About Face

Posted on by Scott

unhappy-389944_640.jpgIf you drive down a particular stretch of Interstate 80 outside Iowa City, you may be surprised to find a trio of giant faces staring at you from a cornfield. Angry Guy, Befuddled Guy, and Disappointed Gal are 12-foot tall cutouts created by artist John Cerney about eight years ago – an installation he calls Emoticons. Similar works can be found in fields along interstates winding through 23 other states.

Cerney took photographs of friends modeling different emotions, enlarged them, and then painted one-foot square panels that were assembled into the final art pieces. His inspiration came from an emerging online trend. He says “people were starting to use emoji’s online at that time, so I thought I would create three faces expressing those kinds of emotions.” It’s been one of the most negatively-received artworks he’s ever created. It seems people don’t like seeing faces that depict confusing or negative emotions.

Go figure.

Cognitive scientist Aleix Martinez says there 21 basic emotions. Six of these (happiness, sadness, fear, anger, surprise, and disgust) are called basic emotions, while the rest are combinations of these. A few years ago, Martinez’ team began researching facial expressions across cultures. In particular, they wanted to know if there was a common facial expression that signaled disapproval regardless of the spoken language used. It turns out there is.

They dubbed it the “not face” – furrowed brow, lifted chin, and lips that are pressed together. A mixture of anger, disgust, and contempt, this expression was repeatedly manifested in their research without prompting and across all cultural and language differences. In some cases, such as with those who communicate using sign language, the “not face” is the primary method for voicing displeasure. Speakers could use signing, or just shake their head, but even they tend to rely on the facial expression automatically.

During interactions, we gain more information from a person’s non-verbal behavior than we do their words. When we encounter a negative facial expression, for instance, we give more emotional weight to that than any positive statements the person might be sharing. In fact, we often pick up on facial expressions from several feet away; long before any words are exchanged and adjust our own emotional state (and our behavior) accordingly.

Burned into my memory is an encounter I had with an employee of mine many years ago. She timidly knocked on my door and asked if she could speak with me for a minute. She said “I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a couple of days, but the look on your face told me the time just wasn’t right.” I was shocked. I hadn’t been angry, or preoccupied. There was no reason why I wouldn’t have welcomed an interaction with her. Thinking about it now, it’s obvious that I’d just been walking around with my “not face” on.

So here’s what’s really been on my mind as I thought about this. What emotion does your face communicate at any given moment? Is it happiness, or the “not face?” How would people react to seeing a 12-foot tall rendition of your face on the side of the road?

Service That Shocks

Posted on by Scott

shockI recently paid a visit to Walmart, one of my favorite people-watching locations. Proceeding to the checkout with an armful of items, I was shocked to find myself behind only one other customer. It was a young woman accompanied by what I assumed to be her mother and her young daughter. They had a cart full of groceries but, fortunately for me, the clerk had scanned just about all of them by the time I walked up. It looked like my wait would short.

Placing the last items into a bag, the clerk announced the total and the customer swiped the card in her hand – a Walmart gift card. “How lucky,” I thought. “Wish I had a gift card to cover my purchases.” But the color drained from her face when the clerk announced there was just over $23 left to pay. The gift card didn’t cover everything this family had picked up.

The two women searched their purses for a minute, but it was obvious they didn’t have any cash or other method of payment. So began the humiliating ritual of identifying items to put back so they could reduce the total bill. I watched for a few seconds as they removed some of their basic grocery items, trying hard to avoid looking at me. They hadn’t been spending frivolously; from my vantage point, everything they had bought belonged in the typical pantry or refrigerator.

I pulled out my wallet and told the cashier I’d like to cover the remainder of their bill, including what they had pulled out to return. Please understand, I’m not writing about this to brag on myself. I’m blessed beyond measure and could afford to pay the $23 they owed in addition to my own purchases. I didn’t do this for attention or for any other of self-serving reason. I only decided to write about this because of the looks on the faces of the ladies in line with me that day.

Everyone seemed absolutely shocked by by what I had done.

The adult customers fell over themselves thanking me. Their gratitude was almost embarrassing. They obviously did not expect anyone to bail them out in that moment. Remember, when I walked up they were almost finished; there was no apparent rescuer in sight. They thanked me again and again. They apologized for not having another card or cash to cover their own expenses.

The young girl just stared at me in awe. Perhaps she’d never witnessed an act of service like this before. Maybe later she would ask her mother what happened and learn how sometimes people help each other out simply because it’s the right thing to do. I hope she is inspired to do the same when the opportunity presents itself.

It was the cashier’s face that has stuck with me though. When I offered to pay for someone else’s groceries, her face took on a mask of disbelief. I bet she’s encountered many a customer who couldn’t pay for all of their purchases and had to sheepishly return some items. She’s probably seen that so many times that she’s become desensitized to it. I imagine she stands by, dispassionately watching as the customer scrambles to escape their embarrassment. I imagine she rarely witnesses someone else stepping in to help out.

It occurs to me that this should be our service mission – to shock those who witness us in action. Talk about a competitive advantage. What if our acts of service were so powerful that they left people in a state of profound gratitude, wonder, or disbelief? Imagine providing a service experience that completely upends someone’s paradigm. What does it take to do that? Not much apparently; maybe $23. Probably a lot less.

So why aren’t we doing it?

Now That’s Refreshing!

Posted on by Scott

soft-drink-2741251_640When Ray Kroc bought McDonald’s, he knew he had stumbled onto something big. The brothers he’d purchased the restaurant from had a great formula, but no designs of expansion. Kroc dreamed of a chain of restaurants, scattered across the country. The burgers, he thought, would draw people in. All he needed was a beverage partner.

Kroc approached Coca-Cola, another enterprise looking to grow. After a fortuitous meeting with the head of Coke’s fountain division, an agreement was reached and the final piece to the McDonald’s puzzle fell into place. Today, customers have their choice of over 37,000 McDonald’s locations around the globe. And coke is still their beverage partner.

In fact, consumers visit the golden arches as much for the fountain drinks as for the food. That’s because of the meticulous was in which Coca-Cola products are served at McDonald’s. The chain’s method for supplying soft drinks has many convinced that you simply can’t find a better tasting Coke anywhere. The way they address this one menu item is impressive.

The magic starts long before the syrup even gets to the restaurant. In their agreement, McDonald’s specifies that Coca-Cola syrup be delivered in stainless steel tanks. Other customers receive their syrup in plastic bags. The steel helps protect the syrup from outside elements – light, temperature, and even air – that can affect the taste.

Once in the store, the syrup is mixed with water that’s been filtered many times over. This allows them to provide a consistent product despite the differences in water supplies around the world. These two steps help remove any variation from outside influences and ensures you get the same flavor experience every time.

What steps does your team take to prepare before the customer even arrives?

McDonald’s pre-chills their syrup and water separately. Most other restaurants flash-chill the mixture of syrup and water as its being dispensed. In a McDonald’s restaurant though, insulated tubes deliver water that’s stored at just above freezing; at a temperature optimized to retain the carbon dioxide that’s infused. Colder temps keep the CO² from escaping and makes your drink crisper and more refreshing.

What steps does your team take to deliver a superior customer experience?

A drink from McDonald’s seems to hold its flavor longer than one purchased from other restaurants. That’s because the syrup/water mixture is designed with melting ice taken into consideration. The last sip should deliver just as much flavor as the first. Of course, you may not notice this because you’ve slurped your McDonald’s Coke down faster. You can thank the straw for that; McDonald’s uses wider straws to allow as much flavor as possible to hit your taste buds. The goal is to provide that consistent experience long after you’ve left the building.

What steps does your team take to ensure satisfaction after the sale?

This may seem like a lot of steps to go through simply to deliver a beverage; but this attention to detail has paid off significantly for McDonald’s. They sell a lot – they remain Coca-Cola’s largest single customer; the only one with an entire division dedicated to them. And when people come in to purchase a soft drink, they usually buy something else too; fries, a pie, or even a burger. It strikes me that the effort is worth it.

