

I resisted the "dress meme" for a long time, but one key event (and subsequent experience) a long time ago taught me that clothing and appearance do, in fact, matter - although I really would prefer that they didn't.
I was working an office job, dressed in office-lite (dockers, button-downs, necktie) and on the way home I stopped at an auto-supply warehouse for a two muffler clamps and a pipe sleeve - my Isuzu pickup's muffler pipe had rusted through, and I planned to repair the hole rather than replace the muffler.
Somehow, the parts man behind the counter was quite put off. He couldn't tell me what size exhaust pipe I'd need from his manuals (although I know it's in there), was generally uncooperative, said they didn't have pipe sleeves and ended up telling me, "Sorry we can't help you".
I went home, changed out of my work clothes (slacks, tie) for my work clothes (worn jeans and my high-school gas station shirt) and I got under the truck, wrestled with the muffler, and got the measurements I needed. When you do muffler work in a driveway, you get covered pretty thoroughly in the rusty flakes that fall down on you.
I went back to the parts warehouse hoping to catch a different guy, but it was late in the day and he was the only one left working the counter. I approached him cold and said I need a 3.5 inch pipe sleeve, and wire-hanger brackets for either end of it. He looked at me, with my gas-station shirt and rusty head, smiled and said "Sure, hold on a minute". He came back, gave me all the parts I needed - all the nuts and washers were there; he wrote up a discounted bill, charged me, and told me to have a nice day. It was obvious he'd never connected the Tie with the Mechanic.
I took the parts home, played amateur with the hacksaw, and repaired the exhaust pipe. I spent about $10 and avoided a garage bill. I carried that truck for years of rusting away. Later on I thought about my two very different experiences at the parts store.



That was a long time ago. I don't have the pickup anymore, and I don't fit into my high school mechanic's shirt anymore. This week I saw myself as the guy on the other side of the desk. Usually by the time I recognize things about myself, the condition's not new.
I was scheduled to interview a candidate. Good resume, solid references - I'd called them and they spoke well of him. I left him waiting in the foyer while I reviewed his resume and the requirements one last time. My boss, who generally avoids meeting applicants, saw him waiting and was so impressed at the appearance - obviously shined shoes, a pressed suit, a recent haircut - it was such a contrast to a lot of interviews that we see, that my boss went over and introduced himself and spent a few minutes with him.
The interview went very well. Afterward I realized that he had us all at the first impression, and that impression shaped every subsequent interaction. It wasn't just the spit-and-polish; the interview was excellent - he showed a lot of preparation, a serious and disciplined approach, a mature perspective - you'd want this one working with you. But I allowed the first impression to set the tone.


1 comments:
Interesting post that should be widely read and thought about. Becoming our parents or the sold out organizational man is a phenomenon that we all, if we live long enough, seem to encounter. Hopefully, we are moving toward a society where we can all live a more authentic life, less shackled by appearances and more driven by the common good. You may want to check out Robert Coles' collection of business stories in his "Minding the Store." I wouldn't be so fast to credit your good feelings to his spit and polished appearance, especially since his appearance dovetailed so neatly with his spit and polished preparation. This consistency might have been the true source of you visceral response.
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