Powerful and Inaccurate Assumptions
I have made several assumptions that, on the surface, seemed logical and supported by previous experience. This is the story of three assumptions that were powerfully inaccurate.
Assumption #1: In my first month as director of leadership development for the former Dayton Hudson Corporation in Minneapolis, I was asked to be in retail sales at the J.B. Hudson store on Nicollet Mall. An unshaven, smelly, cowboy, wearing dirty boots, and a ten gallon hat strapped to his back, walked in and asked to see the Rolex watches and the most expensive diamonds we had in the store. I concluded that this rough speaking, tobacco chewing cowboy needed to be ushered out of the building. I made up some excuse about not being able to show the expensive merchandise without the manager being present.
Irate, he sent me some Texas-type words at me that were less then complimentary. He stormed out of the store, shouting expletives as the door slammed behind him. I learned later in the day that he had crossed the Mall, entered Badiner's Jewelry and purchased merchandise in excess of $50,000. He was a cowboy from Texas, the owner of a large ranch, and paid cash for the jewelry.
I judged his appearance, manner, and speech, and concluded that we only served nice people.
Assumption #2: I gave the keynote speech for the Minnesota Quality Council and the subject was on quality relationships among and between engineers and administrators. Someone from the Illinois quality council was present and invited me to address the Illinois state meeting in the Quad Cities. I agreed assuming they wanted the same speech. Wrong. I gave the speech and noticed a lot of eye rolling and sleep nodding. I failed to ask what they really wanted. They received what I had and what they did not want. The group wanted to know how to qualify for ISO9000.
Assumption #3: While in Tampa, Florida, working with 40 physicians participating in a seminar to be certified as a Medical Director for/with AMDA (American Medical Directors Association), I was presenting the topic of HOW TO GET ALONG WITH PEOPLE YOU CAN'T STAND. At one of the breaks, a physician from South Florida said smilingly, "I can't stand the practice of medicine." Assuming that he was joking, I said, "And you've spent your money to be certified doing what you can't stand?" That conversation didn't last long. I was bothered by what he said throughout the day and asked to join him for dinner that night. He agreed quickly.
What he really wanted was to be an artist. "You should see the art in my office. It's wonderful and I painted every one of them." I asked what it would take to open his own studio. He knew the answer. His now diseased physician father would have to forgive him for leaving medicine. "How will that be possible?" I asked. He had no answer.
This physician couldn't stand himself or his practice. He really wanted out. He was not joking. My initial assumption was flawed. I listened to my own discontent and then really listened to him. Today, he owns and runs his own studio in Florida and has no guilt about leaving medicine. His final words to me as if he were speaking to his father were clear: "Well, Dad, you'll just have to suck it up."
