Every once in a great while, someone comes up with that one in a million idea. The “Why didn’t I think of that?” idea. The idea that will shake a generation to its collective knees.
Well my friend Dave (DB) thought of one and he’s going to make millions. I’m glad I am getting in on the front end!
Presenting:
DB’s Used Christmas Trees
Here's how the business came together:
Trees harvested from local curbs are gently dumped in yard
Wire and banners hung (special thanks to the flag pole!)
Trees arranged alphabetically according to genus, needle count and amount of tinsel left on branches.
$5,400 spent on logo design
And here is the final product
So here's to you Dave! And here's the team of folks that helped you get there. We hope you enjoy your profits once you return home from vacation.
BONUS MATERIAL
Deer head on door
Someone actually had this tree in their home
This tree came complete with lights and pre-attached stand
Religious Backlash against saying “Turkey Day” instead of “Thanksgiving”
COLUMBUS, OH (FD)– Joyce Withers stands outside the Kroger’s grocery store in the 43 degree weather with her three year old grasping on to her leg. The sign Mrs. Withers holds reads, “Thanksgiving: Thanks to Jesus.” Her daughter’s sign, which is lying forgotten against a row of carts reads, “It’s not Turkey Day, Give Thanksgiving to the Lord!”
Mrs. Withers is part of a growing group of religious devotees that believe Thanksgiving is losing its religious focus. “Saying Turkey Day is just as bad as saying X-Mas or Bunny Day. It’s downright evil.” She and hundreds of others plan continued protest today across the United States and California.
As many are aware, the Pilgrims sought religious freedoms when they came to America. Miss Wither’s explains, “The dinner with the Indians was a lot like the Last Supper. Bread was broken in the name of the Lord. Now days we celebrate in a similar way: The Turkey represents God. Jesus is the gravy and the Holy Spirit is the stuffing. I like the Holy Spirit part the best. Especially when it is cooked inside God.”
Mrs. Wither’s plans on protesting through the end of Wednesday and into Turkey Day. “We’ll be here through Thursday night and then we go and stand in line at the Wal-Mart so that we can get in on the early morning sales for Christmas.”
Mrs. Withers is part of a growing group of religious devotees that believe Thanksgiving is losing its religious focus. “Saying Turkey Day is just as bad as saying X-Mas or Bunny Day. It’s downright evil.” She and hundreds of others plan continued protest today across the United States and California.
As many are aware, the Pilgrims sought religious freedoms when they came to America. Miss Wither’s explains, “The dinner with the Indians was a lot like the Last Supper. Bread was broken in the name of the Lord. Now days we celebrate in a similar way: The Turkey represents God. Jesus is the gravy and the Holy Spirit is the stuffing. I like the Holy Spirit part the best. Especially when it is cooked inside God.”
Mrs. Wither’s plans on protesting through the end of Wednesday and into Turkey Day. “We’ll be here through Thursday night and then we go and stand in line at the Wal-Mart so that we can get in on the early morning sales for Christmas.”
Memorable Work Phrases
It’s difficult to suggest that we have “legends” where I work. We've had legendary people work with us (Ray Morrow) but I really don't recall any great feats of impossible accomplishments that are remembered
and passed on to new workers to inspire them. Instead, we memorable stories that have titles that become work phrases that we bring up in meetings or laughingly mention in
an email. These summaries usually have an implied moral or warning to those who
would forget the past.
One Man, One Hour
In 2003, I was on a project at a science museum in
Charleston, WV. We would drive down from
Columbus on Monday, stay the week and drive back on Fridays. We managed our client,
their GC, our vendors, and ourselves. Towards the end of the project, we
planned for the client to bring in a few school groups to test the activities
to see what was working, what was not working, and what was breaking, both physically breaking and breaking our hearts.
My last piece of work was to install some painted, metal
trim around a small platform. I had previously dry-fit the metal to the platform
before sending it out for paint. That morning, we got to the site at 7:00 am
and gathered for our daily meeting. Everyone knew the school groups would be
showing up at 10:00 am and that we should be finished with our work by 9:00 am
so that we could absolutely be cleaned up and ready. We went around the circle
with everyone sharing what they were working on. When it came to me, I said
that I had to install the trim and then I would be available to help others with
their work. Allen asked, “What is it going to take to get done?”
