Monthly Commentary

November 2026

I learned early on in my sales career that understanding the differences between rules and guidelines could also mean the difference between success and failure. In fact, most of us learn those nuances as young children when negotiating an extension to our regular bedtime in order to watch the last few minutes of a championship game. We use similar methods as teenagers if we show up past curfew with a shrug of the shoulders and a weak apology, explaining that we thought having the car home by 10:00 p.m. was merely a suggestion.

While not an exact science, my experience in the corporate world was that operations teams tended to favor rules, while the sales side of the house preferred no rules at all. If they had to be held to any standard, they would grudgingly accept guidelines.

A great example of this comes from the business-to-business (B2B) product industry, where sales teams almost universally carry quotas—often monthly, but occasionally quarterly. Depending on how compensation plans are structured, there can be quite a bit riding on whether a deal is submitted in time to count for that period. In my first sales position, long before you could hit enter on your laptop to submit a case from the field, we often found ourselves rushing back to the office to turn in the last deal that got us to our number for the month. And yes, when it was that important, we definitely saw the speed limit signs as guidelines and not rules.

Our company had a strict “48-hour rule,” meaning that clients couldn’t be activated until two full days after the deal was turned in. Again, in a world that moved much more slowly without today’s technology, our operations partners needed time to key in all the pertinent data to onboard the client. And of course, we received sales credit and commissions based on activation, not submission, making that deadline even more important.

When I missed the cutoff by a full day, I would occasionally joke that I thought it was a “4-to-8-hour rule,” but reluctantly I’d accept that my sale would instead be credited to the following month. That was until I started noticing a pattern whenever our team was within a couple of deals of hitting the sales manager’s quota. Magically, the operations manager, who also had some compensation tied to sales goals, would grant an exception that month, with some new cases being activated within hours, if not minutes, of month-end.

So everyone should be thrilled, correct? Pack up your briefcase, organize your desk, and head out to the local watering hole to celebrate a job well done with the rest of your teammates, right? Like anything else, though, there are unintended consequences. It turned out that the rare exceptions at the end of the month became more and more frequent. Knowing that an exception was likely to be made, sales representatives no longer felt the same urgency to give their operations partners the necessary time to complete their work.

Under the added stress of activating cases faster than they should have been expected to, the service team made more mistakes, leading to lower levels of client satisfaction. Dissatisfied clients affected service team members’ reviews, resulting in more turnover on the activation team. And in a relatively short amount of time, the “48-hour rule” became the “48-hour guideline.” Returning to some sense of normalcy without the chaos of the final day or two of the month became difficult to achieve.

I was reflecting on this recently when I heard about the Publix grocery chain changing its policy on express checkout lanes. The familiar “10 items or less” signs made a lot of sense to me as a way to move customers through checkout efficiently. Standing behind someone buying a month’s worth of groceries for their family of six just to ring up my gallon of milk and loaf of bread would be annoying. More importantly, I might choose to make my purchase at a convenience store instead if I couldn’t reasonably expect to get in and out quickly.

But Publix decided to give employees more flexibility in managing checkout traffic, removing the strict limit on the number of items that could be purchased in the express lane. The signs simply say “Express” now, leaving me wondering whether the decision about who gets to use that lane belongs to the customer, the cashier, or both. In other words, the rule became a guideline, and just like the example above, things may go sideways.

With what I considered a reasonable purchase by anyone’s standards, I entered the express lane with five items yesterday, knowing that no one could fault me for choosing a quicker experience. Now, I did have six bananas, but I have it on good authority that the bunch counts as one item, not six. Curious about how the new policy was being received, I asked the cashier how the first few weeks were going. She and the bagger looked at me, rolled their eyes with slight grins on their faces, and said that it definitely had its challenges. Within just the last two days, she said, she had been yelled at by a customer, had one shopper throw a coupon flyer at her, and had seen more than one colleague crying.

