Uniformity

Believe it or not and, like it or not, most of us wear a uniform of some sort every time we go to work. Hard to fathom? Well, the executive’s uniform consists of the suit and tie (or counterpart from the lady’s department). Hence, the appropriate moniker “suits”. And underlings all don, pin, or tie some accoutrement to themselves so as to be identified as employees.

But in this age of individualism, I find that the once readily identifiable uniform is slowly disappearing from the workplace. And I find this to be a shame. “Why?”, you ask. “What I wear has nothing to do with how I do my job, so what difference does it make?”

Well, for one thing, your uniform separates you from all the other schmucks in the place and tells me, at a glance, that you’re the one I need should I have a question or problem. I find myself asking people if they work there simply because they have no name-tag, vest, or other obvious indication of employ. C’mon, make it easy on us schmucks trying to spend some money in your store. Larger companies differentiate between employee groups through the wearing of different uniforms and this makes it easier for everyone while providing a sense of esprit de corps.

There are some positions where a uniform implies authority or job description while other uniforms are necessary for workplace cleanliness and the like. Others, still, pay homage to those that preceded and contributed to the gains currently enjoyed. Regardless, whatever uniform is mandated by your employer, it is a safe bet that you knew about it from the first day your were hired. And, on that first day, I’d bet you would have been happy to wear pink tights and spike heels if that helped sealed the deal. That was then, though, and this is now. You’re disgruntled, disheartened, disenchanted, and any other dis- you want to throw in. Don’t forget the under-’s, either: underpaid, under-appreciated, and so forth.

There’s a word for these explanations: crap! Pure, unadulterated crap. Face it: you just don’t care about the job or yourself as much as you once did. So why try any harder than you have to and, hey, the boss hasn’t said anything, so what’s the prob? The “prob” is many faceted. First of all, how about having the professionalism in wearing your prescribed “uniform”. That would be called self respect, too. Absent that, how about having a modicum of respect for your co-workers that wear their uniforms as they work at your side? I know, a tall order. Well, how about wearing your uniform because, if you don’t, your boss’ll rip you a new one. Oh yeah, not many bosses like that anymore, are there?

So here we are with few employees giving a rat’s ass and fewer supervisors willing to be unpopular in requiring something more than the very least. Can anyone be surprised if the workplace becomes something less than efficient, professional, or productive?

The airline pilot profession is no different in regards to uniforms. The old standard consisted of a suit coat with stripes, wings on the chest, and a hat. Today, some airlines have done away with the hat, altogether, and substituted the coats with leather jackets. Some airline pilots no longer wear ties, in accordance with their company regulations. In my particular case, pilots are afforded the option of coats or, in the summer, no coat at all. The hat and wings, though, are still considered required accessories. Some of my fellow employees seem to regard those two items as options, too, and the resulting scene is one of almost carnival-like proportions. A hodge-podge of supposedly professional aviators looking more like teen-age wannabe’s. Some claim that they are projecting a symbol of unhappiness with the decisions of management. Others say that when they are paid more, they’ll dress better. I wonder why they expect to be paid more when they don’t look like they deserve their current rates of pay. I’m not crazy about my management team, either, but I feel a responsibility to myself and my profession to look as good as I can when I come to work. Am I perfect? Hell, no, but in attempting to maintain a high standard, it seems that I come closer than many of my colleagues.

Since I entered the workforce some 41 years ago, I’ve worn some sort of item that could be called, in varying degrees, a uniform. I’ve not always enjoyed it nor have I always understood why I was asked to wear it. But I wore it because, if for no other reason, I was expected to. I always had the choice of quitting, as others do, but deemed the requirement a small demand in return for the compensation I received.

It’s about many things: professionalism, regulation, customer recognition, and respect. And it’s about time...

Intruder Alert

For those that fear the ever-increasing attempt to control their daily lives, I feel it is my duty to tell you that we have handed over much of that control to our supposed friends and neighbors under the guise of better living. And the vehicle of our reduced control? The Homeowners’ Association. Yes, my friends: that seemingly innocuous panel empowered to maintain our property values by enforcing the dreaded Codes, Covenants and Restrictions (CC&R’s) and, as a result, eliminating the ne’er-do-wells from our neighborhoods.

