January 24, 2018 Article

The Old Coot offers his opinion.

By Merlin Lessler

It’s a hailstorm out there! Of surveys. Everybody wants you to fill out a questionnaire. Buy a donut – get a survey request. Go to the doctor – get a survey request. The only one I take, is the Dunkin Donut survey, when they give you a free donut. You go on line and answer a bunch of questions. Even if you lie, you get a donut. Sometimes I’m a 26-year-old female, have an income less than $20,000; my race is “other”. Other times, I’m 80 years-old, my income is off the chart, I’m male and claim I stop in at a Dunkin Donut outlet twice a day.

Most businesses and many organizations have the survey bug. Often, it’s a marketing consulting firm that tabulates the results. They draw up a bunch of graphs, put the results together in a glossy report and conduct a power point presentation for upper management. But, it’s like going to the doctor and having your pulse taken on your knee cap. Useless! (for the most part). Just ask that 26-year-old female going around every day munching on a free donut.

It doesn’t matter. The results LOOK scientific. The report is loaded with impressive statistical terms: mean, median, average, trending, etc. The process is a report card. And, like the ones I hated to bring home from school, the results are never good enough. Not for executive management anyhow. But, for me, it’s an indictment of the management, not the employees. They have no idea what it’s like to be a customer of their organization.   

Yet, the solution is simple – The people running the show need to be a customer. If the CEO of American Airlines, Douglas Parker, traveled (incognito) on one of his planes, sat in coach, scrunched his knees into the seat in front of him, got yelled at for having his seat in the recline position just before takeoff, even though it only inclines one inch, and had to jump into the narrow aisle designed for people 5 feet tall and under 100 pounds to shake out a leg cramp, then maybe, just maybe, he’d run the airline to please the customers, not the bean counters. (Can you tell I’ve recently flown on American Airlines?)  

If John Standley, the CEO of Rite Aid, tried to figure out how to get someone to cash him out at a row of empty checkout stations, the CEO of McDonalds, Stephen Esterbrook, witnessed a group of seniors trying to order their meal at the new kiosks, the Postmaster General, Megan Brennan, waited in line to buy a stamp and had to endure the sales pitch from the clerk that her executive staff mandate be asked, they’d never need to bother customers and waste money on surveys. They’d know firsthand, the answer to the question, “How’re we doing?” They’d know and we’d all be better off.

Comments? Complaints? Send comments to mlessler7@gmail.com

January 17, 2018 Article

The Old Coot can ask a good question.

By Merlin Lessler

I’m sitting here at the counter in the Harris dinner, next to the fire station in Owego I’ve been watching Sam work his magic at the grill and glancing up at the TV. A politician just finished at a press conference and that got my pen moving. He kept saying, “That’s a great question!” It’s quite common to hear this when a reporter asks a politician, a public official or a corporate executive a question that requires a clever answer (a believable lie). It’s often followed with a quick introductory lie, “I’m so glad you asked.”

That two-part response often works. The reporter is flattered; it’s like he scored 100 on a school paper with a star next to it and a handwritten note that said, “Nice job, Bobby.” A warm feeling rushes through him and he barely pays attention to the gibberish that follows. But, a good reporter comes back to earth when the talking head has lied so much his growing nose bumps into the microphone and the flame from his pants (by now on fire) threaten to engulf the podium. The reporter’s head eventually comes out of the clouds and he asks an astute follow-up question, one that gets to the core of the lie that’s just been set on the table, like a plump Butterball turkey with the “done” button sticking out.

This time the response isn’t a lie, it’s an answer to a question that wasn’t asked, taking the conversation to a safe place for the master of deception. They call this spin, because it makes your head spin. Politicians do it all the time; corporate executives and bureaucrats do it too, especially when they get backed into a corner after their organization has done a shameful thing. When the “Lie & See if it will Fly” technique and the “Change the Subject” strategies don’t work, they switch to the “Legal” defense: “I can’t answer that question; it would be a violation of the Privacy Regulations,” or, “I can’t discuss it; it’s under investigation and subject to litigation.”

Another form of this deceptive tactic, is the FAQ (Frequently Asked Questions) section on most web sites, expertly used by bureaucrats and corporations. These aren’t frequently asked questions. These are questions they make up, to shine a positive light on themselves. It’s exactly like the spin politicians use when they ignore a reporter’s question and go on and on about another subject entirely. The real question, that should be at the head of the “FAQ” list is, “Why can’t you provide the proper information and customer service so there is no need for this phony “FAQ” charade?” When I have a question, I always end up calling the customer service center and forced to endure the “Endless Wait & Listen to Horrible Music,” technique, designed to get me to hang up. Sometimes it works.

If you have any questions, you can contact me at mlessler7@gmail.com. No waiting.   

January 10, 2018 Article

The Old Coot rediscovers the Grunt Language

By Merlin Lessler

This article was written more than a decade ago, back when I first encountered the Grunt Language. My son is grown now and speaks the same language that I do, but he didn’t back then. I’ve run into several parents of teenage boys lately, who express puzzlement over a communication gap with their teenage sons. I decided it was time to rerun the article, to help them deal with the issue.  

