Be Like BESSIE!

Be Like Bessie!

“Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience.”―Ralph Waldo Emerson

A few days each week during the winter I work in a giant laboratory studying the behavior of vast numbers of people. My specific areas of interest are the characteristics of patience and kindness while in pursuit of happiness and outdoor adventure. More specifically, I am a greeter at a New England ski area. From this vantage point I have face-to-face contact with hundreds of men, women and children of all ages. The stories my colleagues and I collect could fill a book. (Hey, that’s an idea!)

One of a Greeter’s responsibilities, beyond welcoming guests and answering basic questions, is to be sure each visitor’s wait in the line to purchase lift tickets is as short as possible, hopefully no more that 7-15 minutes on the most crowded days. This is no mean feat in the age of data collection required for the issuance of a re-usable RFID card that can be detected by a scanner in the pocket of even the most high tech parka. We also draw the short straw sometimes and have to facilitate traffic flow in the “drop off” area. If the entire ski area is the laboratory, then this particular area is the active Petri dish. . Maybe we should put up a sign that says, “Remember! Children are watching and listening.”

If I was looking to hire people to build a team for a task that required intense, cooperative effort in a stressful situation, I’d insist on seeing videos of how these job candidates handled their cars, friends, family and Greeters in the “drop off” area. Surely I’d learn more than any resume or interview could reveal.

Since we Greeters spend most of our time managing ticket lines, that’s where the best stories come from. Just the other day a person was in such a hurry to get his ticket that instead of walking through the short, simple, ten-foot, back and forth maze to the ticket window, this “gentleman” ducked under the ropes to take a more direct route, knocking over several stanchions, which he did not fix. He may have saved a full three seconds getting to the ticket window. I just smiled at him sympathetically. You know, one of those smiles that says, “I hope you get better soon.”

We greeters pick up a wonderful assortment of sound bites or snippets from the hundreds of conversations that swirl around us. My all-time favorite came from two brothers, strolling past with their arms on each other’s shoulders. The older brother looked at his younger sibling and said, “Hey, your wife’s happy and your girlfriend’s happy. I think everything is going to be fine.” Then they disappeared into the crowd leaving me with a number of questions that will forever go unanswered.

I’ve been thinking of asking management to position a large video screen in the ticket line waiting area showing highlights of good and bad behavior of guests collected over the course of the winter season. We would obscure the faces to prevent law suits, but the instructional value would be powerful…and highly entertaining.

Most people waiting in line to purchase tickets fall into one of three categories:

Group A. “I am too important to have to wait in line with all of these other people. Can’t you do something?”

Group B. “It’s too bad the wait is so long. Have you considered ways that might make things move more efficiently?”

Group C. “I’m not at work, I’m in a beautiful place and eventually we are going to have a great day on the slopes.”

The hybrid of groups B and C is my personal favorite. By the way, guests can purchase their tickets online at a reduced price and eliminate or greatly shorten their wait in line. It’s a reward for those thoughtful people who plan ahead. Let’s call this Group S for smart.

So how does this all tie in with BESSIE’S STORY? It’s simple. Bessie is the model of patience. She’ll stand with her nose to a door calmly and peacefully if she wants to go outside. When it’s time for breakfast or dinner Bessie sits like an angel without barking, whining or grumbling. In her dark, fragrant world she somehow just knows that we’re going to do the best we can to take care of her needs. When we are going somewhere in the car she’ll hop in and sit calmly as long as necessary. Very few people can follow her example of poise and good manners. The only time Bessie ever acts or behaves as if she is the most important piece of the puzzle is when someone is playing retrieving games with her. She can be a little antsy during these times, but we understand.

I’ve said it before. The best way to make friends and influence people is to BE LIKE BESSIE. It’s not as easy as it sounds.

Nothing in life is to be feared, it is only to be understood. Now is the time to understand more, so that we may fear less. ―Marie Curie

Bessie, Ashley and I visit Nantucket for a few days in September. This is her third visit to the island which she knows only as a blind dog. Her memories are rooted in the touch, sound and smell of the place; she has no idea what Nantucket looks like. As we board the ferry the salt air triggers her memory and she seems excited about swimming in the ocean again. We are on the same page.

Each morning begins with a visit to a nearby beach that is accessed by descending a long flight of steep steps. Bessie proudly carries her favorite orange toy in her mouth like it’s a prize she’s won, almost as if she is showing off for the people we meet, but of course we know that’s not the case. There is not an arrogant bone in her body and she has no way of knowing who is watching. It’s just her confidence and joy in full bloom.

Bessie takes the steps to the beach deliberately and cautiously, about forty of them, one at a time, always with her right front foot touching the next step first. She has identical rhythm on each wooden plank, like a robot precisely programmed. But once she feels the sand between her toes she becomes a bit reckless, fueled by the freedom this sensation promises. We have this in common.

Bessie loves beach walks. With the sound of small, breaking waves guiding her she knows just where to find the crab claws, scallop shells and dead fish that have washed ashore. The fussy tourists will be paying top dollar for similar delicacies in fancy, nearby restaurants later in the evening. Bessie enjoys them for free on her beach walks.

By far her favorite beach activity is retrieving her toy from the salty ocean. The waves, tides and currents create a different venue than the calm lake she enjoys in New Hampshire. The challenge seems to peak her interest and enthusiasm, like an athlete in the playoffs. This is especially evident when the tide is going out and the tossed toy drifts farther and farther away from shore. Undaunted, she swims in ever-widening circles, searching for the familiar scent.

Occasionally the orange cylinder gets so far away that I have to dive in and coach her. There we are, swimming side by side into deeper and deeper water on a mission of recovery. I find myself wondering just how long the old girl would stay with me on this quest. I’m pretty sure I’d be the first to turn around. It sure seems that way. We get to a sandbar before the question is answered and Bessie’s standing in water just a few inches deep. I wonder, does she think we’ve crossed a river? We retrieve her toy and head back toward shore.

Leaving the beach we encounter a dead horseshoe crab. Bessie stops in her tracks about three feet in front of this expired, prehistoric arthropod, lowers her ears, crouches low and circles cautiously around the dead animal whose species is 300 million years old. What is it about its particular odor that frightens her so much? Did she have a horseshoe crab confrontation earlier in her life that left a deeply embedded mark? Is there some thread in her DNA that links this encounter to the part of Bessie’s instinct that signals danger? I have no idea, but I find myself pondering the concept of fear and how sometimes we just know in our bones it’s a good idea to turn and walk away. This message is made more poignant by our dog who for the most part is afraid of absolutely nothing.

As we climb the steep steps and walk back from the beach, I consider what the horseshoe crabs are in my life, and how to get past them. It’s a good idea to ponder this once and a while. Thanks, Bessie.