Over the past couple of decades, or so, these associations have become commonplace, much to the detriment of what used to be called a neighborhood. Historically, a neighborhood was comprised of various and sundry types and tastes that melded together to create a unique area where one could enjoy a cornucopia of scenery within a block or two from home.

Not any more, though. Exterior colors are mandated, lawns and accompanying shrubbery must be approved by the Landscape Committee, and structures (swing sets, patio covers, etc) need to go through the Architectural Committee before a spade of dirt can be turned. Yes, our neighborhood has taken on the sterility of an operating room in the name of “maintaining property values”.

What could be more elitist? There was a time when a neighbor creating a problem, whether audible or visual, could be approached and a solution could be crafted within the time it took to drink a beer. But now, neighbors don’t talk. Hell, they hardly know each other as the garage door opener is pressed to open and then immediately close as the resident rushes into the house. Quick! Someone, god forbid, might want to chat.

Worse than the framework that has created this monstrosity is the cast of characters willing to carry out the mandates. In other words, those that serve on the Board of Directors for the homeowners. These are normal, mild-mannered folks who turn into brown shirted, quasi-nazis when it comes to patrolling their streets in search of scofflaws. I can only imagine a hapless soul, lacking any authority in the workplace, who can finally be someone. Picture Barney Fife, if you will.

And I know of what I speak: my last venue in the civilized world was Orange County, California. I lived in a subdivision of some 80 town-homes and, yes, we had a homeowners’ association. In my time, the Board was led by Barbara. Her husband, Nick, was also on the Board and they formed a formidable duo. What with only five members, their voting bloc generally held sway.

Our community had two entrances. Nick and Barbara lived just a few homes inside the one entrance, but Nick would customarily come in through the farther one so as to drive through the neighborhood for a look-see. Lawns? Check. Front doors? Check. Parking? Check. Why wait for someone to call and report a problem. Nip it in the bud! Nip it, nip it, nip it! I can almost hear Barney...

To sacrifice artistic expression for a bland, uniform façade that offers little to the casual observer is, indeed, allowing others to weave the very fabric of the community in which we reside. Where’s the property value in that? There is another way to go, you know: CC&R’s without the administration. In other words, law, but no Barney Fife. And, believe it or not, I live in just such a place.

My present abode lies within twelve parcels of approximately 40 acres each. The land gives everyone a buffer, visually and audibly, but does not necessarily guarantee a problem-free existence. We have CC&R’s, but no association to enforce them. So, if I’ve got a gripe with my neighbor, have a chat with him, and he tells me to pound sand I can walk into a court room and prevail under the guidelines of the CC&R’s. Neat, huh? No self-appointed deputies trying to make trouble out of nothing yet a recourse available to all.

It might be difficult to dismantle an existing Homeowners’ Association, but it sure seems to be worth the effort, doesn’t it? Especially for those seeking some more of that elusive “control”.

Proactivity

It has been said that most of our laws, limitations, ordinances, and the like have been written in blood and for good reason. It seems that blood must be spilled in some way before our representatives react and install provisions to prevent further bloodshed. The key word in the previous sentence is “react” because it infers a process of inaction until such time when exterior forces mandate a change from the status quo.

My question is this: why must these powers-that-be sit idly by until some poor bastard dies before they initiate changes to what could have well been a foreseen problem? Why can’t they be a little more proactive and a little less reactive?

Last week’s mid-air collision over the Hudson River is only the latest example of unending scenarios that may well have been dealt with before tragedy struck. Much is being said that this is the first such mid-air in decades within that airspace, but my question concerns the number of near misses (or, as George Carlin called them: near hits) within the same time span. If that number is high, why delay a change in procedures until someone pays the ultimate price? The key, I’d say, to effective leadership in the public safety arena is to analyze the near disasters rather than the body counts arising from the real things.