I said, “One man, one hour.” The group broke up and I got to work.
I opened the box my trim pieces were in and immediately found
out the marks I labeled them with were covered in paint. My first task was
figuring out what was what. In normal Doug fashion, I did figure it out, but
did not re-mark them knowing that I would easily remember which was which and the two minutes
it would take to mark them was way too long.
While dry fitting them worked out great, I had never added
the fasteners to hold them on to the platform. As the fasteners cinched down,
the metal would bend slightly, which kept it from laying flat on all sides. Because
the front and top were visible, I couldn’t add fasteners on those sides to make
them lay flat. On top of this issue, tightening the screws caused the metal to
deflect and when the screws were removed, the metal did not go back to its
original shape. I had to bend every deflection back by hand.
When I looked at the time, it was almost 8:00 am and I
should have been done. Co-workers were peeking in at me, but not saying
anything.
Once I did get one piece in and fitting correctly, the next
interlocking piece would reveal where things were not flat or where they were
still bent. There was a cascading waterfall of failure that kept requiring me
to remove all the pieces and starting from scratch.
At 8:30 am, Jim walked over and said, “Do you need some
help?”
I said, “No, I’ll get it.”
Jim hunched down and watched for a few moments. He immediately
noticed that the holes I was pre-drilling for the hardware were too small. Many
of them were large enough at this point because I had run screws through them
four or five times, but with Jim making the holes larger, the newer pieces were behaving better.
Ouch! Did I mention the edges were sharp and the holes that
the screws had expanded had skin slicing blades coming out?
We got to the last piece and discovered that it needed to be
the first piece. The way the metal bent around required it to be the first piece.
We took them all off. Jim said, “Which is the next piece? Are these labeled?”
It was now 9:45 am and the groups had already shown up. Would we be able to let them in early? I
think AJ showed up at this point to jump in to help.
At about 10:04 am, Jim, AJ and I were finishing up with others
helping to hide my tools as the school kids started running around the space.
I was able to hang back and watch the kids interact with the
exhibits. I was soaked with sweat and sadness, but the kids’ excitement and
glee took my edge off.
If you are ever in a meeting and someone brings up a
hesitation about the labor and time it will take to do something, a few folks
will smile and say, “One man, one hour.” I, too, like to say it, because I
dabble in self-deprecation.
Here is that platform with the metal trim. It’s beautiful. Yes, that is astro-turf.
Ham
We build interactive exhibits, mainly for children's and science museums, but many other venues, like zoos and retail environments, are very interested in how we can communicate a message through physical interaction and software. Some of these exhibits are
new, untested ideas that we put a lot of effort into making them work or
re-working them. Some of these exhibits are tried and true, industry-wide,
standard hands-on activities that really don’t change from one installation to the
next. Something like a gyroscope or a
zoetrope. You can’t really bend the science to make these phenomenon work in a
different way. But every project is
different, and sometimes these standard exhibits are changed slightly based on
that project’s needs for different cabinetry or themeing. We find ourselves looking at a previous drawing of an
interactive and thinking, “This is what worked before, it must be what will
work now for this simple activity.” But something was changed from one project
to the next and that modification isn’t needed or could be a challenge if it
isn’t caught for the new project. AJ and I were discussing this one day and
lamenting about how poor documentation of changes can be an issue when everyone
just does what the person before them did. That reminded me of a story my ECON
101 teacher, Mr. Ault, told us about his wife’s ham. When she would prepare a
ham, would cut a generous portion off either end. When Mr. Ault asked why she did
this, she explained, “It was how my mom did it.”
This stuck with him and at the next family gathering, he asked the mom why she cut the ends of her ham off. The mom replied, “I’m not sure, it’s how my mom did it.”
And to the matriarch he presented himself and asked. “Why did you cut the ends of your ham off?”
This stuck with him and at the next family gathering, he asked the mom why she cut the ends of her ham off. The mom replied, “I’m not sure, it’s how my mom did it.”
And to the matriarch he presented himself and asked. “Why did you cut the ends of your ham off?”
And she explained, “My pan was too small to fit the whole
ham.”
Sometimes we do things because it’s just how they were done
before. And while that seems to save time and money, you can end up doing things
for the wrong reason.
