THE RISE AND FALL OF THE MALE EGO

As many of you know, I make my living in sales.  As many of you also know, salesmen are generally regarded as polyester-wearing, bull shit-spouting, blood-sucking leeches that reek of bad cologne and have the ethical convictions of a mob lawyer; think Herb Tarlek crossed with Frank Regano. I take exception to this stereotype, because I almost never wear polyester.

Salesmen are also generally assumed to have egos the size of Rosie O’Donnell’s thighs. This part of the stereotype is entirely true…and I’m no exception.

We have our annual sales meeting in January each year and sales awards are presented at a banquet that is part of the event. Last year I was given the “Presidents Award.” I’m only the second person in the 35 year history of the company to have achieved the sales levels necessary to be eligible for the award (the award is given for exceeding a specific dollar amount in sales for five consecutive years). When the award was given (and I’m not kidding about this) confetti dropped from the ceiling, moving lights danced around the room in sync to a pre-recorded orchestral track, while a slide show of my accomplishments played on a giant screen behind me.

I had to be driven away from the event in a Winnebago in order to contain my ego.

This year is a little different.

I’ve been with the company for 13 years now, and 2006 was my worst year…ever.  Our company is small. We only have 22 salesmen nationwide, but out of those 22, I came in 20^th. The two people I beat were brand new and were only with the company a few months during the year. This stellar sales performance came during a year when our company exceeded last year’s sales by over 20%.  My ego is taking a bit of a beating.

The problem is the upcoming sales meeting; I don’t want to go if I’m not the big sales “hero.”  Is that childish and petulant?  Absolutely, but it doesn’t change how I feel.  I’ve told my boss that I’m scheduled to have bird flu at the time of the sales meeting. I’ve told him that my mom’s funeral is scheduled at that time (it probably doesn’t help that it’s three weeks away and he knows my mom has been dead for 25 years.) I’ve even told him I plan to fall off my roof and re-break my ankle the day before the meeting, but it doesn’t look like any excuse I give is going to get me out of having to go. The worst part is that I have to give a presentation.

Due to my enormous ego, I usually love giving presentations. I spice them up with silly graphics, a few minutes of stand-up, and an occasional soft shoe number. However, I’m dreading this presentation as much as President Bush probably dreads press conferences. I’ll give some impassioned speech about sticking it out through the hard times, about the ups and downs of the sales cycle, and about how perseverance pays in the end. My audience will cheer me on and pat me on the back, but inside…I will be totally humiliated.

This entire experience has taught me how me how silly the male ego is. It’s taught me that my sense of self-worth should not hinge on something as trivial as my sales numbers. It’s taught me that there is so much in life that is more important that my job performance…

…and if I don’t get a freakin sales trophy next year, I’m going to go sit in the corner, pout, and suck my thumb. I want my damn confetti back.

I’m a guy, so…

I understand the existence of Maxim Magazine

I understand why Brooke Burke hosts shows like “Rock Star” despite having no discernable talent for hosting shows like “Rock Star.”

I understand that no one really cares what the chicken wings taste like at Hooters.

I understand that every man who says he reads Playboy for the outstanding journalism is a liar.

But this…this I don’t understand:

I took this photo while driving by a local “Gentlemen’s Club” here in Tulsa and the sign begs a few questions:

• Do they use tiny poles?

• Is the appeal that they are at an “advantageous” height during a lap dance?

• Is there Jello or mud wrestling involved?

• Where do they go to buy g-strings?

• Will the menu offer “shrimp” cocktail?

• Will anyone recognize me if I’m in sunglasses and a fedora?

I had to get my portrait made for a company thing awhile back. I hate these kinds of photos because I always look constipated in them, so I thought I’d reveal what I was thinking when the picture was taken:

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!

CHRISTMAS HERE AT THE NURSING HOME

I remember Christmases as a small child – the house awash in the glow of twinkle lights, brightly wrapped presents under the tree, mom on antipsychotic drugs, and my uncle Fred coming to visit, getting plastered and wandering naked into the street in front of our house at 3:00 a.m.  Those are the Hallmark moments that we all cherish during the holidays.