Sounding the Call

Posted on by Scott

mountains-2535733_640In 2016, Swedish blogger/photographer Jonna Jinton posted a video of herself to YouTube. In the clip, she practices kulning (pronounced “cool-ning”); an ancient Scandinavian singing technique used to call home herds of cattle that had scattered into the mountains. As the singer’s voice resonates across the countryside, cows begin to appear; their bells clanging ever louder to announce their approach.

The practice of kulning has medieval origins and was developed out of necessity. Without modern technology like GPS to track livestock, or four-wheel capable vehicles to go after them, families needed a way to keep their cattle – literally their livelihood – from wandering off. Left to their own devices, the animals were at risk of theft from competing farmers or slaughter from wolves and other prey.

After seeing Jinton’s video, I looked further into the idea of kulning and I was fascinated by what I saw and heard. In video after video, cows, goats, and even birds are drawn to the voice of the singer (typically a female since kulning relies heavily on high-pitched tones). The sound is haunting. It transports me to a far-off place and time.

It also reminds me that we each have our own siren call; or at least we should. Given the incredible number of choices that customers have at their disposal, and the ease with which they can move their business; it’s essential that we identify our own unique means of connecting with them – of calling them home.

Kulning involves a series of familiar tones. Families would pass down basic sounds specific to their flock. Often these included the names of lead animals or specific combinations that alerted the animals to a specific family’s call. Yet, each member of the family would incorporate these common themes into their own song, improvising and adding their own elements. In this way, individual expression turned the root expressions into unique compositions. Likewise, we must identify core elements that customers can identify with us. Elements that can then be incorporated into the individual delivery styles of our team members.

The high notes prevalent in kulning are used because they are strong and carry over long distances. Studies have shown that these tones can be heard up to six times farther than other types of calls, making them perfect for penetrating deep into the mountain forests of Sweden and Norway where some families still practice kulning. In the same way, our brand must be a strong one. Our competitive advantage is of little value unless we deliver it in such a way that the message carries farther than we can see. It has to reach its intended audience, no matter where they are.

Even those who aren’t specifically the target of a kulokk (the term for a particular song), the melody is attractive. Rather than simply announcing the presence of the caller, kulning resonates deep within your soul. It creates a draw that’s almost irresistible. Like the kulokk, our own message has to not just grab the listener’s attention, but penetrate their heart. We have to communicate in such a way that those we are trying to reach feel compelled to respond.

Just like great service, kulning is a dying practice. Only a handful are even aware of its power and even fewer get it right. Perhaps that’s why, once you encounter someone who’s mastered the art of it, you can’t help but answer the call.

A Day in the Life

Posted on by Scott

circus-2885542_640Howard Tibbals began playing with dioramas around the time he turned seven, back in 1943. You’re familiar with dioramas, right? They’re three dimensional models depicting a scene, often used in grade school classes to help kids learn about history or nature. At some point, each of my three children came home declaring their need for a shoebox so they could build a diorama of the coral reef, or the old west.

Tibbals dioramas weren’t the result of a school assignment, but rather his fascination with the circus. He began by recreating a single scene and then added to it. He kept adding to it for over 30 years, finishing the majority of it in 1974. By this time, it was huge – around 3,800 square feet. It made its public premiere at the 1982 World Fair in Knoxville, Tennessee. (I remember going to that fair, though I don’t recall seeing the giant circus diorama.)

The Howard Bros. Circus (so labeled because management of the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus refused his request to use their name) is built ¾ inch to one foot and includes over 42,000 individual pieces. There are eight tents including behind-the-scenes depictions of 1,500 workers and over 500 animals. Every item included with his depiction of the circus can be loaded into the 55 scale train cars included. The attention to detail is meticulous. Looking at the display is like seeing the operation suddenly frozen in time.

What if someone created a diorama of your average work day? Imagine that, at any given moment, time froze and whatever you and your coworkers were engaged in was captured in realistic detail for future generations to see. What would you be doing? What would you be saying? What would your diorama depict?

Would you be serving customers or neglecting them?

Would you be assisting coworkers or avoiding them?

