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Examining the Good, Bad and Ugly Side of Who You Know

UntitledIt’s not what you know; it’s who you know. Before I was old enough to hold a job or understand the meaning of that statement, I heard it lobbed around often enough to be a team sport. And the ball remains in play.

A frustrated acquaintance recently said to me, “Someone can be as dumb as a doornail and get placed into a prominent position, or as smart as Einstein and be unemployed because he or she lacks the connections that Doornail has.”

I know numerous people who will attest to the fact that when it comes to employment, you don’t necessarily need skill, talent or brains to land a good job; not if you have connections. This is not to imply that education, abilities, and knowledge are unimportant. In fact, those qualities are essential for people who don’t “know someone.” But this post is not about folks who get what they want by going through the standard process. It’s about the advantage of knowing someone with pull, someone who can open doors for you; someone who can help you skip the usual process and get what you want.

If there is any place in the world where the maxim holds true, it’s in the Nation’s Capital where power-players rule. Take a walk along K Street, Pennsylvania Avenue, or any place in the city’s business district and the smell of nepotism and cronyism is stronger than rotting fish. But the who-you-know principle is not only applicable to powerbrokers and political bigwigs; it can work for anyone who knows the right people.

When I was a child, on a few occasions my dad took me to see the Washington Senator’s baseball team play at Griffith Stadium. Back then, it was easier for a poor black person to score big in the illegal numbers racket than to get tickets to a sporting event at the stadium. Nevertheless, dad occasionally got tickets to the ballgames from his brother, Al, who received them from his then boss, who owned a string of parking lots in the city. Point – dad knew someone who knew someone.

Then there was the time, as a young adult, when I was hired to work as a secretary/receptionist, in a small office with one other woman. I will call her Angela. Perhaps because we were very close in age after she hired me, Angela and I became fast friends, and I soon became her confidant. She told me that she used to be the secretary for the man who was president of the organization where we were employed. Let’s call him Mr. Doe. When the company, headquartered in another city, opened a branch office in DC, Mr. Doe placed Angela in the position of vice president and office manager of the new office.

During the first several months that I worked there, I watched Angela struggling (some would call it  ‘fronting’) during meetings and fretting afterward.  She would (figuratively) cry on my shoulder and saying how inept she felt when interacting with the more knowledgeable executives from other firms. She may have also cried on the shoulder of her former boss because eventually, Mr. Doe hired another person (another vice president who I will call Julie). I think Mr. Doe’s plan and that of other officials at headquarters was that Julie would serve as a buffer for Angela while she learned the specifics of the industry.

It soon became evident that Julie knew her job very well, too well. Clients began praising Julie to Angela, Mr. Doe and others at the firm. Unbeknownst to Julie, the more accolades she received the more insecure it made Angela feel.

Angela’s obvious envy of Julie led her to begin concocting lies that resulted in Julie’s firing within the year. This is not hearsay, I watched the drama unfold and to this day regret that I did not speak up for Julie for fear of losing my job. That’s water under the bridge now; but being older and wiser today, if I saw Julie or anyone else getting thrown under the bus, I would speak up on their behalf.

Angela was hired for a job for which she had no qualifications by someone who pulled strings to get her in that spot. Had she been required to follow procedure and apply for the VP position like other applicants, most likely her lack of credentials and experience would have prevented her from jumping directly from a secretarial position to VP.

Knowing the right people can not only give you access to jobs, high-demand tickets to concerts and sporting events, it may also get you access to covetable social functions. Keep in mind, if you know the right people, and you lack the chutzpa of the Salahis (The husband and wife gatecrashed a White House dinner in 2009, despite not being on the official guest list.), with the right connections, you may get to socialize with high profile personalities at an event to which you weren’t officially invited.

One day, a few years after I had left the job mentioned above, an associate gave me a ticket to a $500 a plate fundraiser luncheon that was taking place at one of DC’s finest hotels. You read it right — $500 a plate. My benefactor, a lawyer, and smart businesswoman was married to a prominent man in local government. While offering me the ticket, she told me that she would not be able to attend the luncheon because an important meeting had been scheduled after she purchased the ticket, and she needed to be at that meeting. When she sensed my hesitancy to accept the gift, she said, “It’s an excellent networking opportunity for an upward mobile young woman.” I accepted the ticket and attended the luncheon.

Sometimes, I think that God assigned the Guardian Angel of Opportunity to look after me because throughout my lifetime I’ve been fortunate to meet many people –prominent and ordinary — with connections who have helped me along the way.

In an excellent article published in Psychology Today, Dr. Fredric Neuman wrote, “I like to think that competence is the most important determinant of professional success.” I agree with Dr. Neuman, but knowing people or knowing people who know people is an asset too.

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Claws

Woman stop talking hand gestureI was one of an estimated 500,000 participants in the Women’s March that took place in Washington, DC on January 17th. Sister marches occurred in cities across the country and around the world. Women of every culture and ethnic group participated. Sisterhood was evident. The mood was intoxicating. There were some men there supporting us, too. But this isn’t about the men. It’s about us. Women.

In addition to appearing to enjoy the camaraderie, every woman who I encountered was polite and pleasant, even when we were so crushed together that we were stepping on each other’s toes. I’m not a novice to rallies and marches, but I’ve been riding the natural high of the Women’s March ever since that day. Then, recently as I was chatting with a male friend of mine, he burst my bubble by stating what I already knew.

