Career Geography, Part 5 (It is finished, y'all)

             In June 2011, I cruised into the Bay Area ready to take on an interesting new job.  My time conducting reviews of Prosthetic Services across the country had given me an idea of how to create “perfect” Prosthetic Service should I ever return to a facility to work.  Additionally, I was looking for what my next step would be as I had surpassed my 5-year and 10 -year plans as well as my ultimate career goals and truthfully did not know what direction I was headed.  I felt like I wanted to return to a facility where I could make meaningful change, but I wasn’t entirely convinced that I hadn’t romanticized working in the field as I had been removed from that environment for at least five years. 

                In 2008 when I was still in New England, I had applied for the Executive Career Field Candidate Development Program (ECFCDP) to train to become an executive in a medical facility, I wasn’t selected, and I was not happy about it.  I couldn’t understand what had happened as I had been on a roll, getting selected for programs and positions each time I applied.  My very wise friend, Marion Felix-Jenkins, told me to stop pouting about it and ask for feedback.  When I countered that I was not pouting, she reminded me that she was the mother of three teenagers and, therefore, familiar with what pouting looked like and literally pushed me out the door of her office, telling me to call the chair of the interview panel, who was the Director of the Boston VA, just down the road.

                I called him and he as kind enough to agree to give me feedback.  His first question was, “Dustin, why do you want to be an Associate Director?”  My seasoned reply was, “Um…what do you mean?”  He repeated, “Why do you want to be an Associate Director?”  It slowly dawned on me that I had no answer.  He said, “Is it because it’s the next level and it’s what you think you’re supposed to do?”  I replied, “Well…uh…”  He smiled and said, “That’s what we thought.  Listen, you’re very bright, your resume is impressive, you interviewed very well, you are an exceptional candidate.  We just didn’t feel as if you knew why you were there other than that’s where you thought you were supposed to be.”

                It was hard to hear, and I pushed back a little, saying, “What’s wrong with taking the next step?”  He smiled again and said, “Listen, Dustin, you’re how old?  38? And you’re already a GS-14 and working in a VISN-level position.  Let’s say we sent you forward and you were selected and then appointed to be an Associate Director before you’re 40, what then?  You’ll have at least 20 years before you can retire.  There are only a few levels after this.  What’s your hurry?  Why don’t you enjoy where you are?  You should focus on becoming so proficient in your job that the next level will present itself in due time.  What are you trying to prove?”  Well, he had me pegged six ways to Sunday and I thanked him for his honesty.  I took his advice.  After working with Associate Directors through the review program we created, I felt like I needed to return to a facility to have an impact.  Palo Alto is where I decided to put my plan into action.

                When I got to Palo Alto, I knew they had issues in their Prosthetic Service, with delayed orders (orders that were more than five days old) and orders trapped in a pending status sometimes for months on end.  On my first day, we ran the report and they had about 400 delayed orders and 1800 pending orders (some of which had been in pending status for 18 months).  I started with talking to each of my staff, asking them what they expected from me, telling them what I expected from them and assuring them we could create a program where not only were there no delayed orders but where most orders could be fulfilled within 24 hours.  They looked at me like I was crazy, but it was a look I had gotten used to seeing, so we just boogied on. 

                I won’t bore you with the details of the procurement process but within 30 days we had no delayed orders and within 6 months we had cleared up all the pending orders as well, while at the same time receiving around 350 new orders every day.  And we did this with the exact same staff that was there when I got there, minus my deputy chief who retired after only three days with me when I shared my expectations for someone in his position.  By the end of the first year, we had gone from one of the worst programs in the country to being selected as the 2012 Prosthetic and Sensory Aids Service of the Year for the entire nation! Can I tell you we celebrated?  I don’t think I have ever been prouder of myself or other people.

                Once my service was ‘fixed’ and running well, I asked for the opportunity to get experience as Acting Associate or Deputy Director.  I was granted the opportunity on a regular basis and I really enjoyed the operational aspects of the job and the ability to have an influence across many services as opposed to just my own.  In January 2013, I was offered the opportunity to serve a detail as Acting Associate Director for almost 3 months.  The Deputy Director had left to become Director at another facility and the Associate Director became the Deputy Director.  During this time, I turned over the running of my service to my Deputy and functioned as an executive, overseeing a number of different services and programs.  I really thrived in that work and by the end of my detail, I knew I wanted to move into an executive position. 

I applied for the job and made it to the Top Three, but ultimately did not get selected.  When the Director brought me in to let me know I hadn’t been selected, I asked for feedback on what I needed to work on to be the successful candidate should I apply for other positions.  She gave me great feedback, but I initially had a little case of ‘sour grapes’ thinking, "Who is this yahoo that stole my job?"  Admittedly it wasn’t a mature line of thinking, but it’s what I thought in my deepest heart.

Of course, when I eventually met the man who was selected (Walt Dannenberg) and who would ultimately be my new boss, I understood why I wasn’t selected; he had a skill set that I did not.  I literally went to the Director after the first month and said, “I totally understand why you chose him.  I would have done the very same thing.”  I am able to admit when I am bested and over the next year I learned much under his mentorship.  Fortunately, I was still asked to act whenever I was needed, and I felt good to have his trust.

I didn’t apply for any further executive positions, unsure of what to do about moving forward.  It had thrown me for a loop and The Dad’s second-guessing my abilities (due to not getting the job) wasn’t helping me stay in a positive head-space.  I kept working with my service and was selected for a national leadership program called the Excellence in Government Fellowship, a multi-agency program sponsored through the Partnership for Public Service.  I gained many new insights into my leadership style as well as how to continue to grow as a leader.  I felt re-invigorated by this program and the changes I was seeing in myself and I started applying for positions again in the spring of 2014. 

I had decided to be very pragmatic about the job search and to not apply for positions in a location where I didn’t think I would be happy living.  I wasn’t going to apply for every position in the system.  I knew as a gay man, who hoped to one day marry, that I needed to steer clear of the South and parts of the Midwest.  As someone who had experienced enough snow to last a lifetime, I also avoided New England, the northern parts of the Midwest and whatever it is we call Colorado/Wyoming/Utah.  That didn’t leave too many locations, but there were enough opportunities that I was able to apply for several positions (Nashville, San Diego) but came in second to the Executive Assistant to the Director at both locations.

