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An
Evening in the Presence of Bob
by
Sam Smith
April 26, 2006
Recently
I was fortunate enough to attend a charity affair, where I
met a certain Prominent CitizenŽ - philanthropist, Captain
of Industry, Titan Among Men, etc. Let's call him Bob. Bob
regaled me with insight about the art of influence, and he
has in fact written a book about how to get people to do your
bidding.
He also
took at least two opportunities during the evening to huff
up out of his chair, stride to the front of the room, commandeer
the microphone, and pitch a mortal hissy fit about some folks
in the back of the room who were talking when they should
have been listening. In his favor, note that the people being
shushed were, in fact, being rude. So at least his arrogance
was, in this case, tempered with a measure of righteousness.
On the
minus side of the ledger, if you were really a wizard at getting
people to do as you wished, you wouldn't have had to make
that second strut up to the mic, now would you?
I've
been thinking, since that evening, about this man, his considerable
deeds, and the art of influence. To be sure, he has a track
record of getting people to see things his way, and at the
end of the day it's bad form to argue with bottom-line results.
But I also spent some time pondering what kinds of qualities
it takes to get people to do your bidding. Having no real
track record of bending people to my will, and having not
read the book, there was considerable guesswork involved.
Looking
at Bob's life, though, I have reached one solid conclusion:
if you want to be influential, there's no substitute for being
born richer than God.
Bob,
you were born with a silver spoon up your ass and a sense
of entitlement that's bigger than the hole in the ozone over
Donald Trump's hair. That plus some basic smarts and a bit
of aggression will take you places. Good for you.
Life
is a 100-yard dash. Despite Jefferson's horsewax about all
men being created equal, the truth is that some folks begin
with a 99-yard headstart. I get it. I understand that's how
life is. I run as hard as I can and I try not to begrudge
anybody their advantages. I also try to keep a clear head
about my own advantages, because while I began at the starting
line, I know that some people began the race at the bottom
of a hole 20 yards back.
Here's
what I'm over, Bob. I'm sick of guys who started a
yard from the finish line writing self-absorbed books lecturing
the rest of us on how to be better runners. Getting there
first in your case proves that your daddy was fast,
not you. So take your win for what it is and shut the fuck
up.
I know
dozens of people as smart as you or smarter, Bob. Maybe hundreds.
And a lot of them are struggling just to get to the finish
line because of how guys like you have rigged the game. This
much I'd bet my life on: had you grown up where I did, you'd
be pumping gas. Or, let's give you some credit. You're still
pretty smart and have some attitude about you, so maybe you'd
own the gas station.
But you'd
damned sure not be writing any books on influence and you'd
sure as hell not be arrogant enough to stand up and treat
a room full of successful artists and professionals like they
were your third-grade class. Not unless you wanted an ass-kicking
in the parking lot.
I'm like
everybody else around here, Bob. I know what you've done for
the community and I appreciate your willingness to support
worthy causes. Honestly, I do. But your abject lack of self-awareness
is one of the most obscene things I've ever run across.
Take
your victory in the 100-yard dash of life gracefully. And
quietly. You have nothing to teach those of us who've actually
earned what we have.
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