"First Anniversary"

It has been two months since my last blog post. For almost three years, I have averaged a post every week to ten days so this long break is unusual; however, I was a little surprised when people started sending me emails asking if I had switched blog sites or if I am “ok”. 

So with the calendar reading September 1, I figured my blogging summer vacation should end. It was almost a year ago I wrote my most widely read post about getting “RIFed”, fired, “let go” or whatever phrase you want to use for being sent unceremoniously into the dark world of unemployment. When I checked my blog readership statistics it was somehow oddly comforting that readers from over 25 countries using ten different browsers and nine operating systems connected with my sad tale of corporate politics and pettiness.

 

Like most people suddenly out of work, my first inclination was to find another job. Although getting sent off to the work equivalent of Siberia was an emotional blow, I had no immediate financial concerns due to a severance package and eleven years of saving most of my income while I was on an ex-pat package.

In many ways, the past year felt like my first expat years in Japan and China. Although I was living in my home country this time, I was suddenly thrust into a new world where I had no corporate infrastructure supporting me and was, for the most part, flying by the seat of my pants.  Fortunately I have an insightful and supportive wife who quietly helped me figure out what I wanted to do next. She encouraged me to keep a journal which included the practical things I needed to do to ensure a smooth transition as I worked my last few days but more importantly the journal included ideas about my future – both my own and those from many friends who called me to check-in. I also found out who my real friends are – in many cases the people who supported me the most were not the ones I expected to “be there” for me. I received many positive and humbling surprises as I found out many people really did want to help me sort out my future. My desire to head back to normal corporate life quickly evaporated as I began to talk to friends about potential opportunities to work with multiple companies.

As the first few weeks passed and I mentally “cut the cord” from the habit of driving to the office or airport to start my days, I began to feel isolated and miss the camaraderie that can exist in small groups even in generally unhappy work environments. I came to realize that my feelings were a normal part of the emotional roller coaster that accompanies any major life change. Fortunately in week 6 of my new life I was off to Japan to sign my first contract. The idea that I am working for myself is a bit of a misnomer since in many cases, I am working with old friends who value my experience.  The first contract led to another with a major Japanese company just a few weeks later. By April, I was working for several companies and had more than replaced my corporate income.  In early summer I even managed to sign an agreement with a US company.

From time to time I got calls from headhunters who told me that the individual that fired me gave them my name. I found that interesting since he never was one to speak favorably about me. I decided not to spend too much time pondering that situation.

My days of being pictured in Annual Reports are over

I became a regular on Linked In which I previously didn’t pay much attention to. I developed a much better appreciation for networking and learned to enjoy working from home which I dreaded at first. My days are flexible – a couple hours of work early, a visit to the gym or a run, a little more work, maybe nine holes of golf, some phone calls, a walk with the dog and a couple nights a week Skype calls with clients in Asia.  My travel is down overall but next week I will make my fifth trip to Asia in nine months so I am doing enough traveling to keep life interesting.

As my “first anniversary” approaches, I am considering new business opportunities and looking forward to year two. Several friends who helped me over the past year are regular readers - all I can say is "thank you"

The "James Bond" syndrome - a politically incorrect tale of mistaken identity

One day many years ago as my undergraduate days wound down I stopped by the university bookstore for a reason that escapes my memory. One of my roommates who was also a close friend was in the store with his visiting mother. He introduced me and the three of us had a brief, pleasant but otherwise unmemorable interaction. Two days later I passed by mother and son in a nearby restaurant. Again, we chatted briefly about nothing in particular.

The next day my roommate, who happened to be a Native American from the Navajo nation, commented: “my mom really liked you”. “Do tell”, I responded. His reply: “well for one thing she recognized you in the restaurant, yesterday”. “What does that mean?” was my less than delicate reply. “Well”, he said with a characteristic smile, “normally she can’t tell one white person from another but she picked you out immediately, she even remembered your name”.

After a college career as close friends, I knew when make light of a comment and when not to. Although my mind said: “that is the dumbest thing I have ever heard”; my vocal cords uttered: “Well, I am honored”. My mind grappled with the idea that to a middle aged lady from the “Four Corners” area of the US, maybe all white people did look alike. Over the next two decades as I moved to various parts of America and finally to Asia, the comment of my roommate’s mom became a touchstone for me regarding the fact that to understand people of different backgrounds I needed to try to view things through the eyes I was looking into rather than my own. Despite my best intentions, given my small town America upbringing it was still hard for me to appreciate my status as a minority in the global scheme of things. And then came the “James Bond” syndrome.