However, this time, I reached out to the Director in San Diego and asked if he would mind giving me feedback.  I had asked my Director in Palo Alto for feedback, but only because I knew her.  I didn’t think it was something that could be asked of a Director who didn’t know me outside of the interview process.  Fortunately, Jeff Gehring (the Director) agreed and offered some excellent and unique advice, the most important being “Make sure you interview your interviewers at the same time they are interviewing you.  You aren’t there with your hand out begging for a job, you are there to see if the fit is the right one.  Sometimes it comes down to fit.  Do you want to work with this team and do they want to work for you?”  He explained that I wasn’t the right fit for San Diego, but I was talented, and he knew I would eventually find the right team.

When Long Beach was advertised, I thought it would be a great opportunity.  I hadn’t planned on moving to Southern California, but it just felt like the right fit after I researched the facility.  I remembered his advice to interview them.  I remembered the advice I had gotten on several occasions (keep your answers short) and was very efficient with my words.  I also, cut myself some slack and when I blanked on an answer in my interview, I didn’t panic and was honest and said, “My mind just went blank.  Will you let me start that answer again?” and then I nailed it. 

When I drove out of the parking lot of the facility, I noticed they were building a Dunkin’ Donuts almost across the street from the Long Beach VA, the first official DD in California.  I took it as a sign.  And I was right.  All my preparation and training and guidance from mentors was put to effective use and I was offered the job as Assistant Director of the Long Beach VA, a healthcare system with 3,000 employees, five campuses and a $600 million budget.  It was almost too much to process.  My redneck self was about to become an executive with the VA, only 16 years into my career, having far surpassed my wildest career goals and dreams from when I was a temporary summer intern.

Like the Beverly Hillbillies I moved to (just south of) Beverly Hills, on the edge of Orange County, in the shadow of Disney and about six inches from the Pacific Ocean. 

Career Geography, Part 4 (Almost Done, I Swear)

One of the things I’ve been most proud of working for the VA (Department of Veterans Affairs) is that our veterans have access to the most cutting-edge technology in the world.  There are many partnerships with research entities like DARPA and Rory Cooper and his cadre of geniuses at Brown University.  Oftentimes when the most advanced technology is released to the public, Prosthetics in the VA is the only customer as Medicare and private insurance companies are slow to respond.  If it’s approved by the FDA, the VA will provide it for veterans. A perfect example is the iBot, the wheelchair that climbs stairs. 

DEKA is a research and development founded by Dean Kamen, who invented the Segway, while trying to create the technology for this wheelchair that would raise the user to eye-level as well as help them maneuver up a flight of stairs.  It became available on the market in 2005 at a cost of $25,000.  The VA was the main customer as Medicare only covered 20% of the cost.  I refer to DEKA as a brain hive in New Hampshire.  The people working there are so smart you can hear a faint buzzing sound whenever you are in their midst.  You may know them as the people who created the gleaming silver skeleton of the bad guy in Terminator 2.

I know all this as I visited their main office when they were demonstrating their latest artificial arm technology.  My boss in DC, Fred Downs, is an arm amputee.  Even though there had been many developments in technology for artificial limbs, it was mostly with legs as arm amputees (especially from the Vietnam era) were less frequent, as most of the time a battlefield explosion that would take someone’s arm would also kill them.  As the body armor technology advanced, more and more arm amputees survived their injuries and the technology needed to catch up to that of legs.

DEKA was doing phenomenal things and had created an artificial arm that could be raised above shoulder level, a task previously unachievable.  It could also allow the user to grasp a bottle or can (without crushing it) and bring it to their lips to drink, another task we take for granted that was previously unavailable to the target audience. As Mr. Downs is a very well-known gentleman-about-DC, serving as the National Director of Prosthetics for the VA for more than 20 years and having written several novels and appeared both before Congress and in many movies and TV shows, Mr. Kamen asked him to demonstrate their latest achievement on an episode of 60 Minutes to be filmed at their offices less than 30 minutes from my office at the VA.  How could I not attend?

During my time in New England, a new Deputy had been hired in the Prosthetics office where I used to work; Dr. Billie Jane Randolph.  She had been one of the important people who had seen my presentation about success we had been experiencing in our region.  She asked if I would meet them in New Hampshire, so we could talk about possibly creating a program based on my work.  We converged on the DEKA offices and were immediately told by the 60 Minutes producer that as we had not been cleared to appear on camera, we had to ensure that we avoided being filmed.  After 15 minutes of dodging a very busy cameraman, we decided to withdraw to the employee kitchen to eat and get to know each other. 

Just like Jackie, I was immediately enthralled as BJ and I clicked.  She was from the boonies of Kentucky but had risen through the ranks of the Army and serving as George W Bush’s physical therapist in the White House.  Armed with a PhD in Education, she was a force of nature, so when she asked me to come to DC to create an education-based review and audit program I was unable to say no.    So, in February 2009, I temporarily returned to my old job for what was to be a 90-day detail. 

Once there, I jumped in with both feet, creating an auditing tool, selecting and training team members from across the agency and planning weekly visits to all 153 VA hospitals over the course of three years.  We had ranked each facility’s Prosthetic Service based on our national metrics and started with the lower performers as they needed the most assistance.  Unlike other federal audits, ours was education based, meaning if we found a deficiency, we would immediately halt the audit and have a training session with all staff, followed by a meeting with the leadership to show them how we had found the deficiencies and how to proactively address them in the future. 

As the end of the 90 days neared, I was asked to extend another 30 days to lead the first two audits as a demonstration of how they should be accomplished; Tuscaloosa, Alabama and Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania were selected, and the training commenced.  Over the next two years, my detail was extended in 30-day increments while our teams conducted audits at facilities, ranging from Alaska to Puerto Rico, Hawaii to Maryland and many states in between.  The plan was to complete an audit at every location, but after we had completed our 53^rd trip, we were asked to take a step back, review our findings and develop a national conference, sharing what we had learned, both areas of consistent concern as well as Best Practices.  We used this conference in Boston to highlight some of the best performing sites we had found, including San Diego and Fresno, California as well as Boise, Idaho. 

