Saturday was an epic summer day in
the nation’s capital, with sunny skies, temperatures in the low to mid 80s and
unseasonably low humidity. The perfect weather was among the ingredients that
were contributing to what was shaping up to be a rare relaxing day. After a
challenging early morning 6-mile run, a therapeutic Harley ride to breakfast
and some time working out a week’s worth of frustrations on the garage speed
bag, I was enjoying a nice cigar and some vitamin D in the privacy of my urban
backyard before wrapping up the day with a planned summer BBQ and liver
destroying amounts of fermented grapes. As I sat there in my redneck plastic
Adirondack chair blowing artistic smoke rings into the bright blue sky and
listening to a wonderful blend of barely audible WPFW jazz and the
tranquil flow of the water fountain mounted on the garage wall below the
wisteria vines, I closed my eyes and felt my blood pressure slowly start to
drop.
About five minutes
into my rejuvenating solitude, I heard a women’s voice from behind the fence by
the gate in the alley say “hello there…can we come in?” I silently
cussed (the word began with an f as I recall) and responded somewhat startled
by saying “can you come in?” “Yeah” she replied… “we’re your neighbors.”
Somewhat groggy from cigar smoke and the heat of the unfiltered summer sun, I
rose from the comfort of my chair and reluctantly opened the back gate. As too
often happens these days, it wasn’t long into the exchange before I was once
again reminded why I’ve always longed to live in the country.
As the crow flies,
turns out this couple lives about the furthest away of our 8 or 9 most
immediate neighbors. In this neighborhood cluster of brick Wardman-style duplex
homes built in the 1920s…that’s still not that far away (probably about 70
yards door-to-door). After some initial and very brief back-n-forth (mostly
initiated by me), one of them said something pretty close to the following...
“Well…this is
a little odd, but do you know how loud your air conditioner is?”
Well, so much for
lowered diastolic and systolic (not sure that’s right but doing that from
memory) levels. Aside from being reminded yet again why I drink, a number of
deserving profane responses instantly came to mind. First and foremost, I was
trying to process how after living in the neighborhood for close to 7 years,
these seemingly thoughtful citizens (who admitted they’ve been here 16),
consciously reasoned it would be a good idea to make the subject of their
inaugural conversation a complaint about my air conditioner (I sit on my front
porch all the time and don’t even hear my air conditioner…and none of those
that live closer have complained…at least not to me). Thankfully, I didn’t
share any of the first ten things that were on the tip of my tongue. Instead, I
tried to think about things from their point of view. After apologizing, I
asked a couple of clarifying questions like “are you sure it’s mine?” and “do
you know if any of those neighbors that live closer have complained?” They went
on to explain it’s been bothering them for a couple of summers and that they
“live on their porch” in the summer and it gets quite noisy.
It’s not easy to
talk while you’re biting your tongue, but I apologized again (scores 2-0 on
apologies at this point by the way) and explained that after living immediately
next to a group home of inconsiderate sub-human college aged boys (thank god
they’re gone now…not dead like I wished…they just moved), my wife and I
were acutely sensitive to our neighborly duty to provide a hospitable
environment. I apologized for their discomfort (3-0) and pledged to do what I
could to remedy their problem.
Toward that end, I
spent about four hours the next day (in now sweltering heat) doing what I could
to evaluate and remedy the problem. Amazingly, though I’m usually reminded why
as an electrician I shouldn’t venture outside my area of trade jurisdiction (I
did fall over backwards with a pair of garden sheers…and it took me about five
minutes to get up), I was able to stabilize and level the unit, install an
insulating compressor sound blanket (they actually make such a thing),
lubricate the fan impeller and motor, and clean the condensing coils for what
appeared to result in a somewhat quieter operation. When done, I walked across
and down the street and stood in front of their screened in porch. While
standing there for about five minutes…I couldn’t even hear the air conditioner
running…at least above the mid-day Saturday afternoon hum of the city.
Though the problem
was seemingly remedied, the exchange Saturday really did get me to thinking
about all the times I’ve began with a conversation with a negative comment or
some “constructive” criticism. I couldn’t help but wonder how many of my exchanges could have gone better if I was just better at not beginning with
the negative. It also made me think about people I know that routinely behave like me...and I see it all around. Some folks can sit through an otherwise wonderful presentation but feel the need
to walk up to the speaker afterward offering nothing more than “uncommon has
only one m on slide 22” or “you gave too much praise to Alicia but not near
enough to Hank in HR.” If you’re lucky…they may throw in almost as an
afterthought… “oh yeah…good presentation too.”
My father had a
high school education, served in WWII (and Korea) and went on to work as an
IBEW union electrician (and union contractor) for over 40 years. Like
many of his peers from that generation, he didn’t have an elite college
education or an advance degree, and he was a no nonsense tough customer who by
his own admission, had more than his fair share of personal flaws. One of the
things he innately seemed to possess though was the basic understanding of
people. In his work where he often had to manage large groups of
electricians, he seemed intensely aware of the need to bookend any criticisms
with a fair amount of positive input. If he had to correct somebody on
something, he almost always started with some genuine praise. After
gently offering whatever constructive idea he felt warranted, he would
always close with something positive. I saw him deploy that routinely on the
job, but he also tried to use that strategy as a husband, father, and generally
with everyday people .
Despite his good
example, I’ve failed miserably at consistently emulating the practice of beginning with something positive. On good days, I’ll check my initial constructive thought to point
out what can be improved and look for something positive to say first. Too often…the best I can do is to delay any comment, often deciding later that no
response is the best course of action. Actually, to be honest, the only reason
I’m even still employed is that my Outlook “drafts” folder is full of passionate and
well-deserving messages that were never sent.
At the end of the
day my neighbor’s concerns were actually legitimate. When I vented to my
wife about it…she immediately responded that she noticed “it did seem loud." Sh*t! If I’m honest my neighbors ask
probably wasn’t any worse than my average complaint to the animals that used to rent
next door. I'd just wish they'd done better Saturday than I usually do.
Have a wonderful weekend.
No comments:
Post a Comment