I JUST LISTENED to a podcast interviewee make his case. Well, try to make it. I simply wasn’t buying his argument.

But the topic matters, so, wanting to be sure I hadn’t missed something, I looked up and read his articles. In fact, I read one of them twice.

Know what? I came away even more convinced that his argument was dumb.

But — and this is the point — it doesn’t always play out that way. Sometimes following up turns my thinking around. 

Knee–jerk reactions are sometimes right and sometimes wrong. It’s always worth it to dig.

A CLIENT decided to spring on me a consultant who’d cooked up a strategy for my shop to carry out. It was a terrible idea, doomed to fail. This was not a question of opinion. A competent consultant would have known that marketing history is littered with failure after failure of this very strategy.

I was aware that sanity didn’t have much chance of prevailing. The client was enamored of his new consultant, the consultant thought he knew my area better than I, my concerns would be seen as a case of Not Invented Here Syndrome, and the consultant was adept at interrupting and thus derailing objections before an opposing case could be properly built.

I could have shut up, executed the strategy, and charged quite the fee for the work. Of course, in the wake of inevitable, costly, and embarrassing failure, the consultant could blame my shop and not his strategy. Yet it was not the threat of blame that motivated me to resist. My motivation was to spare my client this folly.

To make my case, I would need to secure the floor. So, on my shop’s dime, I created a slide show. (These were pre–PowerPoint days.) That would give me that advantage of a darkened room with the focus on me and my message. Then I called a meeting with the client and his consultant. 

A few slides in, the consultant rocketed to his feet, as I knew he would. “Don’t tell me what you can’t do,” he said. “Tell us what you can! After all, how good are you guys?” I replied, “You’ll have your say. Please sit down and let me continue.” Remarkably, he did. I proceeded with a brief, organized, evidence–based analysis that laid bare the folly.

I finished, the lights went up, and I turned to the client. “We’re your ad agency,” I said, “and we’ll do as we’re told. But our best recommendation is not to proceed.”

There was silence for a beat or two. Finally, the client said, “You never stop surprising me” and killed the strategy.

Then the consultant said something interesting. “I wish you’d been around when I was CEO of my last company. Maybe it wouldn’t have gone under.”

GOOD NEWS, Christians! Jesus died for your sins. Accept him and, presto!, no more eternal rap sheet.

Churches vary on what constitutes accepting Jesus, but all agree that doing so absolves you of your misdeeds. Say you robbed a store or assaulted someone and now fear a post–mortal fire and brimstone future. No problem. The atonement of Jesus will pay for and thus erase that sin. No more fire and brimstone worries for you.

(For their part, the store owner or assault victim damn well better get over it. Failure to forgive is a stain on their record. Were you not so righteous, you might even find some satisfaction in that.)

Now, you’re only human, meaning there’s a good chance that you’ll sin again. No problem again. As often as you blow it—I have it on good authority that you’re allowed up to seventy times seven—you can dip your garments in the Blood of the Lamb* to make them spotless as new.

And that’s the problem with absolution. It offers every incentive to cleanse your eternal record and none not to sully it in the first place. 

A result is Christians** whose first thought upon messing up isn’t “I feel terrible, I must right this and take steps never to do it again.” Rather, it’s “This could keep me out of heaven.” Being cleansed becomes the priority. Lesson–learning and self–improvement? Optional. 

So it is that many Christians see in the doctrine of absolution a get–out–of–jail–free card. Some even turn it into a sin–now–pay–later plan. (I submit Exhibit A: “Don’t get me wrong,” I said, “I’m enjoying this, but I know your church’s rules well enough to know we’re breaking them. How do you deal with that?” “No problem,” she replied, “I’ll just confess and be forgiven.”) Some even build future repentance into their game plan. (I submit Exhibit B: “I know it would be wrong, but I can always repent.”)

It’s a marvelously exploitable loophole, and no one exploits it more adeptly than Christians.***
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* Ew.
** I know, I know: some not all.
*** Once again, I know, I know: some not all.

IN CAPITALISM, a business makes money by taking great care of customers, that is, by delivering great value at a fair price. What keeps the price fair? Competition, of course.

Or so goes the fairy tale.

Ever bought a new car? There’s no great value at a fair price going on. What’s going on is a tactical war between dealer and customer, where the dealer is willing to accept less but tries to get the customer to pay more, and the customer is willing to pay more but tries to get the dealer to accept less.

Ever bought real estate? It’s essentially the same game.

