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So, I’m walking in the door getting the mail, as is my custom. I walked back to the kitchen to perform the ritual sort over the trashcan. I can’t stand a pile of mail waiting to be sorted. I just do it as part of bringing in the mail, right from the start.

Trash, trash . . . look at, trash . . . look at, and so on. You know the drill.

One of the typical throw away credit card offers was just about to make its way to the trash, when the texture of the all too common fake-me-out credit card made me laugh. I just know we’re all faked out by the credit card inserts—right. Well, this one felt like a freezer magnet.

“No way,” I thought.
“There’s no way in this world they would make the credit card insert a freezer magnet!”

Sure enough, there it was–in all its stick-me-to-the-freezer glory–the make me want you all the more, flexible, magnetic credit card!

Say it isn’t so!

I chuckled to myself considering the board room discussion, where a bunch of marketers could have their heads so far up their hind ends that they need to listen for the ‘pop’ when they pull their heads out to a fresh breath of reality. You know, like the sound of a cork pulling from a bottle. Could someone possibly consider any reality in which the happy offer recipient makes the mad dash to the refrigerator to stick this wonderful reminder of the junk mail they just received to the front of the refrigerator door–there in its place of glory next to the last image colored by the kids?

Naturally, being the over-analytical type that I am, I presumed that the extra attention the lunacy of the thought had given this junk mail was the intent of the genius marketers. But then, I settled on the fact that the ridiculous light this would cast upon the presentation of their offer excluded that possibility. Nope, these folks actual had their heads so far up they expected excited prospects all over the country to slap their credit card look-a-likes onto the faces of refrigerators all over the country, just waiting for their best opportunity to call the number on the front, and grab the offer wholesale. “Why, they’ll sign up in droves!” must have been the thought.

So, now I’m sitting here thinking about what I may possibly have in my life that requires me to listen for the ‘pop’.

Why? Because these folks can’t be dumb. Yet, they’re so into where they are, day in and day out, that they missed the world and reality as far as they did. So, where, and in what way, am I doing the same?

I’ll bet we all do it. And, pathetically, the all too inherent quality of being out-there with something is the inability to realize it by one’s self.

Now, to the point, I–you may need to listen for the ‘POP’. But we can’t do it by ourselves. We need each other to point the way. It’s why our differences make us work together. Only the foolish allow the differences to set us apart. Regular people could have instantly told these genius marketers the error of their way.

So, listen for the ‘pop’. Do it every day. Live in such a way that its popping resonates for all of us as well as yourself.

A lady in a faded gingham dress and her husband, dressed in a homespun threadbare suit, stepped off the train in Boston, and walked timidly without an appointment into the Harvard University President’s outer office.

The secretary could tell in a moment that such backwoods, country hicks had no business at Harvard & probably didn’t even deserve to be in Cambridge. “We’d like to see the president,” the man said softly.

“He’ll be busy all day,” the secretary snapped.

“We’ll wait,” the lady replied.

For hours the secretary ignored them, hoping that the couple would finally become discouraged and go away. They didn’t, and the secretary grew frustrated and finally decided to disturb the president, even though it was a chore she always regretted. “Maybe if you see them for a few minutes, they’ll leave,” she said to him!

He sighed in exasperation and nodded. Someone of his importance obviously didn’t have the time to spend with them, and he detested gingham dresses and homespun suits cluttering up his outer office.

The president, stern faced and with dignity, strutted toward the couple. The lady told him, “We had a son who attended Harvard for one year. He loved Harvard. He was happy here. But about a year ago, he was accidentally killed. My husband and I would like to erect a memorial to him, somewhere on campus.”

The president wasn’t touched. He was shocked. “Madam,” he said, gruffly, “we can’t put up a statue for every person who attended Harvard and died. If we did, this place would look like a cemetery.”
“Oh, no,” the lady explained quickly. “We don’t want to erect a statue. We thought we would like to give a building to Harvard.”

