Nightmares of Networking
with "The Mad Genius"
So, yet again you violate my lab with your stench of despair. It is nearly as offensive as the stink of inefficiency that emanates from Washington! Keep on the path that you are on and maybe you too will become a leach on society, generating nothing of value while stealing life from others. Not a politician, for you will not suck blood. No, you are on pace to become a psychic vampire, sucking away the will to live from all around you, just like Fred did for too long when he became the workplace equivalent of a zombie.
Fred for some reason thought he should be in the financial services world. Maybe because he was above average intelligence and liked money. He was a decent looking fellow and had a good sense of humor and was somewhat gregarious, all of which would push someone without a clear desire towards the financial services world, especially the banking world of the mid to late 1980's. The lack of risk taking that was genetic for Fred as the child of state workers led to this nice, safe, respectable path as a banker.
Fred sells mortgages for a large bank. The current desperate times in that field (once overfilled with idiots and shysters powered by greed and fueled by capitalism turned stupid through avarice unfettered by a soul) fits well with a semi-analytic but too nice person like Fred. In fact, he did the mortgage here on my castle. Very difficult to get a loan to cover both the lab and the moat, had to be re-classified as “Agricultural/Farm Usage”, hence the killer tomatoes and mutant turtles. That is Fred's picture there, next to Donatello. No, not the long haired Art Garfunkel/Mark Twain hybrid: that is my brother.
Yes, I have siblings. The Mad Genius is part of a brood of hyper-intelligent uber-humans that use our disparate talents to acquire power of all forms. That brother has assumed the role of a southern gentleman and is acquiring political power, a mix of Foghorn Leghorn and Tammany Hall. He truly enjoys having battles of the wits with unarmed opponents like you.
Once when we were at genius camp, the facility was also being utilized for a stop on the World Bingo Tour, so there were numerous old ladies with varying shades of blue hair in the cafeteria, complaining loudly and often about the lack of plums and prune juice. Somehow one of them discovered who and what we were, and talked to us ad nauseum because we “looked like nice young boys.” Ha!
“Are you boys geniuses? I always wondered what geniuses looked like!”
My brother is not as, ahem, restrained as I can be. His response?
“Actually, no. We are satanic demon worshipers that cannibalize old people to make way for the future. Want to join us for dinner? We have cake!”
“I don't want cake. It's fattening. I want plums.”
Yes, she also thought that euthanasia is Chinese children. But I digress, as evil super geniuses are wont to do. But the look on her face once she comprehended was priceless, much like Fred's when reality hit him like a 5cm by 10 cm xylum based lateral cranial impact enhancer. A 2X4 to the head for you with the double digit IQ's.
Fred as I mentioned was not a risk taker, business wise or emotionally. He never went out for sports in high school, and I believe the greatest risk he took into his thirties was trying the “medium” salsa. Even though he was good looking he was never married since he never took the risk of asking out a girl because he could not deal with the potential of rejection: better to avoid the whole situation in Fred's mind. Stay in your comfort zone where you can't get hurt, sort of an emotional “Bubble Boy”.
He liked banking because it was emotionally safe. Fred had clearly delineated decision criteria, and could always say “I am sorry, but the bank's procedures and policies say...” It was an emotional crutch for him that allowed somebody else to be the bad guy, and he could wallow in the pleasant feelings within his limited risk world around his little desk. Just show up and work the banker's hours, push some paper and talk pleasantly with little old ladies, and occasionally have something fall in his lap because he was there and a nice young man. Not much expected other than to be happy and cheerful and non-offensive, something he was good at.
And then the world changed around him. The walls between banking and investments and insurances fell, and suddenly Fred had to sell because he was in competition, a place that was as foreign to him as a locker room or Timbuktu. And so he waffled. And he waited. And he started to waste away. No more bonuses since he didn't really produce, and so it started to wear on him and weigh him down, and thus he was no longer so much fun to be around, and those in the branch slowly started to pull away from him as it became apparent to everyone but Fred what was going to happen.