One of the locations I had personally audited was Palo Alto, California, one of the largest and most complex VAs in the country.  It was one of five Polytrauma Level One sites, which was the first stop in the VA for any veteran discharged with a significant injury such as spinal cord injuries, amputations, traumatic brain injuries and visual impairments.  The five were in disparate parts of the country to ensure proper triaging before being sent to their home facility.  Due to this designation and the integral piece Prosthetics plays in returning veterans to as close to normal function as is possible in their homes, these facilities (Richmond, Virginia; Tampa, Florida; Minneapolis, Minnesota; San Antonio, Texas; and Palo Alto) should have a stellar Prosthetic Service.                While there is no such thing as a perfect program, there were significant issues in Palo Alto and after my report was shared with facility leadership, I promised I would find them the right leader to take them to the level where they should be.  I tried to find the person with the right mix of subject matter expertise and leadership skills.  I reached out to those I felt would be successful, but most were unwilling to move for family or career reasons.  I couldn’t fault them for that.  I realized I knew of only one person who was both the perfect fit and a gypsy at heart; me.  I asked me if I was interested and, lo and behold, I was.  

             
               In June 2011, I packed up my life and drove across our great land, almost literally from sea to shining sea with my best friend Christopher and a 2006 Dodge Charger crammed to capacity with clothes, books and other belongings I didn’t trust the movers to deliver unscathed.

If you had told me, even six months before, that I would be living in California at any point in my future, I would have thought you were crazy, yet here I was.  Welcome to Silicon Valley, home to 15-year-old millionaire tech nerds, weirdly aggressive hippies, astonishingly over-priced tract homes and the trust fund babies of Stanford, the only university I know of with Louis Vuitton and Tiffany’s retail stores on its campus.  How would I fit in? 

Career Geography, Part 3

Once I made it to DC, I entered a world that was part old school boy’s club government and part cutting-edge government.  It was an interesting time.  My boss told me he wanted me to get married, buy a house and start a family, so I wouldn’t be tempted to leave.  He really did want me for the long haul. It made me feel secure, but I also made a joke about not realizing I was supposed to get married already and I apologized for the delay and promised to “get right on that”.  I was used to being in the closet and had no problem simply pretending that I was either too fat or too ugly to find a girlfriend.  It’s what you do, when you are of a particular persuasion.

My first task was to train my co-worker Neal in all things Prosthetics.  We spent the first month or so, in side-by-side cubicles (waiting for our offices to be remodeled) while I regaled him with my abundant knowledge.  Not really.  We did become fast friends, bonding over fried foods and Star Wars. At one point I sarcastically referred to him as ‘Junior’, since he was eight years younger than me.  He responded by calling me ‘Scooter’, for reasons known only to him.  I laughed, but when he introduced me to his girlfriend, Jenn, as Scooter, it became my official east coast nickname.  In DC, as well as Central TX and Central PA, I was (and still am) called Scooter.  So much so, that at their wedding in Savannah, GA in 2011, Jenn’s mother (the incomparable Toni Montgomery Grupp) heard someone call me by my name and asked me, “Who’s Dustin?”

I was suddenly thrust into a position where I was making presentations to large groups of people across the country as well as working directly with people who had been in the VA longer than I had been alive.  The speeches caused me no concern; however, I struggled with the one-on-one interactions with people who didn’t think I had “paid (my) dues”.  A talent for self-deprecating humor, while not necessarily great for my confidence level, gave me an edge over my fellow youth with these Baby Boomer, especially when it was coupled with my middle-aged body shape. 

During this time, I was diagnosed with sarcoidosis, the lung condition that had led to my mother’s death in 2000.  In my initial shock, I never questioned my doctor’s prescription of 60 mg of Prednisone (a steroid) per day.  It caused my physical state to crumble at an astonishing rate.  I began to gain weight almost daily.  The weight gain exacerbated my already painful arthritis.  I had flashes of heat (like I was experiencing menopause) and of anger.  My best friend, Christopher, was my roommate and de facto nurse, having changed his mind about a career as a chef in France, opting to move to DC instead of returning to Mississippi.  I also became diabetic but as my doctor had tested me before the steroids (and I was not diabetic), he didn’t treat it as he assured me it wasn’t diabetes causing my symptoms.  When I finally visited the emergency room after a particularly brutal day, they tested my blood sugar and it was 600.  To give you a frame of reference, Patti LaBelle went into a coma when her blood sugar was 500. 

I quickly switched doctors and he began to slowly wean me off the steroids, but he told me I needed to move somewhere with better air quality; less pollution.  He repeatedly told me, “DC is a tidal basin, swirling with pollution, Dustin, you’ve got to move.”  I mean, what do you do with this information?  I couldn’t just tell my boss, “Thanks for the life-changing opportunity.  Remember when you said you didn’t want us to be tempted to leave?  Well, I’ve got this doctor’s note…” 

But, you do what you have to do and when I explained to Mr. Downs the situation, he was very supportive and told me there was an available position in VISN 1, in New England.  VISNs, you remember from the last post, are like regions.  VISN 1 comprised eight medical centers in six New England states; the main office being housed on the campus of the Bedford, Massachusetts VA, about 25 miles north of Boston.  So, I traveled to Bedford, interviewed and was selected for the position of VISN Prosthetics Manager.  In between the five hour-long interviews required for the position, over the course of one day, I chatted (and bonded) with Marion Felix-Jenkins, who would become a very close friend.  Several people told me I should live in Nashua, New Hampshire, because they had no state tax and no sales tax. 

Nashua is called the “Gateway to NH” because it literally sits on the border, at Exit 1.  It is so close to Massachusetts that the southern-most section of the parking lot of Nashua’s Pheasant Lane Mall is actually in Massachusetts.  My commute would be about 15 miles each way, which took about 20 minutes, if you left early enough.  Much, much better than DC traffic to be sure, but as it was January in New England, there was snow; lots and lots of snow.  So much snow that a little over a month after we arrived, Valentine’s Day weekend, there was a blizzard. 

No one seemed to be bothered by what I considered to be very heavy snowfall.  I guess it was the trauma from the Lake Effect Snow in Cleveland, but when my car was almost covered by noon, I said, “I’m from Mississippi and this snow is crazy and I’m going home!”  The commute that normally took 20-30 minutes, took 3 hours that day, including the 10 minutes or so it took to loosen my fingers from the death-grip I had on the steering wheel as I was determined to avoid the ditch like so many others I saw. 

One of the things I have learned in my career is that if you want to find out how to improve things, ask the people who are doing the work.  So, I made a quick tour of the eight facilities, meeting my new staff and asking what they needed from me, what plans they had to improve their metrics (I had researched their data and knew there were significant challenges) and where they saw themselves in the next five years.  I listened and learned and let them try their ideas.  Most weren’t successful.  I had some ideas myself and introduced them at a joint meeting.  Not everyone liked my ideas, so I made them a deal.  I would give them one month to make improvements in their metrics using their ideas and if there wasn’t any improvement, they would agree to try my ideas for one month.