This year, however, I got a small glimpse into what Christmas will be like when I’m in the nursing home.

My wife and I have been empty-nesters for awhile now. My son and his wife live in Texas, and my stepdaughter and her husband live in Indiana. They both are trying to keep multiple sets of parents happy by spending 80% of their holidays in the car driving from obligation to obligation. This year it worked out so that neither of our kids could be here for Christmas day. I’m not upset with them…my son drove 10 hours out of his way to come and see me a few days prior to Christmas, and my Step Daughter and her husband will be here the day after tomorrow. They’ve certainly gone above and beyond, but it was sad that neither of them could be here on Christmas Day.

<cue sappy violin music>

I was an only child, and my parents have both been gone for 20 years. I don’t have any aunts, uncles, or grandparents left either. I have some cousins that are scattered around the country, but my immediate family is all gone. Therefore we don’t have to worry about going to see my relatives for the holidays…they have all wandered into the street naked for the last time. My wife has a mother and two sisters here in town, but they were all busy with their families on Christmas day and we were not invited to their festivities, so…we spent Christmas by ourselves.

My wife and I had made an agreement not to exchange gifts this year, so we slept late on Christmas morning, went to go see the new Bond movie, ate dinner at TGIF Friday’s, and came home and watched “The Aristocrats”  – a documentary about the world’s filthiest joke.  It was a very nice day, but not what you think of particularly when you think of Christmas.

So, I can see it now.  Twenty five years from now, my wife and I will be spending our Christmases emptying each other’s bed pans at the nursing home while our children sit around and bitch and moan about the fact that their kids can’t come see them at Christmas.

Christmas was not a total loss though. For old time’s sake, I got plastered and wandered into the street naked at 3:00 a.m.

I hope you’re having a great Christmas wherever you are Uncle Fred.

HAVE YOU EVER DONE ANYTHING AT THE OFFICE CHRISTMAS PARTY THAT YOU KNEW YOU WOULD END UP REGRETING?

YEAH, ME TOO…

I LIKE TO HIT MYSELF IN THE HEAD WITH A HAMMER BECAUSE IT FEELS SO GOOD WHEN I QUIT

Is there someone in your life that makes you completely insane? Is there someone you deal with on a daily basis who rubs you the wrong way to such a degree that you fantasize about running over them with a truck and then backing up to see what you hit…repeatedly? If such a person exists in your life; does simply seeing them walk into the room make you want to reach for the bottle of Jack Daniels that you have hidden in your bottom-right desk drawer? Have you ever pasted a picture of such a person on the side of a milk carton for the sheer joy of imagining that they have come up missing?

Such a person exists in my life, so bring on the truck, the Jack, and the milk carton…I need them all right now.

We hired a new individual at my office. He’s been here about two months now. I won’t divulge his position but I have to deal with this person very closely on all of my projects.

Just today this person has:

• Sent me 23 emails
• Brought up the same concern about a particular project 6 times
• Ask me how to do his job 3 times
• Called my extension 12 times (per my call log)
• Displayed an almost superhuman inability to grasp the simplest of concepts.

The office pool says he’ll be gone by Valentines Day; I’m praying for New Years.

I hate that I let this guy bring out this reaction in me, but I swear to God that hitting myself in the head with a hammer is more fun than having a conversation with him and is twice as productive.

I’m not making this up…as I was typing that last paragraph; he walked up to my office door and asked me how to do his job again. So…I guess I should quit posting on Xanga and get back to doing his work for him.

I’m fine, really…I’m fine

<reaches slowly for the Jack>

 Wes Hale, Good Lords and Ladies Faire!

