" word they would be more reluctant to use it. Years ago, I saw a fellow employee leave the boss's office looking confused. When I asked if everything was alright, he said "I think I just got fired". I'm guessing that manager didn't spend much time thinking about how to handle the conversation. Probably too busy planning the reception.

Over the years I've had to fire people. I usually spent the night before our conversation trying to find words that would leave the employee with some dignity and hope. I would take 30 minutes to explain why a change was being made, how he or she could be successful elsewhere, and suggest a few places to call to enquire about openings. Losing your job is tough enough. There's no reason to lose your dignity, as well. I was actually reprimanded for that. My manager told me I spent too much time on the dismissal. He wasn't worried about my productivity, he was worried about me saying something that could expose the company to a lawsuit. I was pretty sure our mission statement said that "people were the company's most important asset". Apparently, the statute of limitation on the asset ends prior to dismissal.

Years ago, after working with a fabulous manager for more than six years, he was transferred and a new manager was hired. Three weeks later, due to budget issues, I was laid off. The manager and I spent about 30 minutes together. It was the longest conversation we had in those three weeks. The last time I was laid off the conversation lasted 30 seconds. Maybe the boss was late for a meeting.

It could be worse. I remember the story of a manager walking into someones office with a Polaroid camera (anyone remember those?). He took a picture of the worker, handed it to him and said, "I thought you'd like a picture of your last day with the company". I think Polaroids took about 60 seconds to develop.

Apparently, that was long enough to say what needed to be said.