For our team, when something is a replication, we take that
extra step of making sure that what we did before was the correct way and that
we do not keep mirroring unnecessary modifications from the past. When something
should be carved in granite, we make sure we document any project specific changes, so that future creators
know what they are getting into. But when one does sneak by and the question is
asked why it was done that way, we know it’s a Ham.
Voodoo Budgeting
In about 2001, I told my boss that numbers he was moving around
in the project budget were either incorrect or wrong or unnecessary. I forget
the circumstances, except that I probably should have shared my opinion in some
other way then by telling him it was “Voodoo Budgeting.”
Join me in the way back machine to 1986 when actor Ben Stein
teaches that George H. W. Bush called Reaganomics, “Voodoo Economics.”
I don’t know very much about Economics (except about the
professor’s wife’s ham,) but I did remember that line from the movie. It seemed
a fitting way to describe what I was feeling at that moment. My boss did not
like that phrase very much.
His displeasure with it was so memorable that this Work Phrase isn’t about budgets or accounting or economics or the phrase Voodoo Budgeting.
It’s about when you say something to someone and it sticks with them FOREVER.
When my boss brings up Voodoo Budgeting, I know that he’s
reminding me of that special day and that he’ll never forget the time I doubted him and did so using a clever movie reference. Sometimes I will
bring it up in a meeting, just so that I can say it before he does so that I
can still have some power over those words.
www.usedbrassmoviestanchionsthatarenolongerneeded.com
A few years ago, we hired someone at the management level
who had production experience and seems to know “a guy” in every trade
possible. I’ll call him KF for Kung-Fu. He was experienced and seem to be able
to give us contacts throughout the industry. The one thing he did not have a
command over was searching the internet.
In a project meeting, we discussed resourcing brass stanchions
with the velvet ropes. Hugh had been doing some research and shared what the
costs were. The new guy thought that the costs for the stanchions were too high
and asked if Hugh had done research on used stanchions. KF said, “You see, the internet, it’s made standing
in line at the theater obsolete. Theaters everywhere don’t need those stanchions anymore, so
they are in a backroom getting dusty. The movie managers want to make a quick
buck so they sell them on line. We just need to find them.”
(I don’t want to get in to how many theaters DON’T have
brass stanchions with velvet ropes and that some manager would be creating a website
to sell them.)
KF grabs the meeting room keyboard and pulls up the
internet. He then starts to speak aloud and type, “ www dot used brass
stanchions dot com.” That web address came up empty. Again, “www dot movie
theater brass stanchions not being used for sale dot com.” Nothing. He tried
several variations on this, each time coming up with a longer, more complicated
string of words that he would try to turn into a website address. Of course, nothing
came up. Hugh stopped him and said, “I will continue the search at my desk.”
In the end, we bought a bunch of new stanchions and aged
them so that they would look old. Not old like they were in a movie theater
closet for years, but you get my point.
Now at work, when someone asks how to locate an odd material
or obscure product, like a pair of 6’ tall fuzzy dice, we will follow that up
with, “Have you tried www.GiantSixFootFuzzyDice.com or www.StoreThatSellsFuzzyDiceThatArentSmallButSixFootCube.com?”
Below is an image of stanchion that were not bought used and use in a themed structure.
Below is an image of stanchion that were not bought used and use in a themed structure.
Aunt Barbara's Wagon
Back in the late 80s, my Aunt Barbara gave me her behemoth of a station wagon and my friends and I had an awesome time driving it around and causing all sorts of distress and that's the end of the story.
Except that the station wagon never made it to me. I never got to opportunity to create shenanigans in it.
Steve intercepted the wagon and I never got to drive it.
I think the station wagon was about 60 feet long and the back end of it could hold 23 people and 12 kegs. I assume that if it ran into a telephone pole, the driver would feel a slight bump and only notice later that the station wagon was covered in a telephone pole quantity of toothpicks. Its gas tank held 500 gallons of gasoline that would get it to go 45 miles. Aunt Barbara had multiple sclerosis so her station wagon was outfitted with an aftermarket accelerator and brake control on the steering column which made for interesting feet-out-the-window driving opportunities. I could be wrong about these descriptors, but I choose to ignore the truth,
I know for sure that some of you reading this are aware of the station wagon and probably ended up passing out in or under it. You have your own story. I know of two.