Remember: Fred had no killer instinct, no inborn competitive fire or driving need to close a deal out of just a plain need to win. He cared more about being liked than being respected, so he did not want to “rock the boat” or “push the client too far”. He had lots of people in his system, but few clients because they did not actually buy stuff from him, they just used him as free consulting and did not hurt his feelings because they never came out and said “no”. Fred did not know how to ask for the sale anyway because he did not know how to “close”, to ask for the order. He did not want be considered pushy or rude, and as such was not even really considered for anything other than someone to get free information from and maybe sometimes take an order. Because he was a “nice young man.”
And so Fred sat at his desk and talked to the people that came in, and talked, and talked. But did not sell. Everyone still loved him. Except his bosses. Quarter after quarter the bottom line showed it: Fred was at the bottom of the heap, dead last among his peers that had played sports and actually kept score so they could learn to win and to hate to lose. All the people in the equivalent positions that had scars from trying and falling down but got back up, and had been told “no” by the pretty girl enough to learn how to be told “yes”, and had made themselves uncomfortable to make themselves better, all of them were doing better than Fred.
But that didn't bother him, because as he said “I'm not really into competition.” It didn't bother him, or so he said, until it started to hit his bottom line as he missed out on bonuses, and the cool trips with his friends. And then the massive cranial impact betwixt the visual orbs: produce or be terminated. Sell or lose the nice comfy world around you. Fred was overwhelmingly shocked and dazed: he had to do something he had never done, and did not have the skill set or the guts to do it. And so he sat. And sat. And was miserable. And made those around him miserable, until a month before his deadline.
A nice little old lady was sitting in front of him, someone who he had had many a cup of tea and plate of cookies with, but who had never bought anything from him. He had seen pictures of all two dozen of her cats, knew all the stories of all the grandchildren and about little Billy's “issues”. He had seen all the pictures from her trips and even had the nice little knit doily she had made him the last time she took his advice and implemented it someplace else, with one of his competitors that actually knew how to sell and wasn't afraid of upsetting an old lady by actually asking her to take action more emotionally risky than sharing her cookie recipe.
“You look sad Fred. Why?”
“Well Mrs. Muckity Muck, we have spent a lot of time talking, haven't we?”
“Yes Freddy. I do so enjoy your company. You are such a nice young man.”
Fred took a deep breath, because he was going to go beyond where he felt OK, into the uncharted territory of uncomfortableness. Off his personal map, to where there be dragons. “Well Mrs. Muckity Muck, I like you. I really do. And I hope you like me. But we have invested tons of time into your planning, and you still haven't done what we talked about. And that makes me sad, because I do like you and want to see you do well. So, not to be rude, but either you do this, or you don't. If you do we both win, if you don't than neither of us win. Please, let's win together. The numbers look good, we work well together, so the next step is....”
And she said yes. As did the next little old lady. Not all of them said yes, but Fred started actually asking for people to take action, without being pushy, enough so that he got enough yeses to be kept around. And he asked enough so that now he is actually comfortable asking someone after a few hours to proceed and do business. He is not a big fish in the bank, nor is he a shark by any means, but he is no longer the little guppy he was. He actually is swimming and getting better and stronger instead of just floating along. He is still liked by the blue haired old ladies, and he is actually listened to and used as a provider. Everyone lives happily ever after in the land of rainbows and unicorns.
So here is the lesson, my little Networker: muscles grow by being stressed. Not just your biceps, but the intellectual and risk tolerance equivalents thereof. Subject yourself to stress and eustress to grow, to be better than who and what you were and are. Push the envelop of your comfort zone, and you will not only start to acquire wealth and confidence, you will gain respect. Challenge yourself to be respected and valued instead of being liked. Lift the emotional weights and become strong, or be crushed under the burden like a bug. For that is truly a Nightmare...
For more secrets, you may visit the TNNW Bio of "The Mad Genius", if you dare.
Published by THE NATIONAL NETWORKER Newsletter. All rights reserved. Subscribe Free - Click HERE.
The National Networker Companies
Forward/Share This Article With Colleagues And Social Media:
