But I LIVE like Everything's a Negotiation!?

by Barbara Poelle

So fall is seriously here- wet leaves plastering themselves on the pavement and cold misty rain that refuses to let a simple umbrella stand in its way.  Not like we had any kind of summer, really. When it wasn’t raining it was armpitting, and when it wasn’t armpitting we were breaking ribs, so summer kind of turned Husband and I into agoraphobics.

Last week I was feeling a bit of the boozy blues, (you know the kind I mean, like it is either devour a pound of brie or smash up a Pottery Barn) but then Husband made a casual comment that changed all of that:

Did you hear about those Great Whites off the coast of Martha’s Vineyard?

Um, no. No I did not. And I would love to stay and chat but sorry, I must grab my goggles and head to, ahhh, the, umm, grocery store. Yes, that’s it. I am going to the grocery store.

Unfortunately Husband hasn’t just fallen off of the turnip truck so he sighed and said a sentence that probably has not been said in any other marriage unless your last name is Cousteau. “Please don’t try and get in the water with those sharks this weekend.”

Now, you may notice the head tilt and the slight pulsing of the nostrils, testing the air here, because Agent Barbara scents a negotiation coming.

Yesss.  

In my top ten favorite things in life, negotiating lies between bees and Jerry Bruckheimer movies. Unfortunately, as I opened my mouth to list the seven precipitating facts and the supporting empathetic historical data from our marriage, I made a rookie mistake. See if you can spot it:

“But...come ON! They are RIGHT THERE! I mean, have you seen the footage? They are just chillaxin’ right off of the coastline!  They are BEGGING for a snout pet! You can see it! At least let me wade a little, you know, dip a toe in. I mean, who could find a problem with dipping a toe in? Pleeease!!!!“

Did you catch it? Many of you may assume it was the use of the word “chillaxin” and although close, not the kicker. The kicker? I got emotional.

Folks, that’s a loss right there, and everyone knows it. Rather than prepare a comprehensive argument involving a combination of fact and feeling in order to play on both the strengths of the negotiator as well as the weakness of the opponent, I dissolved into a weepy toddler begging mummy for another lolly before bedtime.

Here’s the thing about negotiating, in agenting AND in snout petting, which I so readily honor in my work life, but overlooked in my quest for denticle snuggles: It’s about the “W”. The win. The victory. And victory doesn’t happen in a vacuum. You have to have a plan. You don’t just go in there all willy nilly yelling about what you want, that is just sloppy and unseedly. (Okay, I got the word “unseedly” when I was ordering something on line and it made me type in the letters I saw in the security box and the letters spelled “unseedly”. Isn’t that a great word? I am going to define it as to embody the quality of banality or baseness. Feel free to use it as often as possible today.)  In business negotiations, you must have a multifaceted approach and understanding about what is at stake. You don’t just say, “So Hubs, can I tie a pig’s head around my neck and hop into the drink with the sharks?” You have to have a plan.

BUT, I let my emotions get the best of me and lost the shot at the title. Oh sure, I Monday Morning QB’d and followed through with the “find another route” because I indeed had a second on deck in a dim attempt to at least double bogey. (Combining two sports in one analogy is a bit unseedly, but I am sulking.)  Polly Soot was surprisingly amenable towards the idea, and in fact offered to throw some fish guts around me as I splashed merrily along. Furthermore, I thought it was exceptionally nice of her to offer to hold my client contact sheet and copies of their latest contracts while I went in. That’s a good friend. But unfortunately, there is one Poelle Polly Soot likes more than me, so clearly Husband had somehow communicated to her that he found the idea of his wife sprinting down the sand towards five dorsals riding 13 inches above the water line to be not in his best interest.

Sigh.

So, no Eskimo kisses with the ampullae of Lorenzini for me last weekend. But this just means the next deal that crosses my desk is getting the double barrels, because I need my “W”. In the meantime, I am grabbing a baseball bat and a wheel of brie and heading to Pottery Barn. Who’s with me?

 

(PS:  at “chillaxin” my spellcheck stuttered indignantly, by “denticles”, it was cursing under its breath, at “unseedly” it threw its pencil down and when we hit “ampullae of Lorenzini” it flipped me the bird and walked out.)  

Comments

[Wendy Prior]

I'm not completely sure, but I think my dog has denticles. He does this whole weird doggy smile thing sometimes when you tickle him but I'm not sure that's quite what you're getting at.

[Barbara Poelle]

Wendy I just did a spit take when I read that, and now I cannot stop laughing. Um, I do not think that means what you think it means.

[Wendy Prior]

I was afraid of that. He may well not have denticles, he's been fixed after all :D