I direct a little choral ensemble at my church. We get our Christmas program out of the way early every year so we can spend the remainder of the month going to Christmas parties and getting snookered on eggnog. On Sunday night we did a Madrigal dinner and had a lot of fun with it. We had Jesters, Knights, Maidens in Distress, Saucy Wenches, and since I was on crutches, I came as Sir Gimpalot. I give you -

The Cast:

Gimpy as his Faire Maiden:

Tulsa is currently under siege by an enemy so dangerous, so insidious, so fiendishly clever, so flaky white, that I can barely bring myself to utter its name, and yet I must…

SNOW

(Insert scary music) AAAARRRRGGHHHH!!!!!!

At least that’s the way most Tulsans are acting this morning. We got 10.5” of the white stuff overnight and the city is shut down even though there isn’t a cloud in the sky this morning and the temperature is climbing back up above freezing.

We don’t get much snow in Tulsa; perhaps three or four snow falls a year that only last a day or two, so people go absolutely insane when it does snow. Not only do people go insane, but snow brings out the stupid in people here in Tulsa like nothing else does.

I find that there are three distinct sub-sets of this kind of stupidity:

Stupidity sub-set # 1

Everyone who lives in Oklahoma is required by law to own at least one pickup truck with a gun rack in the back. You are exempt from this law only if you are a soccer mom driving a mini-van. The trouble with pickups is that unless they are 4X4’s they suck on snow. Mini-Vans don’t fair much better and yet every bubba in his F-150, and every velour sweat-suited Barbie in her Chrysler Town and Country HAD to get out on the roads this morning, and 98% of them were stuck in ditches as I drove into work.  Apparently the latest edition of National Enquirer or TV Guide had hit the stands and they couldn’t wait to get their copy (I’m so glad I’m above stereotyping my fellow Oklahomans).

Stupidity sub-set # 2

If you don’t own a 2WD truck or a mini-van in Oklahoma you are probably one of those people who do own a 4WD SUV or a Hummer. I don’t know if there are many Hummers on the road where you live, but they are EVERYWHERE in Tulsa. (Side note: There’s even a limo company here in town that has a stretch hummer. They have my favorite Billboard in Tulsa. It has a picture of the vehicle with a caption that reads: “Everyone wants a nice long Hummer”). These people think that simply because they have a 4WD vehicle they have nothing to fear and they zoom past you on the snow and ice at 70 mph.  These people should be shot with the guns resting in the gun racks of those in Stupidity sub-set #1.

Stupidity sub-set # 3

There is a guy in my office who is absolutely the stupidest person I’ve ever met. Even though only four other people from our company made it work today, he came in despite the fact that he fell off a ladder last week, broke his ankle, and is on crutches. Can you imagine being stupid enough to get out on the ice while you’re on crutches?!?!?

…oh, wait a minute…that’s me.

ON BEING AN AV NERD

Several of you have asked what it is I do for a living. There are people who work in the office with me who are curious about what it is I do for a living, so I’m glad you asked.

I’m an AV nerd. Specifically, I’m an AV nerd for the Glory of God (I’ll explain that in a moment).

Yes, I was the guy in high school with tape on his glasses who sat up the overhead projector for your science teacher. And NO…I still haven’t recovered emotionally from the lemon swirly you gave me in the 10^th grade.

While the rest of you grew up to be successful doctors and lawyers, I have continued to be an AV nerd; just on a larger scale.

For example…my company put the sound system in the Astrodome, as well as the Denver Broncos Stadium, Coors Field, and Ericsson Stadium. We’ve done giant video walls for the Bank of New York, Cyber Warfare rooms for Northrop Grumman, and we are currently doing all of the video displays and electronic paging for the new Honolulu Airport. If you’re bored enough to be watching C-Span, you’re watching it over a video backbone we designed and installed.

So, I’m still the guy setting up overhead projectors, just much more expensive ones. And NO…I’m not just telling you this because I still have a chip on my shoulder because Cindy Lou Spunkmiser turned down my invitation to the Jr. Prom because of my love for pocket protectors.