the real deal

During my first few weeks living in Asia, I made a trip to Shenzhen, China. I was there to meet a new and important customer. The afternoon meeting was followed by the customary dinner. I was the only non-Asian at a table for ten. As one course was consumed and another came, I noticed that our host, the lady who owned the company, was looking at me and joking with her seatmates across the table. Not understanding the language, I wondered if I had somehow breached etiquette. Finally the mystery was translated: “we have been discussing how much you look like James Bond.” Being a long time Sean Connery fan, I wanted to confirm exactly which James Bond I allegedly looked like. “Which one?” I asked – generating an awkward “lost in translation” moment.  Of course, had I drawn upon the lesson from my roommate’s mother I would have realized that “all James Bonds must look alike”. All I got for an answer that night was: “yes, yes – you James Bond, really James Bond, ha ha ha”.

A couple weeks later my younger (seven year old) daughter came home after a visit to a new friend’s house. After a brief report on her day she told me that her friend’s mom “thinks you look just like James Bond”. Still hoping to be the Sean Connery version of 007 rather than Timothy Dalton version, I foolishly inquired “which one?” A quizzical look was all I got in return. My daughter was a “Star Wars” fan.

Not James, Bill or George circa 1994

The fun was just beginning. It seemed that if “all white people look alike”; I could be anyone and apparently I was.  Traveling with a colleague a few weeks later I was stopped in Taiwan and asked if I was Mel Gibson. Ironically I was traveling with the same person a few weeks later and was stopped in Buenos Aires and asked “the Mel Gibson” question. Quite certain, I bore no resemblance to Sean Connery or Mel Gibson; I became more and more convinced that depending on the city, I really could be anyone - assuming they were white and sufficiently famous. Travel was more exciting since I was never sure who I would be when I landed. Months passed, I was spotted as James Bond in China twice – in Chengdu and Shanghai. I was less successful in Tokyo – I was spotted there as Tony Curtis (I was pretty sure he was dead) and “that pro golfer”. Occasionally I was simply asked if I was somebody famous. In Japan, I would respond that: “I am nobody famous” which given the confusion a negative, positive response generates with Japanese seemed only to confirm, incorrectly, that I was indeed famous.

I realize many parents of my generation tell their kids “you can grow up to be President”. My mom never told me that but I was to find out as my hair grayed that I could look - to the Asian eye anyway, like Bill Clinton or George W. Bush and sometimes both in the same week. Occasionally it seemed I went from looking like them to being them. Over the years I stayed in the same hotels as both Presidents Clinton and Bush did in Tokyo and Singapore. One time as I finished a run in Singapore, a local excitedly spotted me as “43”. President Bush was in town during a stopover on the way to an APEC meeting so between that fact and perhaps being legally blind (he was wearing glasses), I could see how the person could make the mistake. I am not sure where he thought the secret service detail was.

Now that I am spending most of my time in North Carolina, I have gotten used to being my bland, non-famous self but on my regular trips to Asia, I know there is a chance I may morph into someone else, briefly. I wonder if my roommate’s mother would recognize me now.

That's the Ticket

Last night as my wife and I were driving home from seeing a touring production of “War Horse”, we turned off the highway onto a country road shortcut only to encounter a classic southern tradition – the “speed trap”. As I passed the two police cars I looked at my speedometer and felt I was within “normal tolerances”.  I thought I had dodged the proverbial speed trap bullet. Unfortunately as I turned the next corner, I saw blue and white lights come alive behind me. Twenty minutes later, citation in hand, I began to reflect on similar experiences in Japan, New Zealand, and China.

Japan has very nice police cars

My wife drove our car much more than I did in Japan since I commuted by train. Upon getting her first parking ticket, she decided to “do the Japanese thing” and give the police an apology letter hoping to get out of the $150 fine. She had the front desk staff at our apartment translate the letter. She drove to the police station, bowed and presented the bilingual letter to the officer on duty. Unfortunately the duty officer had been educated in the US and spoke perfect English – “this is very, very good “ he said with a smile “may I post it on our bulletin boardl” he continued. “Unfortunately” he concluded “you still have to pay the fine but we appreciate your effort”. Japanese police: 1 Team Gaijin: 0.