We all know of intersections that pose a danger for one or more reasons and we all know that our local leaders are loathe to install stop signs or traffic lights or other mitigating efforts until a given number of accidents and/or fatalities occur. Hell, you and I can do that! We don’t need some high priced bureaucrat to lock the barn door after our horse has run off, do we?

Regardless, this seems to be the current method of protecting society from pitfalls. Now, those that are opposed to such proactive intervention will cry that nothing bad has happened so why screw with it. “It must be working because no one has died”, they claim. At the other end of the spectrum is the Chicken Little sect that sees potential harm in any activity. In between is where all those public servants sit to separate the wheat from the chaff. And therein lies the rub: they opt for no action until they can no longer deny the irrefutable evidence of a problem, generally in the form of casualties. Reactivity, in other words.

These are the very same folks tasked with ensuring the public’s relative safety. Granted, we take a risk getting out of bed every morning and sometimes bad things happen. For these events to be legislated is ridiculous, but no more so than allowing obvious “accidents waiting to happen” to continue unabated until the accident does, indeed, happen. Likewise foolish is the attempt to protect society against itself when products are used in ways unintended by the manufacturer. We can try to make things foolproof, but “damn-foolproof” is elusive, if not impossible.

How many deaths by drunk drivers need to occur before some sort of sobriety/ignition interface is included in automobiles? How many must perish in the transportation system at the hands of fatigued operators before realistic rest provisions are enacted? What is the allowable death rate at intersections infamous for their invitation to collision before adequate safeguards are installed? Whatever the number, rest assured that our friendly representatives would rather choose inaction over defending their actions from accusations of needless meddling. This abstract fear of government intervention is about as much a knee-jerk reaction as after-the-fact zeal to correct long-known deficiencies in many facets of our daily lives. Or, worse yet, seeking a legislative cure for nothing more than an accident within a reasonably safe environment.

There is a line between the two extremes of doing nothing and doing everything and our elected representatives must be proactive in this regard if they are to lay claim to any justification for their lofty positions and salaries. Otherwise, let’s let ‘em all go back to the private sector. As I said earlier: we can be just as efficient reactionaries as they and just think of the money we’ll save.

Time To Go!

If you’ve ever owned a dog, you have probably gone through the experience of putting your canine friend down. Dogs just don’t seem to pass away on their own. Perhaps it is due to the allegiance they exhibit towards their owners. It is not a fun time by any measure, but it is essential in holding up your end of the bargain: a lifetime of unconditional love and, in return, no needless suffering on the part of your pet. I’ve played my part in this play on more than one occasion and have thought that we deal with our pets in a more humane way than our human loved ones. And this sentiment is often echoed when the conversation turns to subjects of this nature. There are six states where assisted suicide is not considered a crime and only Oregon allows for a physician’s involvement. So why is it that we are allowed to treat our dogs with such kindness and not our loved ones of the human persuasion?

For one main reason: they’re dogs! Dogs possess the trait that mankind has yet to conquer: unconditional love. Hell, if it were not for the lack of an opposable thumb, dogs might well rule the world and maybe the world would be a better place for it . Beat a dog or love one, at the end of the day he rests his head in your lap looking for some confirmation of the bond between the two of you. No agenda, no ulterior motive. Pure, simple love and companionship with no expectation. And dogs own nothing, so nothing is gained by their departure from this world. These are the reasons why we can treat our canines better than our clan.

The key word in the above-mentioned legislation allowing someone’s hand in their own passing is “assisted”. You see, unconditional love is rare in people and without it the nobility of decisions of this sort disappears. You know the scenario: “Well, Dad (or Mom or Uncle Harry or whomever) sure as hell wouldn’t want to be in this coma, so let’s put him down.” Now, Dad, et al, can designate a decider in cases of this type should Dad find someone to trust with such a choice, but that should be the extent of it. You see, we can make a good decision for our pet because our pet’s love has been unconditional and nothing is gained by our decision. Human love, though, is much more complicated and includes those nasty agendas, expectations, and ulterior motives.