Many forms of retail shopping are no better. I stepped into a well–known retail furniture store and found six barstools I wanted. A salesperson told me the price. “I’ll shop around,” I said, whereupon the salesperson immediately dropped the price by no small amount. The same thing happened in another store when I was shopping for an adjustable bed. 

Call me naive, but I would think that taking great care of a customer would entail leading with your best price.

When I owned an advertising agency, I stuck to a price list for our various services. By contrast, a good many of my competitors would learn how much the client had budgeted and simply take it. Again, call me naive, but that seemed to me a lot like grifting.

Consider all of the mergers and acquisitions going on with communications companies, streaming services, social media, and retail giants both online and in–store. Do not think for one moment that such are motivated by a desire to take better care of the customer. The idea is to return value to shareholders (whose interests are often at odds with those of customers — see my earlier post, Three Problems with Shareholders), plus control information, and wield power over those who might otherwise seek to regulate them. 

These and other abuses are inevitable results of so–called free markets, of unbridled capitalism. Capitalism has no regard for fairness or decency.

To be sure, some businesses still seek to treat customers with fairness. Here’s to the few.

IN MY marketing career, I worked with restaurant clients. When I would ask what set apart their restaurant, the answer was always the same: “Our food!”

Nope. 

For one thing, “our food tastes good” is hardly a unique much less a compelling claim.

For another, in general in the restaurant biz--exceptions acknowledged—the first marketing peg is location. The second is the experience you create for diners, e.g., setting, look, service, lighting, furnishings, acoustics, and so forth. Food comes in third. A great location paired with a good experience can do well with average fare. Think Old Spaghetti Factory, Applebee’s, or Chili’s. But when location and the diner experience fall short, great food will be hard–pressed to make up the difference.

But today there’s a caveat. The above priorities apply only for dining in.

Delivery services like DoorDash and GrubHub render location irrelevant. Attractive packaging, if a restaurant is smart enough to use it, can somewhat enhance the diner experience, but only to a point. For the most part, when food is but mediocre, a delivery service lays bare the mediocrity.

I personally have been surprised when GrubHub brings food from a favorite place and, with one bite, I realize it’s not as good as I’d thought. Now, some of that is due to 30 to 40 minutes of sitting on the passenger seat of a Prius. But much of it also has to do with the fact that I’m not seated in a place with great interior design, attentive waiters, swirling aromas, and, perhaps, a date I’m hoping to impress.

I learned the hard way that some plates lose their luster long before reaching my door. Steak? Don’t even try. But some types of fare make the journey quite well. Asian cuisine, for instance. Din Tai Fung manages to arrive fully equipped to make my taste buds stand up and sing hymns.

Which brings us back to the problem stated above: “our food tastes good” is hardly a unique much less a compelling claim.

Good luck to restaurateurs in a DoorDash economy.

KOURI RICHINS of Park City, Utah, stands accused of slipping her husband a fatal dose of fentanyl. So far from the articles I have read, admittedly an incomplete picture, I would vote to acquit.

Does it seem likely to me that she killed him? I’ll grant that. But when we’re talking about a murder conviction, for me there is huge gulf between “likely” and “beyond a reasonable doubt.”

To be sure, she had motive in the form of onerous debt and a lover on the side. She had opportunity and means. Aspects of her character certainly seem questionable.

But the dots from there to “ergo she killed him” remain unconnected, at least to my satisfaction. 

I’m surprised the court allowed testimony the likes of “she looked more put together than usual on that day” and other implications that she hadn’t met some standard of bereavement behavior. Such are worthless, non–expert opinions. Even taken at face value, poor decorum is not proof of murder.​

WITH MY move to Portland, Oregon, a little over five years ago, I lucked out when it comes to neighbors. They are kind, helpful, pleasant. We often get together socially.

But then there’s the RAB.

Her apartment sits on a street behind ours. She introduced herself to us by screaming at my daughter, Rebecca, who, before she’d quit, happened to have stepped outside for a smoke. “You raggedy–ass bitch!” screamed the RAB. “Out there smoking! The old man”—I assume she meant me—“never did that! You need to respect your elders!” On she went, ranting. Dumbfounded, Becca showed the good sense not to respond.

In that moment, we realized that “raggedy–ass bitch” makes for a delightful acronym. Thus we dubbed our new fan the RAB.

Becca has been smoke–free for over a year (I’m immensely proud of her for that), but the RAB has not ceased from harassing her. Instead, she started screaming about our dogs. 

We have three, the legal limit. Sometimes we let them romp, always supervised, in the side yard. They yip, wrestle, and play–roar as dogs are wont to do. I grant it could be disturbing, which is why I time them to ensure it doesn’t get out of hand. They tend to quiet down well within 20 seconds.