The cashier confided in me that one thing that hadn’t been made clear to her when the new guideline was rolled out was who decided how many items were appropriate, based on how busy the store was at the time. Customers are accustomed to the idea that they are “always right,” and Publix has a reputation for friendly, helpful employees. In fact, its tagline is “Where shopping is a pleasure.”

Giving people flexibility sounds like a good idea, and often it is. But it’s worth asking who gets the flexibility and who gets the extra work. In my sales days, we got the credit while our operations partners got the pressure. At that Publix checkout, the cashier was left explaining a change she hadn’t made and absorbing the frustration that came with it.

Before we turn a rule into a guideline, perhaps we should spend a little time with the people who will have to make it work. They may spot the unintended consequences long before the rest of us. And if the goal is to make shopping a pleasure, it seems reasonable to consider the person on the other side of the register, too.

October 2026

Most of my recent essays have featured stories about the leaders among us. Not the typical boardroom or executive-suite leaders, but the everyday people who inspire those around them to be their best. In most cases, these individuals don’t hold formal leadership positions, and very few have ever received any classroom education on the subject. You could say their skills are intuitive, either ingrained in their character, or traits they have picked up along the way without even knowing it.

Because I enjoy writing on the topic, I’m always on the lookout for stories to add to my upcoming book, “Wisdom in Plain Sight.” Unfortunately, when you develop a keen sense for spotting these leaders among us, you also sharpen your ability to identify the void when leadership is lacking.

I imagine one could find volumes of material on the subject, but complaining about bad experiences is what social media is for, right? And I’m not sure how many copies would sell if an entire book were devoted to “bad leaders.” But in the interest of being fair, though not quite balanced, I’ll devote one essay to the subject—leaving the rest of my writing to focus on the inspiring stories.

Which brings me to the proliferation of signs I’ve seen lately at area businesses. Sign-making has become fairly easy with online sites augmented by artificial intelligence. In fact, when promoting my first book, “Wisdom in Hindsight,” I was able to design and order a six-foot-tall retractable trade show banner in 15 minutes and have it delivered to my office the next day.

In the past, when handwritten signs were more common, I used to joke whenever I saw a “Bathroom Is Out of Order” sign that looked as though it had taken hours to prepare, print, and laminate. It always seemed they could have spent that time doing something more productive. Perhaps actually fixing the bathroom?

When I first entered corporate America, the CEO of our company had a lot of rules. I remember thinking they seemed excessive, but the more I learned about them, both the written and unwritten ones, the more I realized that most were grounded in humility and modesty. More than 35 years later, I still remember many of them, including “no assigned parking spaces, no titles on business cards, and no names on office doors”. The common theme, of course, was that although there were still supervisors, managers, directors, and executives, no employee should ever be made to feel less important than the leadership team.

Many of those rules were eventually rolled back, but the culture remained. To be fair, when a business gets bigger and the number of branches grows, it can be pretty inefficient to duck into every office and ask the occupant if they’re the person you’re looking for. Enterprise sales calls can also go sideways when team selling. The prospective client needs to know who in the room is the sales representative, who is the client service representative, and, in software sales, who is the sales engineer.

That being said, when I participated in these calls as the manager, I conveniently “forgot” to hand out my business card to the prospective client’s team. I learned early on that once buyers know who the manager is, they naturally begin directing their questions to that person.

Getting back to signs, I can often predict my experience at a restaurant or retail shop based on the signs in the parking lot or on the door. At a nearby restaurant, I’m constantly reminded that the absolute best parking space is reserved for the general manager. It seems that space should instead be reserved for a paying customer.

You don’t have to walk too far down Main Street to see the typical signs: “No soliciting. Shoes and shirts required. No outside food or drinks. No bills larger than $20. Restrooms for paying customers only.” The list is endless, but those are just a few examples.

