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Cycling and How Hotdogs are Made

I own a large, commercial construction company. Before I was an owner I was a manager of a similar company as far back as my late 20’s. I was on the board of my church. Now I’m the president of our cycling club.

Being on the board of my church sucked. We got a new pastor and things went downhill fast. It went from a legit spiritual sanctuary to a ridiculous far left extremist parody. My wife and I quit the whole thing, or rather, we were run out. Lesson one.

Owning a construction company is a lot tougher than managing one. Lesson number two.

The cycling club is a labor of love. I was asked to be the president and I accepted. Everything was great for two years. Then the bureaucrats rolled in… Lesson number three.

Somehow I always manage to find my way to the top of whatever I do (my wife is so afflicted as well).  This doesn’t have anything to do with an egotistical, “because we’re so awesome”, either.  No, it’s more because we’re willing to take the job – because anyone who knows anything about being a leader of people, it’s not all that glamorous.  You have to be willing to be the chief floor sweeper and the lead paperwork completer… as a bonus, everyone gets to point their finger at you when things get tough – and you, being at the top, have to figure that $#!+ out.  Better, everyone above you is looking to pay you less and most below you are looking for ways to get the most money for the least amount of work (and then come up with excuses for why that’s your fault when they get caught).  In other words, being at the top usually isn’t as “at the top” as you think, and it’s a lot less glamorous than you think.

I have been a fan of hotdogs for more than 42 years.  I have ADD (or ADHD, take your pick), so when I was just five years-old, to get me to slow down long enough to eat lunch, my mom would cut up a hotdog and set the plate on the living room coffee table.  I would do laps around the table, picking up a piece of glorious hotdog every two laps… and that’s how I ate lunch.  Decades ago, people tried to turn me off to hotdogs because of “how they’re made”.  Later it was the “processed food” crowd.  I still love ’em.  Grilled or nuked with my wife’s chili on them…  I love those little tubes of goodness.

Running things is a lot like a hotdog.  It only looks fun from the outside. Once you realize how those dogs are made, it takes a little of the tastiness away. And that’s a crying shame.

What’s the lesson, though?

I don’t give a f*** how hotdogs are made. Those bastards taste great.  

 

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