Years ago I would walk down to the client’s cafeteria to grab a bite to eat with the people I worked for. It was a good way to listen and connect beyond business. You hear a lot of things when you do this. And you meet many of the people you normally don’t come into contact with during the course of business.
The tables in the cafeteria were long-style connected– the kind you used to see in high schools. You could have 20 people sitting on one side, and 20 on the others.
The client had just hired a new CFO. I had met him when I was summoned into a meeting with the IRS over the loyalty program we were running for the client. I cleared up the situation when I told the agent that we handled all the 1099s that participants in the program when we gave out the cash rewards, and that we notified his office. The agent was pleased, and the CFO nodded with satisfaction.
That day, I was sitting across from the president of the company. We were discussing a few topics when suddenly he stood up and yelled to the CFO who was sitting way at the end of the tables.
The new CFO looked up when he heard his name and the president started pointing at me yelling, “This is the guy I was telling you about…the guy who also owns a Bentley like you.”
The new CFO looked impressed and nodded, and then went back to eating his lunch after recognizing me from the IRS meeting. The president sat back down and we continued our lunch. He smiled because he knew I didn’t own a Bentley, which at that time, all I knew was that it was a car. In situations like that – where you don’t know what people are talking about – you have choices: you can ask the person what he meant by the comment, or just smile back and wait to figure it out later. I took the latter option this time.
When I got in my Nissan Maxima with 140,000 miles on it to go back to my office, I immediately called Tom Fitzpatrick, my friend who worked with me as a consultant. I told him the story and asked, “What’s a Bentley?”
Without hesitation he replied, “About $250,000.”
I swallowed.
A few weeks later, the new CFO cornered me and asked, “Do you have an expense account?”
When CFOs ask that question there is always a motive. Here, as in all situations, you have choices. I always side with honesty, and replied with a question of my own, “Doesn’t everyone?”
“Take me to lunch,” he said with authority.
“Sure,” I replied. “When?”
“Now,” he said. ”I’ll drive.”
At last I would see what a Bentley was. But when we went to the parking lot, it was an Audi. I hid my disappointment, but had to ask: “Where’s the Bentley?” He said, “I don’t take that to work. I love it too much.”
We became friends after that lunch for a long time.
Eventually, I saw the Bentley. It was at another lunch at the CFO’s club. We walked to the parking lot where it sat there in its Bentley splendor.
I remember he walked up to it, and stroked the front of the hood softly as he approached the door, saying with deep affection in a slightly shaking voice, “I love this car.”
I nodded. “I can see you do,” I said.
Then he opened the driver’s door, sat down with his feet outside the door on the parking lot’s floor without closing the door. He looked at me, then looked away and started to weep. Tears appeared and ran down his face.
“What’s wrong,” I asked stepping closer.
He sobbed and told me about the trouble he was having understanding his teenage son. It was one of those rare moments when two people share a deep, personal experience together that’s spontaneous. One does the talking, the other does the listening. If you’ve experienced such a moment, you understand it is one of the things that makes humans, human. No other animals behave like this.
When he finished, he stood up, dried his eyes and thanked me for listening. We hugged. He got in the Bentley, smiled, thanked me again, and drove away.
I don’t know how these moments happen. Or why he waited until he sat in his Bentley for it to happen.
But I never forgot that moment, and that a Bentley is really a confessional, not just a car.