Be Like BESSIE!

Be Like Bessie!

“Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience.”―Ralph Waldo Emerson

A few days each week during the winter I work in a giant laboratory studying the behavior of vast numbers of people. My specific areas of interest are the characteristics of patience and kindness while in pursuit of happiness and outdoor adventure. More specifically, I am a greeter at a New England ski area. From this vantage point I have face-to-face contact with hundreds of men, women and children of all ages. The stories my colleagues and I collect could fill a book. (Hey, that’s an idea!)

One of a Greeter’s responsibilities, beyond welcoming guests and answering basic questions, is to be sure each visitor’s wait in the line to purchase lift tickets is as short as possible, hopefully no more that 7-15 minutes on the most crowded days. This is no mean feat in the age of data collection required for the issuance of a re-usable RFID card that can be detected by a scanner in the pocket of even the most high tech parka. We also draw the short straw sometimes and have to facilitate traffic flow in the “drop off” area. If the entire ski area is the laboratory, then this particular area is the active Petri dish. . Maybe we should put up a sign that says, “Remember! Children are watching and listening.”

If I was looking to hire people to build a team for a task that required intense, cooperative effort in a stressful situation, I’d insist on seeing videos of how these job candidates handled their cars, friends, family and Greeters in the “drop off” area. Surely I’d learn more than any resume or interview could reveal.

Since we Greeters spend most of our time managing ticket lines, that’s where the best stories come from. Just the other day a person was in such a hurry to get his ticket that instead of walking through the short, simple, ten-foot, back and forth maze to the ticket window, this “gentleman” ducked under the ropes to take a more direct route, knocking over several stanchions, which he did not fix. He may have saved a full three seconds getting to the ticket window. I just smiled at him sympathetically. You know, one of those smiles that says, “I hope you get better soon.”

We greeters pick up a wonderful assortment of sound bites or snippets from the hundreds of conversations that swirl around us. My all-time favorite came from two brothers, strolling past with their arms on each other’s shoulders. The older brother looked at his younger sibling and said, “Hey, your wife’s happy and your girlfriend’s happy. I think everything is going to be fine.” Then they disappeared into the crowd leaving me with a number of questions that will forever go unanswered.

I’ve been thinking of asking management to position a large video screen in the ticket line waiting area showing highlights of good and bad behavior of guests collected over the course of the winter season. We would obscure the faces to prevent law suits, but the instructional value would be powerful…and highly entertaining.

Most people waiting in line to purchase tickets fall into one of three categories:

Group A. “I am too important to have to wait in line with all of these other people. Can’t you do something?”

Group B. “It’s too bad the wait is so long. Have you considered ways that might make things move more efficiently?”

Group C. “I’m not at work, I’m in a beautiful place and eventually we are going to have a great day on the slopes.”

The hybrid of groups B and C is my personal favorite. By the way, guests can purchase their tickets online at a reduced price and eliminate or greatly shorten their wait in line. It’s a reward for those thoughtful people who plan ahead. Let’s call this Group S for smart.

So how does this all tie in with BESSIE’S STORY? It’s simple. Bessie is the model of patience. She’ll stand with her nose to a door calmly and peacefully if she wants to go outside. When it’s time for breakfast or dinner Bessie sits like an angel without barking, whining or grumbling. In her dark, fragrant world she somehow just knows that we’re going to do the best we can to take care of her needs. When we are going somewhere in the car she’ll hop in and sit calmly as long as necessary. Very few people can follow her example of poise and good manners. The only time Bessie ever acts or behaves as if she is the most important piece of the puzzle is when someone is playing retrieving games with her. She can be a little antsy during these times, but we understand.

I’ve said it before. The best way to make friends and influence people is to BE LIKE BESSIE. It’s not as easy as it sounds.

“First ask yourself: What is the worst that can happen? Then prepare to accept it. Then proceed to improve on the worst.” Dale Carnegie

While growing up fire drills were a standard part of the school experience. Practice, practice, practice was the key to preparing all of us squirmy, rambunctious kids to respond appropriately in an emergency. The concept expands as we mature. Fire drills become a metaphor for various near miss events, experiences that brush us up against the real thing, but without permanent, serious consequences. For example, a flat tire in your garage is a fire drill for a blowout on a dark road with little traffic.

Older people often refer to this concept of fire drills when it comes to their health, magnifying the seriousness of minor ailments in ways that would have been unthinkable just a few years ago. This behavior offers preparation for the day when that irritating, consistent pain in your knee really does signal knee replacement surgery, or indigestion is in fact something far more serious. Fire drills in this context are more about preparing a person to make the mental adjustment required for life changing events. It’s important to be aware of fire drills in this context.

We had a fire drill with our aging pal Bessie recently. Please excuse the graphic description of the way this unfolded: Ashley and I were awakened in the middle of the night by an uncharacteristic, high-pitched yelping bark from Bess. When we went downstairs she was standing by the door and her blind eyes were imploring us with uncommon urgency to let her outside. We also noticed that she’d had diarrhea near her bed and had vomited up her dinner.

We’d been through this before. Bessie is, after all, a chocolate Lab with a history of swallowing things she probably shouldn’t that wreak havoc with her digestive track. So, outdoors we went. After cleaning out her plumbing Bessie seemed reluctant to head back inside. Too bad, it was the middle of the night, there was a big mess to clean up and I needed some sleep. Half an hour later the yelping resumed. Out we went again, with similar cleansing results. Back in the house Bessie drained her water bowl, and then immediately vomited every drop back up, creating a nice mess in the kitchen. Alarm bells began ringing faintly as Bessie signaled that she needed to go outside again. With flashlight in hand I followed her around and noticed a trace of blood in the few drops of remaining liquid she released. The alarm bells rang louder.

Back inside I laid down on the floor with Bessie and tried to provide some comfort to the old girl; she was obviously not herself. Before nodding off with my arm around her I couldn’t help but wonder if her ailments were potentially life ending. She is ten-and-a-half years old after all, entering that precious time in life when the next birthday is not a given. We both fell asleep, Bess with a gurgling stomach and I with an active mind replaying her wonderful life and her place in our family.

After a couple of restless hours Bessie pulled away, went back to her bed and fell into a deep sleep. Not me. I was already planning the trip to the veterinarian, preparing for the inevitable dire news and wondering how much time Bessie had left. Most pet owners understand this situation and can empathize. I recall thinking, is this a fire drill or the real thing?

With trepidation Ashley and I walked Bessie into the vet’s office the next morning for her examination. We were surprised to learn that she’d gained a few pounds since her last visit. Bess was also wagging her tail and imploring the vet with a hopeful expression for treats that are part of every doctor’s visit. She was her affectionate, alert, curious self, winning hearts and making new friends. My confidence that we were dealing with a fire drill was growing.

With relief we learned there was some type of doggie stomach bug going around and Bessie probably caught it. A couple of prescriptions and dietary supplements later we were out the door and headed back to life with Bessie as we knew it. But not exactly.

Fire drills like this get our attention, reminding us that nothing is permanent, nothing! It takes a conscious effort to live life with this perspective. By habit we always think there will be an afternoon, a tomorrow, a next month or next year. Fire drills like this encourage us to refocus on the important things with friends and family - to make sure those important to us know how we feel about them, to let others be the first to let go of a hug. Through all of this I don’t think Bessie’s perspective changed, but then hers didn’t need to. She comes by it naturally.

Pay attention to fire drills. They provide vivid reminders that if we’re not on our toes with wide open eyes, important priorities will can get lost in the routines of daily life.