When only on facility showed any improvements, we implemented my ideas which I based on the reviews I had made at all facilities within my first month.  I put together a program that focused on standardizing work processes, redesigning their compliance systems and focusing on face-to-face training for the staff) and had immediate improvements.  We went from one of the worst performing VISNs to one of the best in a span of three months.  We even had one facility (Togus, Maine) that was selected as Prosthetics Service of the Year for the entire VA nationwide. 

These results caught the attention of my VISN’s leadership who selected my program as a Best Practice.  They submitted my ideas and results to Central Office and I made a presentation to a whole lot of important people via teleconference, including the Deputy Under Secretary for Health for Operations and Management, who named me a Best of the Best Practices for VA.  I then made another presentation to even more important people in DC.  While I was succeeding in my career, my health was continuing to spiral.  I was trying to manage my diabetes, but my weight had ballooned to 400 pounds and I developed neuropathy.  I also developed sleep apnea.  I was physically exhausted many days and would nod off each time I stopped at a red light when I was driving.  This was not going to end well.

Fortunately, a taping of 60 Minutes in the offices of the guys who accidentally invented the Segway, would change my life in unforeseen ways.

Career Geography, Part 2

              I landed in Anchorage, Alaska, on November 2, 2002, to start my new job.  I remember the exact date as the very next afternoon, while I was enjoying a potluck lunch at my new church (Hillside Baptist, which was recommended by Ms. Natalie Atkins, from my church in Biloxi), the ground began to shake.  No one seemed concerned and I wondered for a minute if I was imagining it.  I turned to my new friend, Lori Rucksdashel and asked, “Is it just me or is the earth moving?”  She grinned and said, “Oh, it’s just an earthquake.  No big deal.”  Since no one was freaking out, I decided to remain calm as well and tucked back into my delicious meal.  I had always been taught, ‘when in doubt, eat’.  I don’t know if that’s biblical, but I can assure you, it’s spiritual, y’all.

                I had been selected as the Chief of Prosthetics for the Alaska VA Healthcare System, which was a giant clinic, not a hospital.  I had a grand total of two employees, but it was an awesome opportunity and I was excited.  I spent a few days acclimating to the facility and my employees and then got straight to work revamping the program, ensuring we met all our metrics, provided great customer service, all while being a collaborator with my staff.  I was determined to be universally loved in Alaska, or at least tolerated and/or respected by Tanya and Rocky, my staff.

                Alaska offered some interesting work scenarios I was not prepared for, like paying to barge a year’s worth of oxygen bottles to a veteran who lived in the Aleutians, a 1,200-mile chain of islands and home to the ironically named city of Unalaska.  I was also presented an invoice that I initially thought was a prank as it involved delivery by airplane and dog sled.  It was real; something I didn’t discover until after I shredded the bill.  Mea culpa, little Alaskan delivery company.

                Alaska was interesting, awesome and a little surreal.  Being in Anchorage, it felt like any other large city.  It had two malls, the downtown one included a Nordstrom, Hot Dog on a Stick and a JC Penney where I sold jewelry as a part-time job for about three months, just to see if I liked it.  I didn’t.  You only realized you were somewhere different if, when you were outside, you paid attention to the Chugach Mountains embracing the city on three sides, like an Inuit trying to hug you.  Do NOT call them Eskimos. 

                Anchorage had most every convenience, but once you left the city limits of Anchorage, you were in the wilderness, y’all.  And I mean wilderness, like caribou bounding across the road and once, on a weekend trip to Valdez to go camping, literally stopping our car on the highway, getting out and having a picnic on the roof and hood of the car without encountering any traffic for at least an hour.  You could start to feel that you’re the only people left in the world.  It’s like West Texas or the Utah Salt Flats, except pretty. 

                One of the things you experience being so far north is the really long days in the summer and long nights in the winter.  The Arctic Circle cuts the state in half, but Anchorage is far enough south that even on the day of the Summer Solstice (June 21), you don’t actually get 24 hours of sunshine; it’s more like 21.  The winters with the sun coming up around 10:30 am and going down around 2:00 pm, I could deal with.  The summers, with the sun coming up around 3:00 am and not going down until after midnight, wore me out.  Even though I had blackout shades on the windows in my basement apartment, your body knows when the sun is up, and it wants you to go outside.  By August, I knew I couldn’t remain in Alaska long term.  I needed sleep, y’all.  And God had a plan for me to leave a place of beautiful white snow to experience the exact opposite; ugly brown snow. 

                Drew Carey lied to us.  Cleveland does, in fact, NOT rock.  I wasn’t aware of this when Jackie Collins (again, not the author) called me to ask if I wanted to come help her fix another Prosthetic department.  After I had left Alaska, she had been promoted to a VISN (Veteran Integrated Service Network) Manager’s position, somewhat like a Regional Manager for VISN 10, which was the entire state of Ohio (including the tiny bits of Pennsylvania and West Virginia that bordered), except Toledo, for some strange reason.  She had been asked to find someone to be the Chief in Cleveland, a GS-12/13 position with about 24 employees and a $27 million budget.  The previous Chief had been removed from the position and the service was in a bad state.  I was called by the Associate Director, who said, “I’ve been told you can fix this.  Will you come help us?”  “Yes, ma’am!”  And so, I left Alaska, headed to Ohio on November 2, 2003, exactly one year after I had arrived. 

                  When I got to Cleveland, I found a lively city with great shopping, great food, irritated citizens and angry brown snow on the banks of Lake Erie.  It literally snowed every day from Halloween until Easter.  I had never heard the term ‘Lake Effect Snow’ until I moved to metropolitan Cleveland, finding an apartment downtown in the theatre district.  Yes, they have a theatre district, with nine different places showing all sorts of things.  It’s where I saw ‘Mama Mia’ for the first time. 

I ventured outside of Cleveland proper to the suburbs of Parma Heights to find my Baptist home church; the properly, if unimaginatively, named Parma Heights Baptist Church.  Southern Baptists are nothing if not pragmatic.

                During my time there, I was able to fix the service, helping it become a top performer and even traveled to other VA’s in Ohio and helped them improve, whether they wanted to or not.  I know for certain the Chiefs in Dayton and Cincinnati, who were much older than me and had been in Prosthetics longer than me, did not appreciate this young upstart telling them how to run their service.  In my mind, I was simply helping; however, as I came to discover, not everyone finds me as charming as I find myself.  But I was asked to fix things, and I did.  Being a collaborator wasn’t really high on my list and Emotional Intelligence was something I didn’t know existed, much less that mine wasn’t very high.

                Luckily, Linda Smith, the Associate Director in Cleveland, took an interest in me and said, “I love that you tell the truth no matter what.  I do think you need to learn how to do that more effectively.”  When I expressed that I wasn’t sure what she meant, she said something along the same lines I had heard before; a variation on Jackie’s original thesis statement, “You’re kind of an ass, Dustin Terryll”.  With these two Mamas looking out for my future, I really focused on being a more collaborative leader.  I tried partnering with those whom I was helping, so they could see I just wanted to make things better; that it wasn’t about my ego.  I didn’t have one, although you couldn’t have convinced them of that.  I feel fairly certain, they felt the ego was strong with me; like a Jedi and The Force.

                During my time in Cleveland, Jackie also urged me to apply for a position in Central Office; what VA staff call our headquarters in DC.  I had only been a Chief for two years at this point and did not feel I was ready to move into one of those high-level positions.  Jackie was adamant that I was what they needed.  She assured me I would be a breath of fresh air, someone who had great writing skills, a good understanding of Prosthetics and the ability to speak my mind.  I truly felt she was off the mark; that her fondness for me was making her see me through the rose-colored glasses that John Conlee sang about.  I finally agreed to apply for a position as a Program Analyst which was a GS-13/14 position, just to get her to stop bugging me.  I figured, at the worst, it would be good practice seeing how well they responded to my resume and, in the off-chance I got an interview, how well I did when competing with everyone among the 300,000 VA employees nationwide.  Yes, I felt literally everyone was competing for this position.  You can take the boy out of the boonies…

                To my surprise I got an interview.  To my even bigger surprise, they wanted me to come to DC for a face-to-face final interview.  Then to my utter shock and disbelief, the man who would become my new boss (Fred Downs, who at this point had been nationally known for at least 20 years) called and said, “Do you want to come work for me?”  Of course, I said yes.  I’m sure I shouted it.  Jackie just smiled and say, “See, I told you.  You’re perfect for the job.”  I had no idea if she was right, but I was determined to not disappoint her or Mr. Downs or my family or the troops or America.

                So, in March of 2004, less than two years after I left Alaska, I was being called home by the mothership.  I was headed to Washington, DC to help shape the Prosthetic and Sensory Aids program at the national level.  I felt a little like Jethro from The Beverly Hillbillies, but without the rope belt or need to cipher out loud.  Little old country bumpkin me was about to be amongst the movers and shakers in the seat of power in America.  The VA’s headquarters is on the corner of Vermont and I (Eye) Street, directly across the park from The White House.  My office was about four blocks away on the corner of I (Eye) and 17^th Streets, not quite the seat of power, but close enough to watch from our office window when the fighter jets confronted the guy who said he got confused and off-course and flew his private plane over The White House in 2005.

                The first day at work I was excited and nervous to meet my colleagues.  Neal Eckrich, a native Texan, who had also traveled to a desolate wintry landscape for his first promotion (Pittsburgh, PA), started the same day as me with the same facial hair (a modified Van Dyke, popular at the time, which most everyone mislabels as a goatee).  One Day Two we both came in clean-shaven.  At 34, I was used to being one of the youngest people in any office where I worked.  Mr. Downs was putting together a remarkably young team, with his vision for program continuity and I suddenly became the oldest of the three Analysts, the other gentleman (Robert) being 33. 

While our team was relatively young, most of the Chiefs and VISN Managers across the country were at least 20 years older.  We were tasked with reviewing their programs and advising them on what and how to improve.  It’s one thing to be able to establish a relationship that over time turns to trust; it’s quite another not have the opportunity to establish a relationship of any depth to make the interactions pleasant or at least devoid of angst or stress.  I was hoping my personality had become infused with all the advice and leadership lessons from My Mamas, like sugar infuses (properly) sweet tea.

I remember the first time I used Splenda to sweeten my tea.  It was unfamiliar and unusual, but I enjoyed it just the same and actually found it preferable to Sweet ‘n’ Low.  I simply wanted to repeat this scenario but with strangers over the phone.  That sounds like a pathway to success, right?

The Geography of My Career, Part One

Since sharing my twentieth anniversary working for the Department of Veterans Affairs, last week, a number of people have asked about my career; where I lived, what I’ve done, why I’m always seemingly on the move?  I will share my career which, as you will see, is a mix of hard work, gypsy blood, false bravado masking low self-esteem, an unending search for self-development, a smattering of delusion, and a heaping portion of God’s grace. 

When I applied for my first VA job (in Biloxi, Mississippi), I wasn’t entirely sure what the VA even was.  The Dad was a veteran, but he had never gone to the VA for anything.  We hadn’t owned a home until I was in college, and I know he didn’t use a VHA loan to buy it.  I just knew I needed a temporary job to earn enough money to go back and finish the final semester of my master’s degree at Ole Miss and head off into my intended career in Student Services at a university.  I was meant to be the best Dean of Students in history, in my opinion, so this was merely a pit stop in that particular race.

In June of 1999, I applied as a clerk in the Insurance Billing department, armed with my Business Minor from MUW.  Unsurprisingly I was not selected for that position, but the manager of that department, Rebecca (Becky) Gustin, saw something she liked in my resume and recommended me to the Chief of Human Resources for a vacancy he had.  I received a phone call asking if I would like to work in HR for the VA.  I accepted immediately and prepared for my interview that next week.  

I arrived bright and early and walked into HR.  There I met two women, Elaine Cooper and Nita Gross, who would be pivotal in my life for the next four years.  I called them my Mamas  They asked if I needed assistance.  I told them I thought I was there to interview for a position, but wasn’t completely sure.  Elaine said, “Well, we were told that a new young man was joining our office.  Have a seat.  If they come in to take you to your interview, then you’ll know.  If they come in and give you paperwork to fill out, just fill it out and hush.”  A few minutes later a woman came into the office, handed me a stack of papers and told me to fill them out.  I looked over to Ms. Elaine and she put her finger to her lips to shush me and gestured that I should start filling everything out.  Apparently, I wasn’t going to have to interview.  