Sad, but true: given the opportunity, many of us humans would let money and power and greed of other kinds enter into the when’s and how’s of the demise of those naming us in their wills. No such thing as unconditional here, folks. Most of us are worth more dead than alive anyway, and the last thing we need is some inheritor moving up our day of reckoning. And there’s no way to tell the nobles from the ne’er-do-wells until the moment arrives.

I sometimes kid my wife and tell her that I’m afraid to take a nap for fear of her having me declared dead! “That’s right, officer. Get him on that embalming table right now because I know that’s what he’d want!” Yes, it’s all in fun (I hope), but too many times life imitates art.

So do the right thing by your dog and keep him from the painful infirmities of old age or disease. But don’t get too carried away in hoping for similar vehicles on the human side of things. We simply have not evolved to that point yet. My parents once described an ever-increasing hectic world as one “going to the dogs”. In another sense, it may not be a bad idea.

The Big Game

They say that life is a game and it appears that this catch phrase has become an integral part of the way business is conducted, much to the detriment of society. Most of us are worker bees of some sort and occupy a given position within the corporate structure. As new employees, we were driven to do the best for the “customer” and excel so as to progress to higher levels of responsibility and reward. Over time, though, that commitment is often replaced by labyrinthine policies and procedures that must be followed if our climb is to continue unabated. And that, folks, is where the game begins.

Most games involve winning and winning is generally defined as mastering a set of skills to a higher degree than any and all competitors. Nothing in there about quality of service, is there? It’s relatively easy to spot the participants in this game: those who are not directly affected by their decisions. You need look no further than the current financial services industry and it’s ongoing meltdown. Salaries (and bonuses) were predicated on the returns of investments, so the players turned to riskier investments in an attempt to attain greater returns. Hell, it wasn’t their money if they bet badly, and, should they bet well, their paychecks would swell. All sense of the real-world, human ramifications is lost in the game. It’s no game, though, when you’re looking at pink slips, down-sizing, outsourcing, foreclosure, or bankruptcy. No, the consequences are real for those in the trenches, but, then again, they’re not as deeply involved with the game as the higher-ups.

The legal game revolves around convictions or acquittals, not justice. The law enforcement game hinges on arrests and closed cases. Once again, justice takes a back seat. And the political game is all about re-election. Any field of endeavor in which the participants are insulated from the negative fallout culminating from their decisions attracts the game players. From the CEO to the lowly clerk, they are all candidates.

Conversely, those that risk their own comfort (physical or financial) are more immune from such chicanery. Bridge builders, architects, and such aren’t as likely to play the game lest their construction fails at the time they are using it. Transportation workers, from cabbies to truck drivers to airline pilots are inexorably connected to the success of their tasks. No game players, there, I’d say. And small business owners succeed or fail as a direct result of their business practices.

Not everyone falls prey to the siren song of the game. Over time, though, the song becomes harder to ignore because that climb up the corporate ladder seems to depend upon one’s willingness to forsake the heady, idealistic goals of the neophyte. But the ladder is a fantasy. It implies that each step, while higher, is of the same width. In fact, it is a corporate pyramid and the steps get steeper and narrower as one approaches the pinnacle. After all, only one person gets to the top spot so why waste unneeded space? It’s an integral part of the game and this part needs every employee to believe in the idea that they, too, are worthy of that hallowed top spot. How else can the game be prolonged? And what else is there to believe in? Oh, right: the customer.

Can the game be stopped? I certainly hope so, but the cycle must be challenged at the lowest level for it is here where the rules are learned. The powers-that-be aren’t interested in stopping the game, for the game is the key to their success. And they expect their underlings to perpetuate the game by following in kind. Only when the underlings in question opt for the more honorable path that maintains allegiance to honesty, fairness, and the customer will the game grind to a halt. It won’t be a screeching stop. Rather, a slow, yet steady, deceleration in the degradation of our quality of life. It’s well past time to suspend this game in the interest of a brighter future.