Brakes
Steve had the station wagon for a while when the brakes started to go out. Like any good Powhida, he ignored the problem and hoped it would go away. It did not go away and, again, instead of fixing the problem, he created a work-around. As he was driving the station wagon through Toledo, he would watch the crosswalk signs in the distance. If he saw one of them start to flash, he knew that the light would soon be changing. To come to a stop, Steve would do the following:
1. shift from Drive into 2
2. shift from 2 into 1
3. press the brake pedal to the floor just for show in the hopes the brakes would kick in
4. engage the parking brake
5. shift from 1 into Park
6. swear
7. steer the wagon into the curb for a frictional slow down
8. shift from park into reverse
9. drive up the curb and on to the grass
10. let the final momentum take the wagon off the curb and to the stop bar
Steve did this until he did get the brakes fixed or the wagon died
The Wagon Died
The wagon died. Steve knew it was going to die, it was just a negotiation with fate as to when. For Steve, it was on a road trip from Toledo to Ohio State. The wagon let the ghost go along the side of 23 South. Fortunately, it was a caravan of cars headed to Ohio State, so they were not stranded. Steve gave the wagon last rites and his buddies stripped or obscured every single VIN code from the wagon along with any paperwork that might point back at him or poor Aunt Barbara. They left the smoking husk next on the side of the road where nature would take its course. There are some that say that rusting bits of the wagon are still on the side of the road or that an auto mechanic from Detroit found the wagon and brought it back to life as a bus to take kids to school. Me? I think that the highway patrol had a semi tow truck haul the beast to Lake Erie where it was used to shore up part of the coast and keep erosion from pulling Cleveland into the lake. The wagon couldn't stop itself, but it can keep Cleveland from floating away.
(Please come back in a few days for photos of the wagon. I have reached out to Cousin Andy for photos. If you have photos, please contact me at holyjuan@gmail.com.)
Except that the station wagon never made it to me. I never got to opportunity to create shenanigans in it.
Steve intercepted the wagon and I never got to drive it.
I think the station wagon was about 60 feet long and the back end of it could hold 23 people and 12 kegs. I assume that if it ran into a telephone pole, the driver would feel a slight bump and only notice later that the station wagon was covered in a telephone pole quantity of toothpicks. Its gas tank held 500 gallons of gasoline that would get it to go 45 miles. Aunt Barbara had multiple sclerosis so her station wagon was outfitted with an aftermarket accelerator and brake control on the steering column which made for interesting feet-out-the-window driving opportunities. I could be wrong about these descriptors, but I choose to ignore the truth,
I know for sure that some of you reading this are aware of the station wagon and probably ended up passing out in or under it. You have your own story. I know of two.
Brakes
Steve had the station wagon for a while when the brakes started to go out. Like any good Powhida, he ignored the problem and hoped it would go away. It did not go away and, again, instead of fixing the problem, he created a work-around. As he was driving the station wagon through Toledo, he would watch the crosswalk signs in the distance. If he saw one of them start to flash, he knew that the light would soon be changing. To come to a stop, Steve would do the following:
1. shift from Drive into 2
2. shift from 2 into 1
3. press the brake pedal to the floor just for show in the hopes the brakes would kick in
4. engage the parking brake
5. shift from 1 into Park
6. swear
7. steer the wagon into the curb for a frictional slow down
8. shift from park into reverse
9. drive up the curb and on to the grass
10. let the final momentum take the wagon off the curb and to the stop bar
Steve did this until he did get the brakes fixed or the wagon died
The Wagon Died
The wagon died. Steve knew it was going to die, it was just a negotiation with fate as to when. For Steve, it was on a road trip from Toledo to Ohio State. The wagon let the ghost go along the side of 23 South. Fortunately, it was a caravan of cars headed to Ohio State, so they were not stranded. Steve gave the wagon last rites and his buddies stripped or obscured every single VIN code from the wagon along with any paperwork that might point back at him or poor Aunt Barbara. They left the smoking husk next on the side of the road where nature would take its course. There are some that say that rusting bits of the wagon are still on the side of the road or that an auto mechanic from Detroit found the wagon and brought it back to life as a bus to take kids to school. Me? I think that the highway patrol had a semi tow truck haul the beast to Lake Erie where it was used to shore up part of the coast and keep erosion from pulling Cleveland into the lake. The wagon couldn't stop itself, but it can keep Cleveland from floating away.
