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If you work for a man, in heaven's name work for him.
Elbert Hubbard: A 19th century American writer
I feel like I've been driving thirty miles per hour for a month. It seems every winter storm that has made its way across the Midwest lately has found me.
One in Ohio. One in Minnesota. One in North Dakota. One in Illinois. Several in Wisconsin.
About a month ago, I was driving back from Ohio. I zipped along the Ohio Turnpike, which became the Indiana Toll Road which grew into the Chicago Skyway.
And that's when the snows began to fall. Blizzard, almost white-out, from the Skyway on home. Of course I hit Chicago and the storm right at afternoon rush hour. Miserable.
I crawled along the Kennedy Expressway inching my way out of Chicago. The Kennedy became the Jane Addams and she wasn't much better.
Finally, I made my way northwest, eased past Rockford on I90, pressed north to the Wisconsin border and looked for my exit. And that's when my real foreboding began.
Because of the constant traffic on the expressway, there was little snow accumulation. Things were wet and a bit slick but passable as we crept along.
But Highway 67 would be another matter; it's fifteen miles of a country highway that I would have to slog through to get myself home. One year ago, that same highway heaved me into a ditch on a similarly snowy night.
The snowplows had been out on the Interstate of course, moving snow, scattering salt. But in what condition would I find 67?
And then I had a thought. If there were no plows it would simply be impossible for me to get home. I had visions of me pulling off the expressway, peering down 67, seeing inches of untouched snow.
If that were the case, travel would be impossible. Many years ago, that's exactly the way it was.
But, alas, as I steadily and cautiously exited the expressway, took a right at the light and steered to the head of the highway, I peered through the falling snow and found...road.
The plows had been there. I would get home. Slowly to be sure, but home indeed.
Does that seem silly? Not to me.
I found myself thanking my stars that there are people who do their jobs. No, really...that simply do their jobs.
We need more people to simply do their jobs. In this day of entitlement, when too many look for others to do for them, we need people to do their jobs.
In this day, when employees are rightly sensitive to being treated with respect, when leadership is smartly checked, re-checked and checked again, we have to remember still that people receive paychecks to do a job.
How great is the employee that simply does his or her job? How valuable that employee is. Headaches disappear, heartburn douses when people simply do their jobs.
Whiners, excuse makers, complainers, gossips and minimalists (those who do as little as they can get away with) drain a company of its life.
How many problems would solve themselves if people simply did their jobs? How many problems occur when they don't?
So, as long as you work for a company, as long as you're on the payroll, as long as a check is delivered to you every two weeks or so...you have a duty.
Show up, show up on time and do your damn job.
One late night in a wicked storm I was really glad somebody did.
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