The Lion’s Den - 1/10/12

I’m not going to spend this blog gloating about how I can do my job better than some brand-new,  smarty-pants MBA grad. But I think we can all agree that experience trumps book smarts. School is important, but trying to rely on all your books in the real world just won’t cut it. It’s like fishing for salmon during the run in Northern California just below the Folsom Dam. Your book might tell you it’s great fishing, but it probably leaves out the part where you’re sandwiched in between hundreds of other guys who will definitely punch you if you snag their lines. (I swear Ed’s black eye lasted almost two weeks.)

Ed’s daughter Gabriella is a great kid, but I did her a favor. I let her take her first real-world professional beat-down in a totally safe environment. Better me than some smarmy jerk who wears a cell phone earpiece 24/7 and got stuck with a mocha this morning instead of his regular nonfat, half-caf triple-whatever-chino and is just looking to lash out. She lucked out with calm, composed Mike Baxter. Gabriella is bold, I’ll give her that. She walked straight into the lion’s den. But the problem is that her books didn’t mention that the lion also has 30 years of marketing experience, and he pretty much owns this savanna. The zebras and elephants buy everything they need from that lion for a reason, and it’s not only because of his handsome mane (though that very well could be part of it).

As soon as she said “We do well with our core demographic,” she should’ve thrown on the brakes. You get any business that can say those words, and you are golden. That’s a job well done, case closed, end of story, hasta la vista, au revoir, auf wiederhesen, kwaheri. (That’s Swahili…the villagers I saved with the Michigan Fight Song taught me that one.) She’ll get there once she’s got a few years of this under her belt. I’m just happy that I played some small part in giving her some real-world experience. I assume she’ll send me a thank-you six-pack.

I have to run, but I’d just like to point out that I haven’t said a word about the dog. That’s because I’m completely immune to Muffin’s charms. He’s only in my lap because I’m about to eat some ribs and I need a sturdy napkin. Plus, he likes it when you scratch his belly, but I’m rubbing his ears. That blatant disrespect is my way of toughening him up.