The president rolled his eyes. He glanced at the gingham dress and homespun suit, then exclaimed, “A building! Do you have any earthly idea how much a building costs? We have over seven and a half million dollars in the physical buildings here at Harvard.”

For a moment the lady was silent. The president was pleased. Maybe he could get rid of them now. The lady turned to her husband and said quietly, “Is that all it cost to start a university? Why don’t we just start our own?” Her husband nodded. The president’s face wilted in confusion and bewilderment.

Mr. and Mrs. Leland Stanford got up and walked away, traveling to Palo Alto, California where they established the university that bears their name, Stanford University, a memorial to a son that Harvard no longer cared about.

You can easily judge the character of others by how they treat those who they think can do nothing for them.

—- A TRUE STORY By Malcolm Forbes

One of my co-workers is the sort of person that just loves to push your buttons. The more he sees that something aggravates someone, the more he jabs at it.

Even in the face of this, he’s really a very likable person. And he usually gets away with pressing peoples buttons because he is a fun person.

He’s an extremely intelligent person as well. He has a lot of abilities not found in just everyone.

He has a very strong opinion about most things. Especially things pertaining to work and how things should be done correctly.

This can really dig under a person’s skin. But, there isn’t a lot one can say when a stubborn person is right about something. Particularly when they’re right almost 100% of the time. This make him a person with a respected opinion even with his harsh delivery.

All this said, I’ve come to the conclusion that a person is either stubborn or they are an idiot. While I would promote a friendlier declaration of an idea that helps people accept it, I still believe that you’re either stubborn or you are an idiot.

How so?

Mostly, even when the degrees between two choices aren’t that extreme, at the least one way of doing something would be a better choice over another. And in other choices, there is an absolutely right way and a wrong way that is more pronounced.

So, for this discussion, even considering the less extreme choices, we’ll say that there is a right way and a wrong way.

Now, if you are doing something, and someone tells you it is wrong, you should be stubborn or you are an idiot.

Here’s why.

If you are doing something that you don’t think is right, and you’re still doing it, then you are an idiot.

If you are doing something that you know is right, and someone tells you it’s wrong, you should be stubborn about it—because you know it’s right. So until you are proven wrong, if you aren’t stubborn, then you aren’t even worth talking to. You’re a whimsical weenie with no backbone. Get a life.

Now, after you are proven wrong, that flips you to the other side. Then, you would be doing something you know is wrong, and you would be and idiot.

So, trust me in this.

You’re either stubborn, or you’re an idiot.

Regards.

The other day I was sitting in a restaurant with my son-in-law, my daughter, and my wife. We were waiting for our food, and chowing down on the dipping chips.

Have you noticed anything different about the restaurants you have visited recently?

I mean, have you noticed anything different about the wait staff?

That’s right, they’re heavier now.

Not that many years ago, you almost never saw a fat person being used as a waiter in a restaurant. I know, I know. NO ONE was EVER discriminating against fat people. They just didn’t use fat people as waiters because none of them ever applied for those positions

Ok, ok. back to the point.

I’ve been noticing for some time now that there are quite a few fat people working as waiters in restaurants. Well guess what–that’s happening everywhere and in every job sector.

It appears waiters and people with other jobs mirror the general public statistically. Now, there’s a big surprise.

That’s when it hit me. Social Security is SAVED!

Who would have thought it? Fat people are everywhere. And, fat people die sooner. This means there will be far fewer people sucking up on my social security future!

My retirement is saved. My future is brighter and more secure.

Aren’t you glad congress hasn’t gotten off its fat butt to do something before this wonderful discovery? We no longer have to worry about running out of funds.

Next time you see a fat person, thank them for all that they do and are doing for you.

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No fat people were harmed in the writing of this article. If using the term fat bothers you, then you’re probably fat. Get over it. I’m fat too. It hasn’t bothered us enough to do something about it, lik a DIET. But, we’re going to someday–Right?

Regards.