I spent the next 90 days trying to do a great job but also trying to figure out how to stay at the VA.  I loved my co-workers and the mission of the VA.  I liked helping people who helped people, with the added bonus of working for a ‘company’ that wouldn’t go out of business.  It’s the government, I thought, if they run out of money, they can just print more, right?

When it was time to return to school, I wasn’t in position to move to Oxford.  I told them of my degree and that I was within a semester of finishing my masters and Diane Sicuro (another of my Mamas) offered me a spot in a program called the Student Career Experience Program (SCEP).  Cindy Jackson (another of my Mamas, noted I had a bachelor’s degree and when they placed me in the SCEP program, I got my first promotion from a GS-4 to a GS-5).  I contacted the school and was told that I could transfer up to two classes from another school and still earn my MA from Ole Miss.  I registered for one class at the University of Southern Mississippi’s Gulf Coast class and registered for my last class at Ole Miss, working virtually, under the direction of the head of my department. 

The only problem was I had no car to get to class.  God took care of that as we discovered Ms. Nita lived right behind the campus and drove me to class every Wednesday night.  After class I would eat dinner and do my homework, waiting for my brother and his wife to pick me up after church.  All of this while I was also working 30 hours a week as an Assistant Manager at the McDonald’s outside the west gate of Keesler Air Force Base, where my brother was stationed.  People who say they don’t have time for things, make me chuckle.  You find time for the things that are important to you, he said from atop his unsteady soapbox.

I worked very hard to become indispensable as I had decided I wanted to stay.  Once I finished my program, I had the opportunity to be converted to a regular employee, but they had to make their decision within 120 days of my graduation.  I was nervous as things seemed to be stalled with my new boss who hadn’t known me very long.  The gentleman who hired me had left for a job at Toyota and I had a new Chief (which is what we call a department head in the VA) who was a lady, which is my preference.  I’d rather work with women than men.  I don’t know if it’s the effect or graduating from a predominately female college, but I find that women usually make better collaborators.

I know it wasn’t, but it felt like they waited until the 119^th day to make their decision.  In April of 1999, I became a permanent employee of the Department of Veterans Affairs, working as a Clerk in the Processing and Records section of Human Resources.  After about six months, I was moved to the Recruitment and Staffing section working with Diane Sicuro who I thought was just about the fanciest federal employee I had ever met.  To really date myself, one of my first tasks was to make flyers and assure applicants that the brand new USAJobs website was a legitimate recruiting platform and their resume wouldn’t just disappear into the ether.

I think God wanted me to really appreciate the opportunity I had been given because for the next year I had to tell people like me (non-veterans) every day and tell most of them that they weren’t eligible to even apply for a position.  SCEP is one of very few avenues for non-clinical non-veterans to get into the VA.

Not too long after this, I met a woman who would have the most profound impact of my career, outside of my own mother; Jackie Collins, not the author.  Jackie was the Chief of Prosthetics, a native of Arkansas and a veteran.  She was also loud and funny and generous.  She had requested someone to help her during a time when we were preparing for our triennial inspection from the Joint Commission.  My new supervisor, The Great Speckled Bird (GSB) didn’t like the fact that I wasn’t a veteran; at the time, the only male employee in HR who wasn’t.  He was clear that he didn’t think I should be allowed to work at the VA.  When I pointed out there were numerous women in HR who weren’t veterans, he countered that women were not important for him to form an opinion about their military service.  He was that guy.    

When Jackie asked HR for someone to help, GSB generously volunteered me, saying, “Take Dustin, we won’t miss him.”  GSB thought he was hurting me, but God was in control of the situation.  Jackie and I immediately bonded while we got the files for the Home Oxygen program in order. 

Prosthetic and Sensory Aids within the VA means something much broader than in the private sector.  Of course, Prosthetics means artificial limbs, but this department provides everything that a veteran would use in the home from shoes, eyeglasses and wheelchairs to artificial hips and knees, pacemakers and computers.  It includes items of daily living such as reachers, long-handled mirrors for diabetics to check their feet for cuts or sores, blood pressure monitors, shower chairs and back, knee and wrist braces.  For the wheelchairs (manual and power) we also provide lifts to carry them inside or outside of a vehicle and ramps to get you into your house.  We will also adapt a vehicle you own or helping you purchase an already adapted vehicle through the Veterans Benefits side of the VA, if you need it.  We provide oxygen for your home, CPAPs for sleep apnea and ventilators for other respiratory issues, and iPhones and iPads to those with visual or cognitive impairments who use them to communicate.  We provide wheelchairs that can be operated by hand, a finger, someone’s breath, even eye-movements, depending on the need.  These items are provided free of charge with no co-pays to any veteran.

I didn’t know then that Prosthetic and Sensory Aids, would be where I would spend the next fourteen years.  I stepped into my role as Administrative Officer (AO), which was a GS-7/9 position and it was supervisory.  I hadn’t been a supervisor in the government, so I used my supervisory experience at McDonald’s to meet that requirement.  Part-time supervision for two years is equivalent to one year of fulltime supervision.  God knew I needed that experience when I had no clue.  He provided the opportunity and the nudge, which gave me a chance to develop my skills.  I wasn’t thinking this job was anything other than a way to earn extra money and be able to customize my Big Mac using fried chicken or quarter pounder patties, if I was so inclined.  Full disclosure:  I was inclined, fairly regularly. 

The interview panel referred me to Jackie as one of the finalists and she chose me as her AO, which is something like an office manager.   She trained me on everything she knew, holding back nothing in the way of program specifics as well as mentoring on how to be a great leader and collaborator.  My low self-esteem caused me to be harsh with my staff as I felt meeting our metrics was more important than their happiness.  I was desperate to be successful in a job that, at my core, I wasn’t sure I deserved, so I had to be the best, to prove that I deserved it.  Jackie was the one who told me to “stop being a jerk” when I started using my father as a role model for dealing with staff.  He had always been a supervisor and told me that you’re not supposed to care if your staff like you, but ‘running a crew’ building oil derricks and supervising federal employees in an office setting are just the tiniest bit different.  Jackie got right to the point.  She told me, over cherry root beers from the Sonic, “You don’t need to focus on whether or not your staff like you, but you should be concerned that they respect you enough to listen to you.  You’re kind of an ass, Dustin Terryll.”  Message received. 

