Misguided Carrots

It’s nice that businesses are grasping the concept of less stick, more carrot. Of course, if the person you’re rewarding is a carnivore, they’re not going to see the carrot as recognition; they’re going to see it as yet more evidence that you don’t know them, or don’t care about them.

I had an employer who, to reward me for my efforts, announced at a company meeting that he was buying me a car. Impressive, eh?

Well, sort of.

What they did was picked out a vehicle, let me register it in my name, and made the monthly payment. Nice vehicle, but it was red. Without a doubt my least favorite car color. Honestly, I would prefer little-girl pink to red. Oh; and when I quit the job about a year later, I took over the payment, of course. So, in reality, it was a $200/month raise, not a new car.

Now, it wasn’t a total wash. I did need a more dependable vehicle, and it was a small truck, like I already drove.

But it wasn’t the recognition I wanted. What I wanted was, well, recognition. Sincere notice for my ingenuity and willingness to get the job done. What I got was a public announcement which made the boss look like a hero, and made it critical that I act enormously grateful since I’d obviously been rewarded beyond what I deserved. Nobody else knew that they hadn’t paid cash and handed me the pink slip, which is the clear impression I got when the announcement was made. (See my article on how nobody likes surprises . . . )

A little discreet inquiry would have uncovered the fact that what I really needed was a few bucks to fix up the old truck I loved, and what I really wanted was appreciation.

The Selfish Sore-Thumb Thief

Some time back we had a houseful of friends over to play music, eat, drink, and talk. Now, in this context, when I say ‘friends’ I don’t mean ‘other human beings who happen to fall within my sphere of attention.’ I mean people I’d trust to babysit my little girl. Friends.

All but one.

Two of the younger friends made a bad judgment call and invited someone who wasn’t my friend; who, in fact, was barely known to them. But my trust in them extended, initially, to this other person.

Cut to James, the oldest offspring living at home, coming home from the bank with a wallet full of money he’d taken out to buy a motorcycle later that day. Fortunately he took all the hundred-dollar bills out to put somewhere safe, leaving only $16 in his wallet on the desk in our home office. Yes, right there in the open, because these folks are friends.

Later in the day, the three young folks went out to pick something up from the store. While they were gone, James noticed that his wallet wasn’t where he left it. Neither was the money; the wallet was empty.

In a house full of people I’d trust with my life, plus one total stranger, the thief stuck out like a sore thumb. He didn’t admit it, but he also didn’t act very indignant when I called him a slimy thief in front of his friends (who were appropriately shocked and apologetic about the whole thing.)

Which brings us to the fairly unselfish and giving nature of the Twitterverse.

It still surprises me that folks will re-Tweet something just because you ask. If you’re fairly polite and generally unselfish, other Twitterers respond in kind. Twitter is taking on an aura of unselfishness I intend to encourage.

So, then, when someone behaves selfishly, sending a dozen tweets in a minute yelling at you to buy their life-saving business service, they, too, stand out like a sore thumb.

Tweet responsibly. Hey, how about being unselfish and kind in all your social networking? Imagine, in a very “Alice’s Restaurant” way, if nearly all of us used social networking to create a kinder, gentler form of business? Perhaps those selfish sore-thumb thieves would go away and leave us alone.

It’s worth a try.

(i) Megan Elizabeth Morris, that idea blueprint girl (@worldmegan in the Twitterverse) who showed today, once again, her massive unselfishness with ideas.