(Please come back in a few days for photos of the wagon. I have reached out to Cousin Andy for photos. If you have photos, please contact me at holyjuan@gmail.com.)
The Between
My brother's 50th birthday was celebrated on August 21st, 2017. His birthday is actually on August 12th, but birthdays are never convenient, so they are celebrated whenever it makes sense and when you can fit in an awesome pool party! Miss Sally and I took the kids to Toledo and we drank and swam and had a great time until we had to leave, because we are responsible adults and knew that the party was only going to get more outrageous. So we went home.
Steve died 27 days later on September 17th, 2017.
No one wants to remember the day someone died. You celebrate the birthday. And you lie to yourself that the anniversary of their death doesn't mean anything and that you'll almost forget.
But I've got this weird thing where I cannot stop thinking about the time between when I last saw him and when he died. The Between. I feel like this is an episode of Black Mirror or The Twilight Zone and I am watching his last 27 days and unable to change the outcome. I only know what he did those 27 days through what people are now posting on Facebook and saying, "I can't believe this concert we went to with Steve was just last year," and the inevitable, "This was Steve's last Rocket's game." I'd like like to think I could slip in between one of those moments and do something that would change the future. But I can't. And I find myself dwelling here in The Between.
I'm sure that many people have Betweens with their loved ones' deaths. Like if it was flipped, with his passing first and his birthday second, we'd be thinking about the time leading up to the birthday he wasn't able to celebrate. Or if someone dies around a major holiday. Those days Between are much shorter than waiting a whole year to celebrate the birthday or trying not remember the death.
I'm not counting down the days. It is possible I will wake up on the 17th and not immediately remember. But at some point, The Between will end, and I will remember it is the day I didn't want to make special by remembering. And I will put on my brave face. And I will graciously thank the people that remember, because I am thankful that they do. And I'll look back on those 27 days and realize that there was nothing I could do then and nothing I can do now.
Personally, I don't think Steve would be at all happy that I'm feeling like a miserable lump of sadness pudding. I guess I am in my own Between. And I look back and see my own 27 days ago when I was blissfully happy and look ahead to when I can deal with Steve's passing and be at peace. I've been up and down. I think I've got a handle on it... I think that it is all behind me... and then I am a mess. I look up and I am still in my own Between. And I'm waiting to be on the other side of that Between.
Steve died 27 days later on September 17th, 2017.
No one wants to remember the day someone died. You celebrate the birthday. And you lie to yourself that the anniversary of their death doesn't mean anything and that you'll almost forget.
But I've got this weird thing where I cannot stop thinking about the time between when I last saw him and when he died. The Between. I feel like this is an episode of Black Mirror or The Twilight Zone and I am watching his last 27 days and unable to change the outcome. I only know what he did those 27 days through what people are now posting on Facebook and saying, "I can't believe this concert we went to with Steve was just last year," and the inevitable, "This was Steve's last Rocket's game." I'd like like to think I could slip in between one of those moments and do something that would change the future. But I can't. And I find myself dwelling here in The Between.
I'm sure that many people have Betweens with their loved ones' deaths. Like if it was flipped, with his passing first and his birthday second, we'd be thinking about the time leading up to the birthday he wasn't able to celebrate. Or if someone dies around a major holiday. Those days Between are much shorter than waiting a whole year to celebrate the birthday or trying not remember the death.
I'm not counting down the days. It is possible I will wake up on the 17th and not immediately remember. But at some point, The Between will end, and I will remember it is the day I didn't want to make special by remembering. And I will put on my brave face. And I will graciously thank the people that remember, because I am thankful that they do. And I'll look back on those 27 days and realize that there was nothing I could do then and nothing I can do now.
Personally, I don't think Steve would be at all happy that I'm feeling like a miserable lump of sadness pudding. I guess I am in my own Between. And I look back and see my own 27 days ago when I was blissfully happy and look ahead to when I can deal with Steve's passing and be at peace. I've been up and down. I think I've got a handle on it... I think that it is all behind me... and then I am a mess. I look up and I am still in my own Between. And I'm waiting to be on the other side of that Between.
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