He did not bite his tongue when he said that the irony of the situation is that some of those same women were “Perpetrating. Hypocrites and haters.” They were showing solidarity with their “sisters” but would soon be back at work or going about their everyday activities, and then the claws will come out. “They will be bad-mouthing, mean-eyeing, back-stabbing and hating on” other women. Ouch! Women know that this stuff goes on, but you feel so transparent when hit with the naked truth by a man. So as much as I wanted to disagree with him, I didn’t.

Do you wonder what makes women so cunningly (or sometimes obviously) envious and hateful toward other women? I don’t know a woman who hasn’t either been the object of clawing or has shown her own claws. It is not improbable that many women wearing those pink kitty caps during the march had their claws concealed within mittens and gloves on that chilly day.

We’ve all seen it or we’ve been IT. If an insecure woman perceives that another woman is smarter, prettier, or more popular than she, it triggers her ire and the claws come out. If she is not only an insecure but also a manipulative and controlling woman, she will do whatever she can to diminish or destroy the woman who she perceives to be her competition, her imaginary enemy. You would think that this is something you see only among immature school girls; but many grown women act just as childish.

When will women realize that your self-worth cannot be measured by someone else’s?  But your empowerment can come from being supportive of like-minded women. Face it; there will always be another woman who is prettier, smarter and depending on your personality – she may even be more likable than you.

The instinct of many of my self-confident friends and my nature is to be helpful to other women; not only in the workplace but everyday situations.

Some women refused to vote for Hillary Clinton for no other reason except that she was a woman. Oh, they made up flimsy excuses like, “You know those emails.” Or “How could she stand by her man considering ….” Truth be told some women refused to vote for Hillary simply because they envied her. Hillary had the chutzpah to get into the campaign trenches. She had the audacity to do something that – given the opportunity – some women wouldn’t or couldn’t garner the nerve to do. Women need to be supportive of each other. To do otherwise is irrational.

Author Nkem Ikeke wrote, “A lady walks into a room, and some other ladies in the room start to hate for no reason…Unlike men, women will often dislike another woman for no logical reason at all.”

Will the day ever come when women stop seeing other women as their competition? Perhaps the Women’s March was a beginning.

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Secreting the Journal

Elegant leather journal with calligraphy pen on white backgroundBlogging is a lot like journaling. Although I often blog about communal issues, sometimes I write about personal matters like the subject of this post.

Oprah Winfrey was quoted as saying, “Keeping a journal will absolutely change your life in ways you’ve never imagined.” She may be right.

I’ve kept a diary and journal off and on from the time I was a young girl. That was decades ago. I’m a big girl now, and my current journal is a cluttered catchall for everything from important appointments to excellent quotations. My journal is also my secret place where I go to express my opinions without fear of judgment, blame or requirement for justification. No need to concern myself with proper grammar, spelling, or proofreading. In my journal, I am free to be me.

My first diary was a cute, little dime store book with a pretty pink

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Crybaby

Very strong Image Of a afro American woman Crying isolated on BCall me a crybaby. I accept that. I’ve been turning on the waterworks since childhood. Don’t misunderstand. I’m not talking about infancy when all babies communicate that they are hungry, need changing or are otherwise discontent over something. I was a grade-schooler when – get ready – I turned on the waterworks over a television program.

Depending on the circumstance, I’ve been comforted, teased, or criticized for shedding tears. When I weep over a devastating event or at a funeral, there are usually others commiserating with me, so unless I become hysterical (I only lost it once), my tears don’t raise eyebrows. On the other hand, witnessing someone else’s joyous moment, like a wedding or a long-awaited reunion, could make me grab a Kleenex and wipe happy tears. Feelings of extreme anger or deep stress might produce a small waterfall. A tearjerker movie could cause a Tsunami. I am an equal opportunity crier.

I’ve discovered that a lot of people are uncomfortable around crybabies. I first realized this when I was around ten years old. I remember it like it was yesterday. I am sitting alone in the living room watching an adventure film. Everything is fine until the handsome male lead is captured and blinded by the bad guys. As the villains continue torturing the protagonist with a hot branding iron, my dad walks into the room and sees me frowning at the screen with tears streaming down my face. Immediately concerned he asked, “What’s wrong with you?”

Fighting to close the floodgates, I turn my watery eyes toward dad and whimper, “They are killing him.”

Perhaps not knowing how to handle the situation caused dad discomfort, because he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and left the room shaking his head side-to-side and grumbling. “Crying over a stupid TV show. Don’t make no sense.”

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No Bra-ha-ha

Let me put this right out there and say that I hate wearing a bra. Bras might be a sensual turn-on for men, but they are the ultimate torture garment for women. They pinch and poke. They’re uncomfortable and constricting. The first thing you want to do when you take it off is vigorously scratch those girls. And based on conversations had and overheard, I’m not the only female who has a hate-hate relationship with bras.

Whoopi Goldberg would agree with me. I’ve heard her say, countless times, on The View,  that she hasn’t worn a bra in over 40 years. I don’t understand why she feels the need to disclose that personal information to a national television audience, but I can relate to why she ditched the darned thing.

Some of my girlfriends and I have shared bra horror stories. One thing we all agree on is that there is nothing more disappointing than investing $40 or more for a bra that rides up, curls over, shifts around, and advertises the back fat.

Buying a bra can be as stressful as wearing one. Women who dislike wasting money with the trial and error process can get assistant from a bra fitter. Tape measure in hand, she is often available to measure you in stores like Victoria’s Secret or Norstrom. Or you can measure yourself at home. There are Internet sites that provide instructions on how to determine your bra size. But be forewarned, doing it yourself and getting the right measurement is not always as easy as A, B, C or double D.

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