Around that same time, I applied for a local leadership program and was told by a member of the interview panel, they felt I didn’t have leadership potential.  I was hurt by that but decided I did, in fact, have potential and I just needed to work harder to prove them wrong.  At the same time, I resigned from McDonald’s as Prosthetics began taking over my spare time.  The department in Biloxi was in terrible shape and Jackie had been brought in to fix it.  We started working 10-12 hours a day, sometimes six days a week to get it where it needed to be, hiring the right people, training them and making sure they had the support and tools they needed to succeed. 

Jackie demonstrated servant leadership every day.  She inspired loyalty in her staff and the veterans loved her.  She was kind but firm; she expected a lot but would work right along side you, cheering you on and feeding you just like a Southern Mama does.  From Jackie I learned the value of having fun while working hard and showing appreciation to staff in small ways; something as simple as bringing in donuts or organizing a potluck lunch for team building. 

After two years working together and learning everything I could (including how to be less obnoxious), Jackie felt I was ready to run my own service and pushed me to apply as a Chief of Prosthetics, but somewhere small, so I could dip my toe into the water before taking a big plunge.  When I thought about where I wanted to live, it just so happened to be at a cook-out on Labor Day weekend in Biloxi which feels like you are roughly six inches from the equator.  “I would love to live some place where I wouldn’t sweat,” I said to myself and my cook-out companions.  Someone laughed and said, “Alaska is about the only place you wouldn’t sweat Dusty.”  I logged onto USAJobs.com and found most of the Chief jobs were GS-12s; as a GS-9, I wasn’t eligible to apply.  I needed a GS-11, but those are few and far between.  I kept checking, however, and one day, lo and behold there was a vacancy for a GS-9/11 Chief of Prosthetics in Anchorage, Alaska.  Sometimes when God shuts a door, he turns on an air conditioner, y’all.

Casual Dining Restaurants and Tractor Tire Innertubes

I recently read that the phrase dining al fresco (Italian for “in the cool air”) is no longer used in Italy.  Instead they use either fuori or all’aperto.  Al fresco is used to refer to someone dining in jail, if you can believe that.  While I have never broken the law when it comes to food or eating, I have been known to break commandments (thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s cinnamon roll) or commit a deadly sin (gluttony, but just barely).   However, if lying about your knowledge of food or pretending you know what something is when you don’t is illegal, then I, dear readers, am a straight up criminal.  Full Disclosure:  I only know the definition of al fresco because back in the early 2000’s there was a restaurant in Ocean Springs, Mississippi, named after the phrase and they had outdoor seating and I had to pretend I knew that already when I went there with some very fancy friends.

Besides the occasional picnic related to fishing, dining outside of my home during my formative years meant we ate at church, Piccadilly, or a steakhouse.  The Dad still has very specific criteria for food consumption.  In high school eating out meant Sonic, Danny’s Fried Chicken (in Tylertown, MS) and the occasional visit to the Pizza Inn buffet on Sundays when my mother didn’t feel like cooking and answered the siren call of her usual order of one slice of supreme and one slice of peach cobbler dessert pizza.   I say all that to say this, casual dining establishments like TGI Friday’s, Chili’s, etc. were not part of my world, he said trying his best not to sing those last few words.  My limited experiences weren't something of which I was aware, as my mother was an extremely talented cook and nothing beats a good ribeye steak or the mac and cheese from Piccadilly. 

The summer before my sophomore year in college, I attended a yearbook camp on USM’s Gulf Coast campus.  I had recently been selected to serve as Co-Editor of the Whispering Pines yearbook with a very talented and similarly well-dressed classmate (Garland Tullos) at Southwest Mississippi Community College (Go Bears!).  Even though neither of us had edited before, the school felt we could do it.  Or at least, it appeared they did as they  were footing the bill for the trip.  This included paying for our food, therefore, I was in possession of a monetary largesse previously unequalled in my day-to-day life; if I remember correctly it was around $20 per day!  Keep in mind, this was 1989 and I was someone who never ate a Mexican pizza at Taco Bell because it was prohibitively priced at $1.09.

Garland and I, being friendly and delightful, had met several other college editors and decided to go out to dinner one night, to an exciting culinary destination called O’Charley’s.  Long before I became the gastronomic Sacajawea my friends know and love, I was very Southern Baptist in my tastes; everything was fried or covered in cream of mushroom soup, or both.  I had an internal rule that I would follow the lead of the fanciest person I was with, should I ever find myself in an unfamiliar situation.    I don’t remember who I was watching that night, Garland or one of the ladies from East Central Community College, but someone ordered a fried chicken salad with something called ‘honey mustard dressing’.  I wasn't sure how I felt about the name, but I knew I wasn’t a fan of honey or mustard individually.  Unsure of the combination, I was definitely intrigued, and I didn’t want to seem pedestrian, so I took a ‘taste and see’ attitude.  I was feeling very cosmopolitan, y’all. 

When the food arrived, there was cheese toast on the side, and I always enjoy something unexpected and covered in cheese.  I gave the honey mustard the once-over and decided it looked safe enough to taste.  It was delicious as most of you know.  Where had this condiment been all my life?  It’s the same reaction I had when I first discovered salted caramel.  I was ecstatic to have finally experienced it but equally angry that my taste buds had been denied until that moment.

I’d like to believe that I hid my excitement and ate as nonchalantly as someone who had eaten this exact dish the week before.  Full disclosure:  I might have squealed or at the very least ‘mmm-mmm-mmm’ed’.  Garland knows, but will never tell.  

When I returned home I tried to recreate the flavors as I had been unable to find a jar of it at the Piggly Wiggly, much less at B&B Grocery, the discount store where we  often shopped.  My mother kept no honey at home and I couldn’t justify spending money on an experiment, so I made do with what I had.  I mixed yellow mustard with TJ Blackburn Pure Cane Syrup.  It was not great; so sweet it made me shiver.  I thought about just adding sugar to mustard but that was another shivery failure.  As my family’s recipe for Thousand Island salad dressing was simply mixing mayonnaise and ketchup, I tried mixing mayonnaise and mustard together to get the right color.  It wasn’t the same, but it was delicious.  I kept an eye out whenever I went anywhere to eat, but I typically only found it accompanying the ‘rich people meal’ at Sonic.  You may know it as the chicken strip dinner. 

That yearbook camp changed my life in two ways.  Garland and I actually learned how to edit a yearbook and we won the state competition which helped me get a scholarship to MUW, where I edited the Meh Lady yearbook and won national competition twice, which, in turn, helped me (finally) choose Journalism as my major.  It also started me on my journey toward culture and refinement, which has led me to becoming one of the four fanciest people to have ever floated down the Bogue Chitto River in a tractor tire innertube.  Am I right, y'all?  