Many ex-pats in Japan either did not drive or stayed close to home when they did. My bride is made of sterner stuff and taught her Japanese friends the meaning of “road trip”. One day, she took three Japanese friends on a long excursion to visit a cultural spot. Two hours into the trip she was pulled over for speeding. Always a quick thinker, she turned to her friends and said “do not say anything - today you are all Americans of Japanese descent who can only speak English, I will do the talking". These normally law abiding citizens of the land of the rising sun followed their friend's lead. As the officer approached the door, my wife took the initiative – “good morning, I am sorry, we are Americans and nobody speaks Japanese, do you speak English?” The officer surveyed the car and was immediately suspicious – quickly asking questions to the other ladies in Japanese. Surprisingly all three ladies adapted quickly to the deception and with poker faces shook their heads “no”. Had they spoken, even in English, their accents would have given them away as native Japanese speakers. Sensing victory, my wife diverted attention from her guests and started speaking in a torrent of quick English, “is something wrong, could you please call a translator, I am sorry”. Nothing turns the tide in Japan like a good “I am sorry” followed up with a not too well pronounced “sumimasen” (a "catch all" apology in Japanese). Although the officer still seemed hard pressed to believe the three Japanese ladies in the car were “from California”, my wife pressed her advantage with another apology and the officer finally said (summoning his school boy English) “Ok, ok, prease (not a typo) slow down”.  Japanese police: 1 Team Gaijin 1. As my wife pulled back onto the highway, the car erupted in joy "sugoi (wow), Connie san, you are great negotiator, ha ha ha". The high point of that trip came before the destination......

This was not our last encounter with Japanese traffic police but we were content to end our days in Japan in a draw. Final score was 3 to 3.

The Kiwis have almost as many "speed cameras" as sheep

My first encounter with non US traffic police came during a vacation trip on the South Island of New Zealand on the day after Christmas. I was having a ball driving a powerful car on the two lane roads of the sparsely populated island nation. As we sped toward a glacier we wanted to hike on, I saw the unmistakable form of a police car pulled across the road with his “rack” on. I slowed down and then stopped a few yards in front of the car. A very tall uniformed officer was calmly waiting for me. Given he elected to pull his car across the road and stand outside his car, the Kiwi cop clearly wasn't worried about causing a traffic jam in this remote area. I had the passing thought that maybe he was just lonely.....

As we were coming to a stop, my wife and daughters began to strategize. Their conclusion was I should tell the officer we were in a hurry because it was a “special time” of the month and they were out of “pads” so we were hurrying to find a convenience store. I smiled at the hastily thrown together strategy but decided to play this situation straight. The line that  “we are searching for the nearest convenience store at the bottom of the southern hemisphere to secure feminine protection” seemed a little weak from my perspective as the only male in the car.  

“Hello, where are you from?” asked the surprisingly friendly cop. I meekly replied, “we live in Japan but are from America”, “that’s great, welcome and I hope you enjoy New Zealand - unfortunately I have to treat you like everybody else”. I was invited to sit in the police car while we worked out the details of my $300 fine for going “>2X the speed limit”. The Kiwi cop took my passport and input the number into his little computer console and then asked if I didn’t “see the sign” stating I was entering a town. “I saw the sign but never saw the town” I replied - not trying to demean the local populace (of two?) but trying hard to understand how a single house and a barn constituted a town. Anyway, while my family waited in our rental car and discussed my failure to play the “pad” card, I had a very nice chat with the cop who wound down our conversation by reminding me to stop at any “authorized” national bank to pay my fine before I left NZ or my passport would be “flagged” at the airport. His final words were “what happens in New Zealand, stays in New Zealand. As I left the car, I whispered to myself “well played, sir”. Who says Kiwis don’t have a sense of humor?

After Japan, we lived in Shanghai. Most US companies will not allow their expat employees to get a license or drive in China. Since I was the first American my employer sent to China, they didn’t think of all the details. Readers of this blog are already acquainted with our driver in China, Philip, but both my wife and I got Chinese driver’s licenses because we wanted the freedom to be able to drive ourselves from time to time. Although my wife and I both drove, we didn’t normally go very far without Philip behind the wheel.

Philip never believed that "silence is golden"

Philip needed to keep his driver’s license to keep his job. A natural charmer, I loved to watch Philip deal with police. We spent a lot of time on the road and were flagged down by police on several occasions. Each time Philip reacted the same way – he jumped out of the car and met the officer as far away from our car as possible. I learned to watch the face of the cop change from stern to neutral to friendly. Philip would just keep talking and point toward the car from time to time. He would look toward me and then turn and whisper to the officer. The abbreviated version of Philip’s line to the officer went something like this: “we are Chinese brothers who must work for a living”. “Unfortunately I have a very tough American boss who is always in a hurry trying to make money “. “Please help me, I need to keep a good driving record but my boss is so tough”. In every case, when we were together, Philip talked his way out of the ticket.

I didn’t mind being the prop that Philip used to keep a clean driving record. Normally we did a high five as we pulled away. If only it was that easy to get out of a ticket in the US.