If the RAB happens to be home, her voice rings out. From her doorway or a window, phone–to–ear, she yells, “Hello? Humane Society? These people’s dogs are vicious! They’re attacking everyone! I’m afraid for my safety! The neighborhood is terrorized by them! They constantly fight! Those dogs are so abused!” 

I doubt she’s really on the phone to anyone. I suspect it is theater, with phone–as–prop. In any event, no authority has contacted us. I’m a little sad about that, for it would be a simple matter to establish that our dogs are well cared–for. I would love for the spying RAB to see police or Humane Society personnel leave our home with warm smiles and handshakes.

Becca’s room faces the back of the house and, thus, the RAB’s front door. Not long ago as she was relaxing with a book in her room, Becca overheard the RAB making a show of complaining to some supposed authority about the dogs. The dogs were indoors, one in the room at Becca’s side. Looking out her window, Becca saw the RAB staring up at her, once again phone–to–ear, and heard her describe the interior of Becca’s room, down to the color of the throw pillows.

To be fair, the RAB doesn’t always yell. Sometimes she contents herself with standing in plain sight while appearing to shoot video of us.

The RAB has four security cameras mounted on her apartment exterior. We recently noted that one permanently mounted camera appears to be pointed directly at Becca’s window. No wonder she knows the color of the throw pillows.

Two of the RAB’s fellow apartment dwellers have visited us. The first reassured us that we’re okay and that the RAB is crazy. The second asked us to join other neighbors, whom the RAB was also harassing, in a complaint to the RAB’s landlord. We gladly joined, which, of course, proved futile. Unable to get the RAB to move, both neighbors eventually moved instead.

At holiday time, the RAB hangs a neon sign in an upstairs window. “Joy,” it says.

CHRISTIANITY TEACHES that whatever God commands is right and moral, because God would not command anything that wasn’t right or moral. It’s circular reasoning on stilts. It places Christians in a position of finding ways to defend immoral acts like drowning everyone save a single family or mass slaughtering firstborns in Egypt. 

No matter if you don’t understand or, worse, don’t like what God commands. You’re playing in God’s ball game. If you don’t knuckle under, you’re in for unimaginable punishment. It’s authoritarianism on stilts, but what can you do?

So it’s little wonder that so many Christians* respond positively to Trump. When he claims to be unerringly right and threatens to punish all who resist or question him, many Christians find themselves in familiar, comfortable territory.
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* Yeah, I know, not all. No need to @ me.

Problem 1:

In theory, a business succeeds by pleasing enough customers to turn a profit. But a publicly traded company is first beholden to shareholders.

Remember when Target stores in the American South bowed to pressure and moved their Pride products to the back of the store? I don’t know how management felt about equity, but I do know that a boycott could have cost them their jobs and exposed them to civil actions — even if the stores survived and profited.

This was driven home to me early in my career. I worked for a company whose whose most profitable clients marketed products that, though legal, harmed people. I argued to our executives (who missed no opportunity to boast of their morality) that the more responsible course would be to decline such. An experienced Board member objected. “If you decline those clients,” he said, “I’ll resign from this Board. Shareholders could sue us for excluding most–profitable customers.”

Concepts like “right” and “wrong” have no place in a company whose shareholders care only about maximizing profits.

Problem 2:

Having shareholders places stress upon a company to report positive quarterly earnings. Thus a fear of showing low earnings or even a loss in the short term can prevent management from investing in long–term profitability and growth strategies. Thus the pressure for positive quarterly returns works against the company and, ultimately, against the very shareholders management seeks to please.

Problem 3:

Then there’s the whole private equity thing. Ideally, you’d think people would acquire a business for its profit and growth potential. But there are firms whose business model is to acquire a company’s shares and then make money by driving it into the ground, ultimately bankrupting it.

Unbridled capitalism is an amoral system.

I HAVE LONG been loath to say anything akin to “if you support Trump you’re a bad person.” It seems so arbitrary.

But it only seems arbitrary. 

To support Trump it is to support one horrid position after another. Positions that no good person would support.

This is not to say that you have no redeeming qualities. Maybe you’re nice to kittens. Maybe you’re good at your job. Maybe you’re a skillful chef. Maybe you’re a good raconteur. These are all things I can like about you. These are things that let me remain friends, or at least friendly, with Trump supporters of my acquaintance.

But you cannot at once support Trump and be a good person. 

It really is that simple.

For a quick overview of Trump’s horrid positions, please read this brief piece by John Pavlovitz.