LJI 9 - 1 - Jayus
I live in the rural South and work in the very male-dominated beverage distribution industry. The men I work with are "good ol' boys." Most of them are white, Southern, god-fearing fellows who are slightly gruff and thoroughly heterosexual. While they are properly suited for their positions, they don't really allow for character deviation among their ranks. That's a little disheartening in this day and age, but the fact is they are quick to dismiss personalities they see as "different."
There are, of course, a couple of exceptions. First and foremost in my heart is my office mate and friend, Charles. He's a kindhearted, sensitive soul, smart without being arrogant, and willing to help anyone within reason. He's such a good guy, and we get along so famously that we even refer to each other with pet names. He's my "work husband" and I'm his "work wife." I think so highly of him, I could love him and squeeze him and hug him and call him George.
There's just one thing...
Charles struggles with how to best communicate with the other guys. His sensitivity is sometimes interpreted as weakness, or even sissyness.
One particular morning, in our 6 AM sales meeting, Charles was tasked with presenting the terms of a sales incentive to promote a new line of energy juices. Now if there's one subject you don't jest with beverage salesmen about, it's money. They want to know the facts, just the facts ma'am, about how much money you're giving them and exactly what they have to do to earn it.
Charles was perhaps a little too excited about making the most effective presentation possible. When called upon, he cavorted his way to the front of the room, tossed a very colorful sign on the overhead projector, and jovially proclaimed, "Dance your way to incentive pay!"
There was dead silence for the entire three seconds it would take a sad trombone to wail "waa wah waaaahhhhh," then the entire room burst into harsh laughter.
I looked at the projection and just wanted to sink:
(image is of three bright blue cans, labeled Rumba, Samba, and Tango)
Appropriately enough, the energy juice failed in our market and is now defunct.
There are, of course, a couple of exceptions. First and foremost in my heart is my office mate and friend, Charles. He's a kindhearted, sensitive soul, smart without being arrogant, and willing to help anyone within reason. He's such a good guy, and we get along so famously that we even refer to each other with pet names. He's my "work husband" and I'm his "work wife." I think so highly of him, I could love him and squeeze him and hug him and call him George.
There's just one thing...
Charles struggles with how to best communicate with the other guys. His sensitivity is sometimes interpreted as weakness, or even sissyness.
One particular morning, in our 6 AM sales meeting, Charles was tasked with presenting the terms of a sales incentive to promote a new line of energy juices. Now if there's one subject you don't jest with beverage salesmen about, it's money. They want to know the facts, just the facts ma'am, about how much money you're giving them and exactly what they have to do to earn it.
Charles was perhaps a little too excited about making the most effective presentation possible. When called upon, he cavorted his way to the front of the room, tossed a very colorful sign on the overhead projector, and jovially proclaimed, "Dance your way to incentive pay!"
There was dead silence for the entire three seconds it would take a sad trombone to wail "waa wah waaaahhhhh," then the entire room burst into harsh laughter.
I looked at the projection and just wanted to sink:
(image is of three bright blue cans, labeled Rumba, Samba, and Tango)
Appropriately enough, the energy juice failed in our market and is now defunct.