CIRCA 2004: Today's kids talk a lot on the Internet using Instant Messaging (since superseded by cell phone texting). They've created a new form of the written language which experts claim is a threat to the future of literature. In my day these same experts predicted that comic books would cause the demise of the written word. The problem is most pronounced in high school English classes. Can you imagine grading a literature paper describing the comedy of Shakespeare as “LOL” (laugh out loud) funny or irony portrayed as JK (just kidding). It’s no wonder that dedicated English teachers like Chris Evans at OFA are pulling their hair out.

I'll leave that challenge to Mr. Evans and his capable colleagues; I have a different problem involving teenage communication; mine involves the spoken word. I'm hard at work, learning to cope with teenage males who communicate in the “Grunt Language”. I’m not an expert by any stretch of the imagination, but I can pass along a few tips to help you exchange information with male teenagers. I thought it would be a snap when my son entered the maelstrom of teenagehood, having been through the process with five daughters. I was wrong. Communication suddenly came to a halt. I thought it was my problem, something going on between my son and me, but when I looked around I discovered it’s a phenomenon that affects most teenage males.

These “boys” never use a word, if a grunt or a shrug will serve their purpose. "Hi kiddo, how was school today?" I ask, and get a microscopic shoulder shrug in reply. I try again, “How did you do on the English test?” He gives me an upward eye roll and then follows it up with a conversation stopper, “I-don-no!” Are you starting to see the pattern? The parent has to ask questions that can only be answered with a grunt or a shrug. If you ask an open-ended question you get a blank stare. You can see the wheels spinning in their heads, but it’s not because they’re puzzling over an answer; they’re trying to decide if they should use a whole sentence. They apparently allocate just 6 sentences a week for use with their parents. Even then, they try to save those sentences for important issues, like asking for money or lobbying to go someplace they know is off limits. 

If you haven't experienced the Grunt Language and wonder what it's like, you can get an idea by handing the sports page to an adult male, give him 30 seconds to get into an article and start asking questions. You'll get responses similar to those of grunting, shrugging male teenagers. The only difference is, the adult grunter has evolved his communication skill to an evenly spaced series of, “Uh-Huh, Yes dears.”

I'm determined to beat the system, to break through the code. The next time my son decides to use one of his 6 sentences, to ask me to take his gang to the mall, I'm going to grab the sports page and give him a dose of his own medicine. "Come on Dad; will you take us?" I'll lower the paper an inch and squint at him over the top of my glasses. I won't say anything; I'll just squint. "Come on Dad; we've got to meet “people” at the mall!" To which I'll scratch my chin and grunt a MB. I'll continue this pattern forcing him to use all 6 of his sentences. When they’re used up and he can’t ask for money, I'll get up and head toward the car and grunt, “Lessgo!"

January 3, 2018 Article

The Old Coot “loves” stuff.

By Merlin Lessler

We love stuff! Cars, clothes, cell phones, music, movies. STUFF! I used to feel guilty about it. Materialism was a taboo in the hippie generation I grew up in. But, little by little the stigma wore off. How could it not? Those Hopalong Cassidy guns I got on my 7^th birthday held a place in my heart long after they took up lodging in the attic. That 1953 Ford convertible I bought for $60, with more “Bondo” than sheet metal in the body, a heater that didn’t work and only started when it was in the mood, tugs at my heartstrings to this day. Old sweaters, dusty-bucks, varsity jackets, they all draw me into a materialistic frame of mind. Old friends, lost in time. The guilt of “loving stuff” is still there, but it speaks in a quieter voice.

My parents tried. “You can’t love something that can’t love you back,” was my mother’s constant admonishment. I heard it every time I said I loved something, “I love my 3-speed English bike”. - “I love my Levi dungarees,” (we didn’t call them jeans back then); “I love my PF Flyers,” (the hot sneaker of the day). All statements like that were met with the “It can’t love you back’” lecture. My love of stuff was small, but strong. It’s why I still have those Hoppy guns, and have purchased several “antique” 3-speed bikes over the years to repair the hole in my heart that wants to retrieve the good feeling it gave me when I owned one 65 years ago. And, that 1953 Ford convertible! Oh, to sit behind the wheel, put the top down and drive to Quaker Lake would be heaven.

Cars are a biggie, for a lot of people. Get them talking about their first car, no matter how much of a wreck it was, and you turn on a loudspeaker in their heart. The story comes out loud and clear and usually ends with, “I wish I had that car now!” In fact, most of the cars we left behind tug at our heartstrings. It’s a divorce of sorts, when we “dump” them for a newer, shinier vehicle, but they become a part of who we are, an old friend who moved away. 

I usually carry around a canvas messenger bag with a notebook full of articles I’ll probably never finish. I bought it on sale at the Old Navy Store in Ithaca for $15, thirty years ago. It’s been sewn up here and there, and new wear spots appear at frequent intervals. It’s just plain worn out! I’ve searched on-line for a decade to find an exact replacement and bought a few that seemed a close match, but then always went back to the tattered original. Then, last month, I found the exact duplicate on E-Bay, thirty years old, but in almost new condition. It’s with me now as I sit in the Owego Kitchen writing this article. My (new) old friend has moved back to town. It represents all the things I loved and lost. It’s that 53 Ford convertible, that 3-speed English bike and those PF Flyer sneakers. All things that couldn’t love me back.

Comments? Complaints? Send to – mlessler7@gmail.com