Now, back to what I meant about being an AV nerd for the Glory of God: Because of my “pastoral” background, I handle our company’s business with churches. When you turn the TV channel to some mega-church and you see the giant video displays, the stacks and stacks of speakers, and the pastor rising up out of the floor in a haze of smoke that Motley Crue would be jealous of…it’s my fault. Yes, it’s true. When those Television evangelists tell you to put your hand on the TV screen and be healed so that you can send in a “seed faith” gift of a $1,000.00, I’m to blame.

How can I do this with a clear conscience, you ask?  It’s actually quite easy…they spend LOTS of money on AV gear, and I’m a whore.

Actually, I love my job, and I’m very proud to be able to provide sound, video, and lighting systems to churches (and if you’re one of my customers reading this; I’m talking specifically about how proud I am to be associated with you).

People assume that I must have the greatest home theater system imaginable. Unfortunately that isn’t the case. Up until about a year ago, the only stereo I had in my home was one I spent $120.00 on at Wal-Mart. This is because the systems I want for my home would cost more than my home did and I’m incredibly cheap. I finally broke down and did a surround sound system for my living room last year. I will admit that the system is capable of shaking my home off its foundation (the way God intended home theater systems to be) but I’m still watching TV on a 27” set I bought 100 years ago.

So, if you have a question about the merits of 1080i vs. 720p, or how big your woofers and tweeters should be, I’d be glad to try and answer them, just please don’t give me another wedgie.

THE GRAND SOCIAL EXPERIMENT

Thanks to everyone for your words of encouragement after my little spill. I appreciate the fact that no one came right out and said that I was a complete-friggin-idiot for attempting to carry a power-washer up an extension ladder, even though I know you were thinking it. That was very PC of all of you.

There seems to be a little medical disagreement over my injuries. The after-hours clinic doc said my ankle/foot was not broken. My primary care doc thinks the after-hours clinic doc has been partaking from the drug-samples cabinet and that I have stress fractures. Apparently the x-rays are hard to read because of the swelling. I’m supposed to wait 2 weeks for the swelling to go down and then they will do an MRI.  In the mean time I get to wear a cool looking moon-boot and watch my toes turn black.

Speaking of things turning black, my left ass cheek looks very similar to Gorbachev’s forehead. I’d post pictures, but I don’t want to break my new camera.

I’m attempting to learn how to get around on crutches. I’ve never used crutches before and I have already determined they are a tool of Satan. My armpits hurt much worse than my ankle does (but my ankle probably smells worse than my armpits, so it’s kind of a trade-off.)

Moving around on crutches has given me an opportunity to observe human behavior in a new light…mostly asshole human behavior, but human behavior none the less.

My wife and I went to go see “Happy Feet” at the IMAX on Sunday (which is an interesting movie by the way. Be sure to check out Bad Dogma’s take on the movie. I agree with his assessment). There were two ladies there together in line in front of us with about eight little kids in tow. The kids bumped into me repeatedly without a word from either lady. When we got up to leave when the movie was over, the kids crowded in front of me so they wouldn’t have to wait on me; again without a word from their adult escorts.  There was also the guy at the convenience store this morning. He was waiting to pull in next to me and he HAD to see me struggling to get the crutches out of the back seat so that I could get out of my car. He pulled in next to me with less than a foot between my car and the passenger door of his pickup truck so that I had to squeeze out of the car while attempting to navigate the crutches. He watched me do this and then walked into the store ahead of me and let the door slam in my face.

Assholes.

On the other side of the coin, there was a guy who saw me get out of my car at another convenience store and not only opened the door for me, but walked around the store with me, picked up the items I needed, took them to the counter, and then helped me back out to my car with them.

THAT’S a nice guy!

My theory is that innate behavior probably doesn’t change when someone is confronted with a “disabled” person.  Assholes continue to be assholes and decent people continue to be decent people. I wish there was a way for me to test this but I have no way of knowing if the people I encounter are assholes or decent people before I encounter them. Regardless, I’m going to enjoy watching people’s behavior.

There is one thing I do know…if I ever see those little kids from the movie theater again I’m going to trip them and then beat them with my crutches.