Work Stories Lost: the Empathy of Experience

Dearest Rachel –

I forget whether your folks ever insisted you get a job during the summer when you still lived with them. When I was in high school, mine never did; they understood that the regular practice for marching band was more than enough to keep me occupied. Never mind that I wouldn’t be earning money for myself (and, since Dad had just started his own business, we were considerably poorer than we had been in a long time during that period, so money would have been nice); they acknowledged that some experiences were worth more than money. Things like state championships, trips to Florida and Hawaii, and marching in the Tournament of Roses parade.

But once I was out of high school, and no longer committed to the marching band (or any other extracurricular activities), they did what they could to line me up with work during the summer breaks. The first of these had me working in the warehouse of the Teledyne plant that my Dad was temporarily serving as Vice President of Sales (actually, the plant belonged to Teledyne Owen, while he was working for Teledyne Post, but they had some shared office space, and he seized on the opportunity when Owen was looking for summer warehouse staff). As he recommended that I apply, he pointed out that it would be good experience, not just in terms of earning some cash, but understanding other people’s position. “You’re training to be a white-collar worker, yes, but you need to remember what those guys on the warehouse floor go through. You may never be their boss, but your decisions may affect them, and you need to know what they go through.”

I’ve probably embellished or otherwise added words to what he told me – it was over thirty-five years ago – but the meaning was there in whatever it was he said. While I had plans to get higher up the corporate ladder than this, I needed to know what those on the lower rungs go through, to develop empathy through experience. This may seem like common sense, but too many people who make decisions that affect many people either forget what those supposedly ‘beneath’ them go through – or never experienced what it’s like to be barely able to subsist. If more of those in positions of power had that kind of experience – or were better able to remember it – this world would be a much better place, for both the powerful (who would have a more compliant and agreeable populace to deal with) and the powerless (who would feel they mattered to those who would otherwise be commanding them).

***

His experience with this axiom came from a time when he was working at the Sears store in Golf Mill – which, at the time, was second only to the downtown Chicago location in terms of overall sales and profitability. He was a sales manager, one of a number of such managers at the location, all reporting to the general manager, a fellow by the name of Rosenhauer.

I forget all of the details, but I believe that he had ordered excess inventory of an item because he was promised ad space for the particular product in the store’s upcoming advertising purchase. It was a fairly big-ticket item (it might have been rolls of insulation), so to have a lot of them going unsold, and taking up warehouse space, would be particularly problematic. For whatever reason, the item was not included in the ad copy, and as a result, people weren’t coming to Sears to buy all the product Dad had ordered, and it wasn’t selling as he’d expected it to.

Needless to say, Mr. Rosenhauer wasn’t happy about this situation, and called Dad in to his office to talk about it. Now, Dad had put together a business plan as to what could be done to move the product out, but some of Mr. Rosenhauer’s questions were beginning to feel more like accusations, and putting no small amount of fear into Dad. Finally, he had had just about enough.

“Mr. Rosenhauer, I’m really sorry about this situation, but at this point, if you were to ask me my name, I would have trouble giving it to you, I’m so scared. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

This stopped Rosenhauer in his tracks. He got up from his chair and walked around the desk. “I am so sorry, son,” he said, reaching out a hand to my dad. “I sat in your place once upon a time, and I swore that if I ever got to the other side of the desk, I would never put anyone in a similar place as that.” He shook his head ruefully. “And today, I’ve failed to keep that promise to myself. Can you forgive me?”

Upon receiving Dad’s assent in the form of a mute (due to surprise) nod, he continued. “Why don’t we go to the cafeteria, and get a cup of coffee? We can figure out what to do about this while we’re there.” Over that cup of coffee, my dad went over his business plan for the unsold inventory, basically having to do with a local fire sale of the product (better to sell it at a discount and make some money back, than have to return it to headquarters, or worse, dispose of it entirely, thereby wasting resources with no return), which Rosenhauer agreed with. It may have been sold at a loss, but it was all sold, and life went on.

Dad always spoke well of Mr. Rosenhauer, primarily as a result of his ability to realize what Dad had been going through (thanks to his own negative experience years previously), and acknowledge that he had been taking the wrong approach toward his employee who was already dealing with an admittedly adverse situation. The fact that he was willing to admit his wrong, and offer Dad a chance to start over impressed upon him the need to remember what the other person is going through, and reminding me to bear my warehouse experience in mind, even as I might never need to do such work once that summer was over.

***

Of course, not everyone gets a boss like Mr. Rosenhauer. I recalled Dad’s admission to him during one of the many struggle sessions that Mohinder put me through; it didn’t have the same effect. I don’t want to apply certain stereotypes, but I wonder if Brahmins only know what Brahmins go through, Kshatriyas what Kshatriyas experience, and so on through Vaishyas, Shudras and especially the Dalits. For all I know, he may have considered the rest of us in the department to be Dalits; I know he referred to me as a ‘peon’ for only focusing on this or that task at hand, rather than what he considered to be the Big Picture. It certainly made working for him that much worse; I’d certainly rather have reported to Mr. Rosenhauer, but he wasn’t an option anymore.

***

Anyway, I’m hoping that I’ll be able to tell more of these stories with greater accuracy, as Dad continues to recover. For the moment, his voice isn’t in the best condition, but it may yet be a while before he joins you and Dennis and so many of his peers (including, possibly, Mr. Rosenhauer?), allowing me to wring a few more details out of him to share. While it’s a minor reason to be grateful for his continued survival, it’s just one more thing added to the pile, like an extra Christmas present atop a pile of reasons that would dwarf the tree if they weren’t mere metaphorical constructs.

Either way, honey, just continue to keep an eye on him, and wish him luck. He’s going to need it.