person who does good<\/em>.<\/p>\nYesterday, talking about the minion he hopes to bring with him later in the week, he referred repeatedly to the man’s circumstances: employed only two days a week, wife and kids to support. The Monk made it clear that while the proposed minion had some mechanical abilities, his main motive in asking the guy to step into the project was, “I feel sorry for him.”<\/p>\n
I had absolutely zero patience with the idea of hiring out of pity. All I wanted to know was whether the guy could do the job and would he be worth what I was going to have to pay him.<\/p>\n
To me, hiring somebody out of pity is degrading. <\/p>\n
While my reaction to the Monk’s desire to help the guy definitely brought out the Randian in me, and I know the Monk is genuinely kind, the Randian view gives far more credit to the person being hired. It assumes they’re capable and worthy of earning their keep. It respects their dignity.<\/p>\n
—–<\/p>\n
Over the weekend neighbor J and I attended a charity event. Now, one thing I love about this community is that the locals really turn up to help each other and help local organizations. Every other fundraiser I’ve ever attended has been crowded and busy with people bidding up the auction items, buying dozens of raffle tickets, and just generally being there. It’s part of the spirit of this community. It’s amazing.<\/p>\n
This event … was sad. For one thing, it was a rare nice weekend evening and prospective attendees probably just wanted to be outdoors. That could explain why the room was only half full. Beyond that, though, the event was poorly advertised, poorly run, and became a heartbreak for the volunteers who’d worked behind the scenes to bring it about.<\/p>\n
Even once they saw attendance was down, they could still have done a dozen things to get the attendees fired up and give them more opportunity and motivation to contribute.<\/p>\n
For instance, the event featured an enormous — and gorgeous — silent auction. One of their chief volunteers died last fall, leaving them all his household goods. This was fabulous retro stuff — 1950s vintage, mostly, and in as good a shape as if it were bought yesterday. (Why they didn’t advertise these treasures far and wide, I can’t imagine. People would have come from miles to bid on teak tables, Chinese bowls, and vintage “space age” lamps. Antique dealers and junque dealers would have come. Heck, I know one collector just three blocks from the event who would have bid on it all had he known.) <\/p>\n
The before-dinner bidding was dismal. Most of that household stuff wasn’t drawing any interest. Zero bids. I put my name on a few items, at low-as-dirt prices, figuring that before they closed the auction, everybody would be given another 10 or 15 minutes to bid on things, check existing bids, and bump their bids if somebody else got ahead of them. I just knew I’d be outbid on all of it. How could I not be?<\/p>\n
They should have used the after-dinner program to whip up our competitive spirit. They should have reminded us all of how valuable some of that old stuff was. They should have made the pitch, “We know attendance is low, but that gives you all a better shot at getting these great items.” They could have said, “We know attendance is low, but you know we’re a worthy cause. So help us out by getting up after dinner and bidding those items up!” They could have said, “Take home of memory of [deceased volunteer’s name] to stay with you forever.” Then they should have urged, “Now, get out there before we close the auction and BID YOUR BEST!”<\/p>\n
They did none of that. Instead, as soon as dinner and some really dumb (and confusing) contests were over, they abruptly announced, “Okay. If you’re the winning bidder, go get your bid sheet and pay the cashiers.”<\/p>\n
I was dumbfounded. As it happened, I’d already gotten restless and walked around the edge of the room checking bids (still dismal; I added my name to a few more items that had zero bids on them, mostly hoping to generate some competition for the after-dinner part of the bidding). I’d worked my way back around to the podium at the moment they made that announcement. “Wait,” I asked. “You’re already closing the auction? Shouldn’t you …?” But no, they really meant it. <\/p>\n
They could have earned hundreds more than they did on that silent auction — maybe $1,000 — simply by giving attendees time and motivation to bid again.<\/p>\n
And they left all that potential money the table while being visibly upset about what a failure their event was.<\/p>\n
Neighbor J — a very kind person, but a business woman who works with the public and a bit of a freedomista herself — had the same take I did. We felt their heartbreak and we empathized. We knew that a genuinely worthy cause would suffer for the next year. But we could count a half dozen obvious ways they’d mismanaged themselves into failure. <\/p>\n
J may volunteer to run the event next year even though she’s otherwise not a volunteer with the organization. Not sure what I’ll do, but if she takes on that job, I’ll do what I can to help her behind the scenes. The event had tons of willing volunteers; what it didn’t have was competent organizers, PR people, and presenters.<\/p>\n
Me, I ended the event by finding a friendly volunteer with a pickup truck to haul home all the incredible freaking vintage tables, the shelf unit, the lamps, and other items I picked up for as little as $2 each. As I hauled my winnings to the loading dock, five or six people said, “Oh, I love that one! I was thinking about bidding on it.”<\/p>\n
Normally at these events I just walk around pushing up bids, making things a little more exciting, confident I won’t actually win much, if anything. I’ll even goad people into outbidding me in those last after-dinner minutes of scribbling hastily on bid sheets. It was a big of a shock to actually … win. <\/p>\n
I confess I feel kind of guilty for that pickup load of vintage loot for such a sorry reason. But do I feel sorry for the people who’d hoped to make hundreds on my items and didn’t even make a single hundred? Not so much. I feel sorry for the behind-the-scenes planners who may not have been responsible for how badly the public faces and the people responsible for advertising handled their jobs. I feel terrible for the clients who might be put at risk due to the fundraiser’s flop. <\/p>\n
But I also think charity isn’t an excuse for bad organizing. I think good causes deserve good planning and presentation. And even a little hard-sell, manipulation, and creative tap dancing when things aren’t going their best.<\/p>\n
Which would have been better last weekend for the people in need that that organization serves: hard heads or soft hearts? <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Um … that was a rhetorical question. I don’t think I am, but your opinion may vary. I was just reminded in the last few days why people often view us INTJ\/freedomista\/rational\/free-market types as having icy souls. —– The Wandering Monk likes to see himself as a person who helps people. And he genuinely does much good. He goes out of his way for people all the time. He specializes in clients who don’t have a lot of money and he charges accordingly. He often spends late nights counseling troubled acquaintances. He does little things for clients that are above…<\/p>\n
Continue readingAm I a cold-hearted b***h?<\/span><\/a><\/div>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[20,31],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-30794","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-money","category-rural-and-small-town-living","ratio-natural","entry"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.clairewolfe.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/30794","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.clairewolfe.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.clairewolfe.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.clairewolfe.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.clairewolfe.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=30794"}],"version-history":[{"count":20,"href":"https:\/\/www.clairewolfe.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/30794\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":30814,"href":"https:\/\/www.clairewolfe.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/30794\/revisions\/30814"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.clairewolfe.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=30794"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.clairewolfe.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=30794"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.clairewolfe.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=30794"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}