Manizesto

Pigs look so funny on leashes. And in family pictures. It’s because they are outside their natural element. They are intelligent, yes, of course. And delicious; that goes without saying. But the reason pigs on leashes seem so awkward is they are not good at doing things pets normally do, like playing catch, or rolling over, or learning funny phrases or even for petting.

I can see wanting a pig for a pet if you are training to become a professional mud wrestler or a truffle hunter (or a Sunday dinner), but for anything else, the peg is still square and the hole still round.

And if you’re looking to enrich people, encourage growth and enable amazing stuff in your organization, you’ll only hire a pig if you’re going to allow it to be a pig, even though it might be okay at pretending to be something else. And don’t be surprised when it would rather wallow in the mud to stay cool because pigs like that better than air conditioners.

So if you’re looking at hiring an amazing developer who works best at night, or a customer service rep who prefers pacing while on the phone, be careful you’re not stubbornly jamming a doggie sweater over a wet snout.

[Photo by mark larson].

Car shopping a few weeks ago, I found a particular sport utility wagon that seemed to be “it”. “The One”, as it were. We asked the salesman for the keys. It drove nice, but had this subtle, off-putting odor. It was a musky, droopy kind of dankness that sort of announced its presence when you first opened the door but then let you in so you felt part of it and didn’t think about it at all after a minute. Until you left and came back. Then “Hello!”

I told the car salesman it was a go, except the dankness.

Max-that’s the salesman’s name-fitted and showed dismay, and made it seem like they were caught with their pants down at that dealership. How embarrassing. Don’t know how that little niggle slipped through the cracks. We can’t let a little vex like that get in the way of your dream vehicle now can we? No, we can’t. No. Not at all.

He made like he was fighting for us and went in to talk to the manager to see what could be done to save us from the subtle, sneaky, snarky little smell that had wedged itself-or so it seemed to our lovely salesman-between us and our happiness.

Smiling, he came back out, his Dockers slightly bunched at the pockets from taking long strides to and fro, with a reassuring smile peaking out. He let us in on a secret.

“We can fix it. We can-I’ve talked to to the detailer himself-he can get the smell out. The detailer-His name is Enrique-English is his second language-he said, ‘Max, ‘floor mats.’ As in, that’s what was causing the smell. And he could get it out.”

How could I be sure? Subtle little smells like that can be pretty territorial and might retreat then sneak out again later on, I told Max.

Bring the car back, no strings attached, I was reassured. “Or, clean it first, then if it’s really gone, you’ve sold it,” I proposed.

“I’d love to, I really would, but that’s just not possible. You see, the expert we hire to come and do this, you know, in depth, really serious cleaning, doesn’t work here. We hire him from outside. And we, the dealership that is, have to pay for it…”

And that’s when I stopped listening, because it was a lie, what he was saying. Can not and impossible? Of course they could. But they didn’t want to incur the cost, push the status quo, or ruffle the feathers of the decision-making suits upstairs or the like.

I don’t fully get that. Can’t is never can’t in sales. Won’t is more like it. “Won’t” might be a good enough reason, I’ve no doubt, but let’s hear it like it really is. “Interesting suggestion there Jonathan, but that just doesn’t make good business sense for us. You see, we can probably sell this car to someone else without having to pay that cleanup expense to get that sly stench out of there.”

There. Honesty. Smells better already.

Have you ever watched Frank Caliendo? He is, among other things, an impersonator, and a pretty good one. His impressions of Charles Barkley and John Madden always make me snigger.

I find it amazing that someone can make a living pretending to be someone else. Copying their every move, mannerism and voice. It can only work if you do it perfectly though. It has to be so good you might even mistake the fraud for the real thing.

What impresses about good imitations is how much you learn about the real thing when you see the impression. They do tilt their head to the right like that. They do hold their breath mid-sentence. They do say “particular” a lot.

If someone does an impression of you, you may realize how easy it is to pick you apart, to steal your identity and to emphasize your ticks and flaws.

It’s disconcerting.

If you’re going to imitate someone (or something, like a business model), you’d better get it perfect. Bad imitations are awkward and embarrassing.

And while it’s entertaining to see imitations, you’d always rather experience the real thing. If you’re okay living in that space, fine. If not, then do your own thing.

[photo by Thomas Milne]

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-Jonathan