It's Not Cussing if it's a Direct Quote

              I recently returned to Texas for several speaking engagements and book signings, both impromptu and planned.  Speaking to executives from rural and community hospitals on leadership and team building, I was in Dallas, where I pulled off the previously unheard of hat trick of entertaining and teaching conference attendees at 8:30 in the AM, y’all.  Uncle Dusty can bring the funny regardless of the time of day.  The Dad says, “It ain’t braggin’, if it’s a fact.”  I had several hours to kill before my friend, the esteemed Master Richard Waller, was available to dine, so I sat in the lobby and, in an extremely choreographed nonchalant manner, managed to sell a dozen copies of ‘Almost Odis’.  I did not curse a single time, during my presentation, lunch, book sales or dinner.  This is important to note.

                As you know, dear readers, my blog is G-rated.  I do not curse, as a rule, and I never talk about things that could even loosely be construed as nasty or dirty.  I am a man of high moral standards and my language, while colorful, is not often coarse.  Full disclosure, I do occasionally cuss, but usually only in traffic and, even then, only in response to the actions of someone who is ridiculous.

                The next morning, my tour guide for the trip to Red River County and memory lane was my former girlfriend and one-half of the twins who were my besties starting from 30 seconds after we met in 1982.   The hilarious, sarcastic force of nature known as Juliann (Juli) Wood, apparently enjoys a reputation for using the F-word as a noun, verb, adverb and adjective.  This is also important to note.

                I had a speaking engagement at Rivercrest High School on Friday, April 13, 2018.  While I don’t normally buy into these sorts of superstitious nonsense, there might be something to it.  I forgot to tell you my room at the Hyatt Downtown Dallas was on the 14^th floor.  However, seeing as they didn’t number a 13^th floor, my room was actually on the 13^th floor.  Weird, I know, but what can you do; hoteliers are an odd bunch. 

                I hadn’t been to Bogata, or Rivercrest High, since we abandoned Texas for Mississippi, with literally a moment’s notice in 1986, the summer between grades 10 and 11.  I was asked to speak to the senior class and wanted to make sure I connected with an audience which, admittedly, I barely connected with when I lived there.  Uncle Dusty is an odd bird out in the boonies, y’all.  True Story.  I always refer to myself as Uncle Dusty when speaking to high school and college students, as I started giving advice to my nieces and nephews and this is the moniker they created for me.

                My presentation made a number of points, some of them confirming my bonifides as a former resident of the boonies, showing pictures of me with my sheep and in my football and band uniforms.  I then proceeded to give a little advice.  I won’t put you through my complete presentation, but I will say that Ronny Allsup’s (Brother Ron Ron to the other half of the twins, Denise) only request was, “Don’t get me fired.”  I assured him I wouldn’t do anything to get him in trouble.  He, and several other people, said they didn’t have any concerns about me, but they were worried about Miss Juli and her salty tongue, as she was to introduce me.  Juli was adamant they had nothing to worry about and her intro was delightful and set to the tune of Billy Idol’s ‘Rebel Yell’.

                My talk bounced from telling them that my plans for after high school were the slightly vague, “I want to be indoors” and the more specific, “Not hauling hay.”  I talked about being proud of who you are, unless you’re mean and then you need to “Stop it!  There’s enough jerks in the world.”  I told them I was proud to be from Bogata, but I couldn’t wait to leave.  I told them if they left that was great, but if they stayed, that was great, too, as long as they traveled because that’s how you broaden your world view and makes you more aware. 

                I told them to appreciate their family and friends and to choose relationships wisely.  I encouraged them to debate, not argue.  I reminded them that hard work beats talent when talent doesn’t work hard.  I challenged them to be the thing they don’t see in the world, whether its kindness, passion, authenticity or honesty.  I specifically said they should never lie; be as kind a possible, but don’t lie just to spare someone’s feelings.  I asked them to focus on doing something they love and not worry about making money and I even quoted Abraham Lincoln, “Whatever you are, be a good one.”

                I know you have to make people laugh to get them to listen and remember advice, especially from some random older guy, wearing Kelly green chinos and navy wingtips.  You also have to use stories to connect with people and I was telling them tales of rodeos, involuntary horseback riding and other 4-H-related things.   We had segued into the last part of my talk where I give them ‘Tips on How to be A Decent Human’, like (1) your mama lied to you; you’re not special, rules apply to you, just like everyone else, (2) put the buggy back in the corral at The Wal-Mart or the grocery store, (3) don’t dislike someone you’ve never met, (4) if you get defensive when someone questions your opinion, you might need a new opinion and (5) if you have to exaggerate to make a point, you just proved your point isn’t worth making.

                I was on a roll and they were laughing and loving it and I started telling the story about my cow from 4-H.  You remember the one I told y’all where it was the only one in the competition and still came in third place.  I have told that story many times, especially when talking to groups about making emotional decisions, and I always quote The Dad as having said, “Son, that is a pitiful cow.”  The actual quote is, “Son, that is a shitty cow.”  I have never once used the S-word when telling that story, until that very moment.  I said “SHIT-TAY” right into the microphone, as loud as if I was announcing a boxing match in Vegas, y’all.  I didn’t even realize it at first until the teenage audience absolutely howled with laughter and it dawned on me.  I said, “Oh, no!  Did I just cuss, Brother Ron?”  “Yep,” he said, smiling and shaking his head.

                What could I do, y’all, but try to do damage control?  I said to the group, “Okay, y’all.  I heard that Stanley Jesse is the Superintendent.  If he asks you, ‘Did Mr. Thompson say anything inappropriate, y’all should say ‘No!’.  As soon as I said it, the ring leader, you can always tell who it is, raised his hand and said, “Didn’t you just tell us not to lie?”  Ouch.  Out of the mouths of cowboy babes.  I was excited he had been listening, but shamed I had cussed.  What could I do but say, “Yep.  You called me out.  Disregard what I just said.  However, if anyone asks if I cussed, just say, ‘He did, but it was a direct quote’.”  They laughed and agreed, I exhaled and sat down and looked over at Juli, who was smiling that smile, you know the one.  I asked her, “How do you think it went?”  She smirked and said, “It was shitty” while Denise laughed in the background.

                I’m pretty sure I’ll not be asked to speak at commencement any time soon.