You have to ask yourself how often these events actually occur. Cold-calling sales representatives aren’t nearly as common as they once were, so soliciting shouldn’t be too much of a problem. I’ve personally never walked into a store without a shirt or shoes, although I imagine it happens occasionally. I do like to bring a bottle of water into a store when I shop, but I’m usually pretty careful with it.

The question isn’t whether any of these “violations” actually occur. It’s how much goodwill a business sacrifices by posting its commandments for everyone to see.

I chose this subject this month because, just this past weekend, I saw the best sign ever—cue the sarcasm—at a souvenir shop in a small mountain town:

“Please remove sunglasses, any hoods or hoodies, face coverings, or other types of masks before entering, unless needed for religious or medical purposes.”

They were selling key chains, magnets, hats, and T-shirts. We decided to buy our personalized Swiss Army knife down the road instead.

Business owners may view these signs as practical solutions to problems they have encountered over the years. Customers, however, see something else. Before they have even walked through the door, they have been handed a list of rules and informed that they are not entirely trusted.

Every sign communicates more than the policy printed on it. It also tells customers something about the person who posted it. Rules may occasionally be necessary, but so is good judgment.

September 2026

I wish I could remember where I first came across the idea, but it stuck with me: Stop asking people you meet socially what they do for a living. That assumes their work defines them. Instead, ask them what they’re passionate about.

On vacation last week, I fell into my old habits while sitting at an outdoor bar listening to live music and asked the gentleman next to me what he did for work. He told me that he had recently retired but was happy to share with me that he made his money on Pac-Man and cigarettes.

This was a first for me.

Knowing there was some lesson here, and there was, I started asking what became too many follow-up questions. It turned out that back in the early 1980s, at the age of 18, his father had decided to walk away from the business of owning the local bar in town since it wasn’t making any money. As a young man with little direction at the time, he offered to “buy” it from him. I would imagine, like many family transactions, he got a pretty good deal.

The father was happy to step away and pursue something more profitable, and the son was thrilled to have some direction in life.

The gentleman told me that everything was going great until six months after his acquisition, when he was called into the bank for a mandatory meeting with the local branch manager. Confused, since he wasn’t behind on any payments and hadn’t bounced any checks, he still knew the meeting wasn’t optional.

It turned out that the bank president was upset because, unlike his father, most of the cash deposits he was making were in quarters. So many, in fact, that the branch needed to hire a part-time teller just to roll the quarters for a few hours each week.

Surprised by what the agenda became, our young entrepreneur told the manager that he was eager to find a solution to protect the relationship. He confided in the executive that he would be needing more of the bank’s services since he was already in talks with a commercial realtor to secure leases to open two more locations in town.

Now the bank manager was the confused one.

How, as an 18-year-old with no business experience, could you take a failing dive bar, turn it around in six months or less, and already be talking about expansion?

The teenager told him that he simply needed to find a way to increase his margins. With the addition of two Pac-Man video games and a cigarette machine for the patrons, it was almost all profit. The video games required little attention other than the occasional reboot, and the cigarettes were placed in the machine on a consignment basis. He simply had to gather all the quarters and bring them to the bank.

Fast-forward five years. His chain of bars now numbered eight locations, and a much larger equity group offered to pay him a handsome sum, allowing him to walk away with a big check.

He told me that after a short break, he spent the rest of his career as a consultant for restaurants and bars, helping them design their locations to maximize revenue and profits.

The real lesson may be that his father thought he owned a bar, while the son realized he owned a place where people gathered and spent money. He wasn’t particularly attached to where the profits were supposed to come from. He simply paid attention to what his customers wanted and where the margins were.

Too often, we become emotionally attached to the product, service, career, investment, or plan we originally thought would get us where we wanted to go. There’s nothing wrong with having a plan, but there is something to be said for remaining flexible enough to recognize when a better opportunity presents itself.

Sometimes the smartest move isn’t working harder at the original plan. It’s being willing to change the plan.

And occasionally, the better opportunity comes disguised as a pile of quarters.