What's on Your Fork?

The most positive people in the world and the most negative people in the world have one thing in common: They both want you to share in their experience.

Sure, maybe it's buried subconsciously, but it's there, a secret desire for others to feel what we feel, to think what we think. Maybe because it validates our thoughts and feelings. Or maybe both joy and misery love company.

We all do it. We radiate whatever mojo we're in the middle of. Don't believe me? Here's proof:

What happens when you're dining with a friend and they take a bite of the most delicious food they've ever tasted? 

"OH-MY-GOSH-THIS-IS-SOOOOO-GOOD-YOU-HAVE-TO-TASTE-IT!!!!!!" 

This exclamation usually occurs milliseconds before a generous fork-full of that same food item is shoved within millimeters of your mouth.

Ironically, the same thing happens when your friend ingests something disgusting.

"OH-MY-GOSH-THIS-IS-SO-NASTY...YOU-HAVE-TO-TASTE-IT!"
Why, oh why, would you want me to do that???? I can tell by the way your face is contorted that I already agree with you. No taste-testing is necessary. Trust me.

We really want people to experience the same thing we're experiencing, even if it's uncomfortable or revolting.

So, which fork-full have you been shoving at people lately? 

Are you lifting others up by sharing your positive, optimistic, joyful experiences or are you dragging people down with your negative mojo?

I am not suggesting that any of us can be positive all the time. My wife has identified that I have at least two days each year where I'm just a completely negative, unhappy idiot. I am still searching for a twelve-step program for this condition.

For years, I let those negative days flow through me like bad Mexican food. I sprayed my negative attitude on anybody and everybody who crossed my daily path, yes, kinda-sorta-hoping I might rub off on them a little bit. I excused myself occasionally with a faux-apologetic, "Sorry, I'm in a bad mood today." 

I have, however, made progress over time. Now, when I feel one of those days coming on (I usually know by 6:43 am), I try my darndest to keep it to myself. I don't try to "fake it 'til I make it." I just limit my interactions with others and keep to myself a bit more than usual until I get my groove back. Is it easy? Are you kidding me? It's one of the hardest things I do all year (or twice a year...according to my wife).

You see, the emotional part of me wants you to join me in my negativity. The more logical side knows that's not the best way to win friends and influence people. Logic takes a lot more effort than emotion. I'm pretty sure that's why you run across more negative people than positive ones.

Before you go back to your day, do me (and yourself) a big favor. As tempted as you may be to do so, DO NOT send this article to somebody you think needs to read it. That would be like pouring gasoline on a pile of wooden matches. It's not necessary and it will likely burn your eyebrows off. Instead, file this article away in your brain and remember it the next time you feel yourself starting to shove a fork-full of negativity toward somebody.

It's Not About The Cookie!

It takes two days -- scratch that -- two LONG days in the car to drive from Columbus, OH, to Dallas, TX. It wouldn't take near as long if I was driving alone. Give me a 2-liter of Coke Zero, a big bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos, and an adult diaper and I bet you a hundred dollars I could make it in one day. For some reason I couldn't get my wife and kids to go for the adult diaper idea no matter how fun I made it sound.

So after two LONG days in the car, stopping at about a dozen of the most God-forsaken truck stops on the planet, and sleeping in what is hands-down the nastiest motel in Tennessee, we finally dragged ourselves into our very nice, newly renovated 3.5 star hotel in the big D.

I'm sure we looked and smelled like a bunch of street orphans. Maybe that's why the girl behind the reception desk didn't look up as we approached. I cleared my throat to get her attention. She did look up, but only briefly, then dropped her eyes right back to her computer.

I gave her my name and politely told her we had a reservation. Without looking up, she simply stated:

"I'll need a credit card and your driver's license."

Maybe I was just tired, or maybe I had inhaled too many diesel fumes at all those truck stops, because at that point in the process I did something a bit uncharacteristic for me. I got a little snippy. I took a step back, and exclaimed (maybe a little too loudly):

"What???? Where's the 'Welcome to the Doubletree Hotel, Henson family! We're so glad you're here! Thank you for driving 1000 miles just to stay with us!'"

I still feel bad (only a little) for the look on her face. It told me that she knew. She knew she missed that low-hanging opportunity to make a big impression and create a warm welcome for me and my ragamuffin family.

She paused for a moment, then did her best to recover:

"I do have something SPECIAL for you," she said with as much cheerfulness as she could muster given her recent spanking. 

She reached under the desk, grabbed four small bags and handed them to me. Inside each bag was a warm Doubletree signature chocolate chip cookie. Now, I won't go so far as to say I choose to stay at Doubletree hotels just for those cookies, but man, those are crazy good cookies.

And even those mouth-watering bits of deliciousness didn't offset the lack of true welcome we were really craving. 

Make no mistake, we scarfed those cookies like cavemen, leaving chocolate and crumbs all over our faces and not caring one little bit.

But the lesson here (and I hope we all learn it) is that connection is more important than cookies. 

Don't ever let your gimmicks, prizes, or processes (no matter how yummy they are) replace what your customers, teammates, and family truly desire -- the simple act of you looking them in the eye and saying "Welcome! I'm glad you're here." 

How To Sell A Ferrari

My 10-year-old son bought a Ferrari last week.

Well, he hasn't paid for it yet, and he won't actually take possession for a couple of decades. But he made the decision. A Ferrari it shall be.

Some quick background: after a father/son bonding experience getting haircuts (not matching, FYI), we decided it would be fun to go look at cars that cost more than my first house.

As we entered the Ferrari dealership, the salesman greeted us with a warm welcome. To be honest, I half expected to be thrown to the ground, beaten silly, and interrogated by some former special-ops-commando-turned-sports-car-bodyguard. I gladly accepted the warm welcome instead.

I then had to sheepishly admit, "We're just here to fantasize a little. Is that ok?"

It was more than ok. "Hop in!" said the salesman to my son.

"Really?" blurted the boy excitedly.

"REALLY?" blurted the boy's father (although mine was more of an blurt of disbelief rather than an excited question kind of blurt).

"Really! Hop in!" our new best friend hollered as he disappeared into his office.

And so the 10-year-old with the new haircut hopped into the driver's seat of the $219,000 icon of speed, craftsmanship and luxury. The salesman reappeared with the key and handed it to the boy.

"Stick it in then push that button over there."

My heart began to race and my head began to spin. Did he really just tell the kid to start the engine of a quarter million dollar sports car? I simultaneously replayed the Porsche scene from Ferris Bueller's Day Off while calculating how much money I could raise from the sale of everything I own in case this all went horribly wrong.

The engine roared to life. My son's smile almost outgrew his face. 

That was the moment he bought a Ferrari.

I think I could write an entire book of lessons from this one memorable event. For the sake of time, though, I'll let you create your own lesson. Maybe it's about creating desire for your product or service. Or maybe it's about treating everyone like a valued customer, even if they don't appear to be in your current target market. Or maybe it's about the power of making a dream come true. You pick.

I'd love to hear what this story brought to light for you. If you've got a moment, leave a comment!