Commerce and the Competent Young Executive: a muse about mindset and motive on 4/29.

(429 cubic inches.  Ford.  The superstock murderer, then become the Police Interceptor.  The Talladega.  The King Cobra.  Marauder.  Your grandma in "nude" pantyhose.  Me buttering her bread.  But for the grace of God, past before your a** hit the grass.)

Bad Lemming's Really Very Good Plates: a very sore-thumb eye sore of a resource for the community, inherited some time past by my uncle, and put to me to get some stinky on the end of my broom as I cleaned the parking area.

Featuring pecans, peaches, pocketknives and WWJD gifts, or as the county newspaper put it, "a handful of nuts and some cheaply made Jesus keychains".

I was shaking my head as I looked over the social media, one otherwise ordinary Monday morning, sort of like this one.  I just couldn't believe it; it was like we had let our competition define us.  They had wished us some ill, it seemed, and be darned: it manifested.

Would you ask your enemies to set for posterity your own mark and characteristic?

That said, we had expended resources on mere survival, while the competent tent evangelist also invests some in marketing and product development.  Why, the competent executive of an S corporation also puts into improving process, keeping the good while making the worst aspects better--a more consistent, cost-efficient production process.

Sounds like a headache, you say?  Do I "get high on my on supply"?  Do I pocket the best of our WWJD gifts for my own keeping?

I say this: a competent young executive, with a keycard to the executive bathroom and his own parking spot, is indeed aware of what is imputed on the company by the competition.  One would be a dull blade, otherwise, to be totally unaware of his own bad traits.

However.  The competent young executive writes his own narrative, and roundly so, acknowledging the detracting factors and so fourth, but also nodding to tradition, the reality on the bright side as it would stand at time of writing, and also the future, along with its own schizoid roadmap to success through daydreams and empty buzzwords.

A grilled hotdog, a zip-loc bag of unflavored popcorn, and a 25-cent bag of Lays chips.  Second cousin would eat from the place everyday, they told me, advise and consent, my betters, "some of the better students", people what come at understanding mistakes through bitter experience--they had told me, and my own stumblefoots informed me, too.  But dammit, all I could do was be there, and keep bare-handing popcorn into ziploc bags for later sale.

If I wasn't there, couldn't expect my help to matter much.

If I didn't try, what would ever change or improve?

And I get a graduate-level lecture on not using the outside broom on the inside, and then not using the prep or restroom stuff on the sales floor; it would be so easy to take the shortcut and say, "they wouldn't know", but they could read my website and see it made somewhat plain in a common discourse.

Oh, fudgeberries and butternuts.