Making Character Judgments

Trust in others, especially when it came to business matters, did not come easily to my parents. This stemmed, I believe, from their individual, working class struggles through the Great Depression and the cultural emphasis, among such offspring of European immigrants, to save, save, save (all tangible assets available) for a future unknown.

There was one life-altering day around 1950, or so I have heard, during which my parents (as yet still childless) laid down some serious money -- serious for that burgeoning economic era -- with a guy who sold them on the dream that he possessed the next best idea. Now, when I say serious money, I mean it. If it had not been for that one successful scam, I would be very wealthy today -- like I won a big state lottery drawing kind of well-to-do.  In fact, things are pretty good for me now in material terms, all things considered. But, geez, . . .  In sum, what I possess from that con job are stark memories about how disappointed my parents were in a person they had believed and trusted.

Which brings me to this: a person's admirable (upstanding) character is something to be far more prized than a pot clogged with monetary wealth. Well, I keep reminding myself of that anyway. It is built up decision by decision, encounter by encounter, attitude by attitude. If only my mom and dad had been more fond of, i.e., trusting in financial institutions post-Depression. One's low-standing character can be created over an arcing expanse of living large or frozen into other people's perceptions through one stunner of a misanthropic moment. All I know is that I have been somewhat obssessed for years by live, electrifying versions of the song "Money" (from the Dark Side of the Moon) by the Pink Floyd.

Maybe there is something in this aspect of our family history that makes me a pretty lousy judge of character. I get about half of my snap judgements about individuals right, and I get about half or more wrong. This lends me a kind of Richard Lewis sensation of being doomed to make that one unalterable misjudgment someday, I suppose. Don't you just know there is a sensitive trapdoor out there, somewhere, ready to spring open?

Which of course leads me intuitively to consider my personal experiences at Starbucks. I go through the Starbucks drive-thru lane on most mornings. I always order the same things. The relentlessly cheerful staff -- Matt, Amy, Rob, Kaitlyn, C.J., Aaron, others -- can recognize my voice echoing out of my car (and see me on the little surveillance camera posted strategically on the outdoor order board). Often, any one of the staff members can verbally complete my order, before I do, from memory. This all started, I guess, because of my quirky straw requests. Something idiosyncratic like that just sticks, then grabs the attention of others. They smile at almost all-comers @ Starbucks -- even though, on some mornings, they simply do not want to. They talk to me when I roll up to the dispensary window when I show even mild interest in engagement, introduce themselves to me, tell me how late they were up the night before, tell me about their plans for life (briefly at least -- and isn't that just so classically young adult-like?). I admire these character traits. But if they only knew what I am really like in real life, all this employer-demand chipperness and sharing, probably, would vaporize like the coffee-scented air that rolls like a light fog out of the drive-thru portal.

Clearly, I am hoping that I am batting more than .500 when it comes to judgments about these young people. I hope they are getting it essentially right about me too, despite my obvious character defects. Maybe they are pleasant because I am like the prototypical big-spender -- I always have a traceable $$ balance on my Starbucks card, dollars that I guess could ultimately be attributed in part (like time-worn Ellis Island census records) to my parents and grandparents. Or perhaps some of them youngsters @ Starbucks inherently trust that I would take good care of their pets or plants or their cherished life plans in times of need, someone who just might lead them to unpredictable well-being.

Just the other day, at the drive-up window, I wished Aaron good luck. He is a young, enthusiastic, married midwestern guy who told me he was moving along (hooray!) to a technology-based job, and a pretty good one at that. He said, 'Wait a second.' Then he fished a piece of paper out of his green apron. It had his wife's first name and his on it, plus a cell phone number. 'Here. We should get together,' Aaron says. 'I like talking to you. I think there's a lot we could talk about.'

I thanked him and replied, 'Okay, sure, good luck again.' Then I drove away with my everyday order.

But, while driving away, taking my first drink of the morning, I figured I will actually send him a text message or give him a call soon. And, of course, I could not help but admire his character judgment.

And, yeah, I mean that to be humorous and ironic all at once.

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