Let The Messenger Shoot Himself

March 13, Week 2, Day 13

   My mom just came in to tell me that daylight savings time is upon us.  “When you wake up tomorrow morning, it will be an hour later”, she helpfully added.  “Maybe I won’t wake up” I observed. “Sometimes people die in their sleep.”  That was weird.  Well, weird for me, ghoulish and morbid for my mother, who quickly left the room with a perturbed backward glance. 

I’m not sure where that came from, although I’m quite certain it did not spring from any latent desire to take a dirt nap.  Even though tomorrow is Dale Carnegie’s last day to inspire me with his words- the day I pledged to make a radical shift in strategy if I hadn’t made significant progress in my job search by then- I’d still rather be ghoulish than graveyard-bound, and we must count this a success, no?

How To Win Friends And Influence People is a lightning fast read.  To be honest, I could have easily polished it off in a day (no job, remember?), were it not for my desperate need for a “project” to make meaning of my accursed leisure time.  Still, today’s five-chapter slog was a marathon stretch, relatively speaking.  The content, fortunately, was pretty absorbing, though I’m not sure how it applies to my circumstances.  Part Four is dedicated to the fine art of being the bearer of bad tidings.  In other words, if you need to fire someone, critique them, or punish them, here are some nifty tips for doing so in a way that will avoid the unpleasantness of late night death threats and burning effigies on your lawn.

It all comes down to dropping the bomb in a manner that has the recipient enjoying the view to the right, while the apocalypse approaches from the left.  Begin, of course, with a sincere compliment, then call attention to their mistakes indirectly (e.g. “My, that beret gives your head the most appealing shape!  Such a nice way to manage the humidity in the air from the flood in the living room.  That bathroom faucet does have great pressure when it’s left on!”)  Despite your diplomacy, you might still arouse a frisson of defensiveness in your victim.  Self-effacement saves the day (e.g. “Goodness knows I have a hard time turning it off even when I want to with these puny wrists!”). 

Now they know that you know what they did wrong, and it’s time to get inquisitive.  Ask questions and make suggestions (e.g. “Why do you think people don’t turn the taps off sometimes?  Maybe we could replace our carpets with rubber sheeting?”).  But most importantly, let the other person save face, lest you deal the ego an enraging blow (e.g. “Well, I’m going to have to stick a Post-It note to my silly old forehead to remind myself to turn off those silly old taps.  You’re such a dear to put up with a daffy old broad like me!”).   

It’s all good stuff, and I wish I could share it with the likes of Donald Trump and Simon Cowell, although apparently compassionate critique makes for bad reality television.  And the fact that I have just implied that there is such a thing as “good reality television” hints at how I spend my evening hours, and makes me want to stick my head in an oven.  So we’re back to where we started.