Would you be coaching those you lead or demanding something from them?

Would you be contributing or complaining?

Life is made up of moments; any one of which can define us to someone else. They say that first impressions are formed in a matter of seconds. So are second and third impressions. Our perception of the world, and the people, around us changes constantly. So how we choose to spend the minutes and hours of our day can have long-lasting implications.

We live in a world where attention is fleeting and loyalties change on a whim. We cannot afford to sit idly by and assume that things will work out. We can’t hope that the numbers will swing in our favor or that circumstances will bring success our way. It’s our own actions, moment by moment, that determine whether we succeed or fail. Periodically, take a mental snapshot of yourself – envision yourself in a diorama – and see if you’re happy with the image.

Howard Tibbals spent a large portion of his life faithfully crafting the world he wanted to convey. His final creation was the result of numerous moments in time, stitched together in a fascinating scene for others to see. Today, the entire exhibit is part of the John and Mable Ringling Museum of Art in Sarasota, Florida.

Tinted Windows

Posted on by Scott

car-2797169_640Tuesday morning I found myself at a red light, positioned behind an ambulance. The window of the rear door was tinted; but sunlight streaming through a side window lit up the interior, rendering the tint ineffective. For the duration of the traffic signal’s cycle, I had a front-row seat to the drama unfolding inside.

A lady sat in the back of the ambulance, facing me. She was dressed in civilian clothes and talking to someone else (a first responder I presume) positioned with his back to me. She was sobbing, dabbing her eyes with a tissue.

Obviously, I couldn’t hear the conversation. But the setting and visual clues made it clear that she was in distress and the EMT was consoling her. Lights and siren hadn’t been turned on, so it would seem this wasn’t a life or death situation. I don’t even know that she was a patient – she was sitting upright, after all, and didn’t seem to be receiving direct medical care. Nevertheless, something significant had taken place and she was struggling with the result.

Every day, people move into our lives – sometimes for just a few moments. Every single one of them carries the weight of unseen burdens. It’s as if we see them through tinted windows. We might get a peek, but rarely do we grasp the totality of what they are wrestling with. We can’t possibly understand the circumstances that cause people to be where they are at any given moment. We can’t grasp the reasons for the decisions they make. It’s hard to actually see them at all really.

But occasionally, if we stand still, and the light is just right, we catch a glimpse. It’s in these moments when we see people for what they are – not account numbers or transactions to be completed, but as fellow human beings. It’s in these moments that we can truly be of service to them. It’s in these moments that we can make a real difference.

A welcoming smile. A kind word. An offer of assistance that reaches beyond the scope of our job description. These are the actions that transcend the job and add meaning to the moment.

We live in a world of connected loneliness. Never have we enjoyed the ability to share experiences and information with so many people so easily. Yet, never have we been so isolated. Hidden behind screens and avatars and user names are people – people yearning for connection.

The real business challenge we face is connecting. The easier we make it to get things done, through automation and self-help, the harder it becomes to bridge the gaps between us. And the more important it becomes to build those bridges.

Granted, it is safer to remain distant. My own life is messy enough; why should I take on someone else’s baggage? Why should I risk getting involved when I don’t have to? What’s to be gained?

Let’s be the kind of organization that builds bridges. Let’s be the kind of people that value relationships over transactions. Let’s be the ones who really connect. Let’s take the risk.

My light eventually turned green. Traffic starting flowing again. Before the ambulance pulled away, I saw the faceless passenger reach out and squeeze the crying lady’s hand. Then, just as the shifting light once again hid her tear-stained face, I believe I saw her smile.

Excuses vs. Experience

Posted on by Scott

Palo DuroLet me tell you about Tom from Kansas City.

I had joined our Boy Scout troop for a weekend of mountain biking in Palo Duro Canyon State Park. The mornings were a little chilly; but once the sun came up, the weather was perfect for exploring the trails and viewing the wildlife. Saturday evening, as the scouts prepared dinner, I decided to take a short walk around our campsite to stretch my legs and hopefully ward off some of the stiffness that tends to follow my increasingly infrequent exercise.

We were camped near the park’s Interpretive Center and I headed that way. Rounding a bend near the center, I came upon an older gentleman standing by his van. The vehicle was sitting partially in the parking lot, but partially in the park road. As I got closer, I could see why.

The rear driver-side wheel had fallen off of the van. The axle had dug into the asphalt for several feet, destroying the brake assembly and leaving this poor guy stranded. The look on his face told a story of desperation and fear. It was growing dark fast, and without cell phone service on a Saturday night in the canyon, help seemed a long way off.

I introduced myself and, as you have deduced by now, this was Tom. He was in the middle of a solo road trip and had planned to camp in the canyon. The park was full though, so he had opted for a quick drive around before heading into the nearest town to find a good spot for the night. On his way out, the lug nuts holding his wheel in place had given way. He’d managed to find the wheel and roll it over the van, but a recent heart attack had left him weak and unable to do much else.

As we talked, several cars drove by; day visitors on their way out of the canyon. No one, Tom said, had stopped to help. There are all kinds of reasons not to stop and help someone in need; but, if we’re honest, most of them are excuses. I’ve used plenty of them myself.

“Someone else is probably already helping out.”

“I probably don’t have the expertise to be of any good.”

“I’m in a hurry, otherwise, I’d stop.”

“I don’t want to get my hands dirty.”

The problem is, none of these excuses ever made me feel better about passing by. The times I’ve decided to move along, head turned to avoid uncomfortable eye contact, my mind always returned again and again to the thought that I should have stopped to help. Maybe I could have done something – maybe not – but I should have tried.

Opportunities to lend a hand are all around us. And they don’t always come in the form of someone stranded on the side of the road. How about the coworker who needs some encouragement? What about the friend who could use a sounding board? You don’t have to be an expert to be a help. You just have to be willing.

Have you ever noticed how, following some sort of calamity, discussion inevitably turns to stories of people who stepped up to help? Natural disasters and terrorist attacks all seem to bring out the best in people as unsung heroes emerge from the shadows to help out their fellow man. People feel compelled to travel thousands of miles to deliver aid to others impacted by hurricanes and floods. Why then is it so hard for us to be the everyday hero to those within arm’s reach?

The human experience is made up of thousands of individual interactions, each one of them an experience in itself. Let those pass you by and life seems emptier…colder. Embracing them though, especially the dirty, messy, uncomfortable ones, adds a richness that can’t be described.

With the help of my son, a fellow scout dad, and Jacob (another traveler who decided to stop and help), we eventually got Tom back on the road. Our hands got dirty, but we worked and laughed together; sharing the experience willingly, while cars continued to pass us by. We shook hands and Jacob followed Tom into town to make sure our iffy repairs held while the three of us returned to camp. By this time, dinner was cold, and the rest of our party asked why we were so late.

I think we had a pretty good excuse.

The Three Types of Service Providers

Posted on by Scott

service-1660848_640Over the past two weeks, I’ve been involved in two very different service opportunities. The first was a week-long Boy Scout summer camp. This involved 6 long, hot days full of manual labor and mentoring of young men in an outdoor setting.

The second was a one-night charity catfish fry to benefit a local food bank. Here, volunteers came together to host an event lasting only a couple of hours. In this case, there was a shorter, intense spurt of activity.

While these two service opportunities were very different in nature, I couldn’t help but notice that they were staffed by the same three types of people.

1. The “Look at me!” service provider. These are the people with ulterior motives attached to their volunteerism. They make a big show of participating, but in hindsight, don’t appear to have contributed very much. They disappear when the hard work needs to be done, but are all too eager to accept the flashy, spotlight-centric assignments. When all is said and done, they brag about how much they contributed to the success of the effort.

2. The “Why me?” service provider. These are the reluctant volunteers. They show up either to escape other responsibilities or because it would look bad if they didn’t. They aren’t really vested in the outcome, yet manage to find plenty to complain about. Even after the time to serve has past, they’ll continue to gripe about the imposition that was caused or find fault in the performance of others.

3. The “It’s up to me.” service provider. These are the committed few. They believe in the purpose behind the cause and willingly shoulder the lion’s share of responsibility. Their motivation is the betterment of those on the receiving end of their service. They take care of things because they see a need and have the skills to meet it. They do so without expectation of fanfare or even recognition.

I’d like to say that I always fall into the third category. But I’d be lying.

Serving is, by definition, a giving of oneself. To serve others, you have to put them first and yourself second. That just doesn’t come naturally to most people. It doesn’t come naturally to me. So, sadly, I can look back on occasions when I’ve served in order to bring attention to myself. I can identify times when I have been a reluctant servant. And I am ashamed.

People like Colonel John Paul Stapp, Bapurao Tajne, and fighter pilots Marc Sasseville and Heather Penney remind me what it means to serve. These people didn’t look for glory or act out of a sense of obligation. They saw an opportunity and said “It’s up to me.” And they inspire through their acts of selfless service.

What if more people said that? What if I said it more often? Imagine the impact a single individual can have on the life of another simply by deciding to act.

Internal Service Month may not be a recognized holiday, but then it really shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t need some official call to focus on serving each other. I should just do it.

Because it’s up to me.

Flying to the Front

Posted on by Scott

sunrise-86008_640The two pilots worked quickly, but quietly, each lost in their own thoughts. Colonel Marc Sasseville and Lieutenant Heather Penney stepped into their flight suits and moved systematically through their pre-flight preparations. It was Sasseville who finally broke the silence.

“I’m going to go for the cockpit,” he said.

“I’ll take the tail,” was Penney’s reply.

It was late morning on September 11, 2001 and this was no ordinary mission for the two fighter pilots. Hijackers had flown two airliners into New York’s World Trade Center and one had just hit the Pentagon. Word had come down that a fourth plane was headed for Washington. Sasseville and Penney had orders to take it down.

The pilots had just completed two weeks of air combat training, and the drills were fresh on their minds. However the planes they flew were still loaded with practice ammunition. In fact, there were no armed aircraft available at all. Prior to 9/11, there was no system in place for responding to a localized attack. Everything was geared for a timely response to missiles coming from overseas. It would take an hour to get a jet ready, but by then it would be too late.

So, as Sasseville and Penney took to the air, the only weapons they had at their disposal were the very planes they were flying. “We wouldn’t be shooting it down,” Penney recalled. “We’d be ramming the aircraft. I would essentially be a kamikaze pilot.”

It’s hard to imagine being put in this type of situation. Most of us will never face a scenario where we are forced to put our life on the line to serve others. But the actions of Sasseville and Penney provide some important insights into the minds of top service providers.

The best take personal responsibility. There were a lot of pilots who could have gone up that day. As a Colonel, Sasseville could have ordered someone else to take the mission. It would have been very easy, even logical, for him to stay on the ground and coordinate things. Penney was still a rookie, the first female F-16 pilot in her squadron. In addition, her father was a pilot for United Airlines at the time. He could very well have been on the plane in question. It would have made sense for a more seasoned, more objective airman to go. Yet, despite having good reasons for staying put, the Sasseville and Penney felt called to act.

The best take action immediately. Sasseville and Penney didn’t wait for their planes to be armed. They didn’t sit through the pre-flight checks that normally take half an hour to complete. They were in the air within minutes. Penney’s crew chief had to run alongside her jet, pulling diagnostic wires from the fuselage as she taxied away. Time was of the essence, so waiting was not an option.

The best take care of others first. As Penney herself acknowledged, these pilots were embarking on a suicide mission. Personal survival, much less comfort, was not a primary consideration. As they searched the skies over Washington for the hijacked plane, the two ran through multiple scenarios, trying to figure out the best way to ensure a completed mission. They considered ejecting just prior to impact, but the thought of possibly missing and allowing the hijackers to reach another target was simply not acceptable. They had to protect the people on the ground.

Sasseville and Penney didn’t have to sacrifice themselves to stop the terrorists aboard United flight 93. The passengers did. It wasn’t their job, but they saw it as their duty. They took action, and they protected those on the ground.

When it comes to serving others, are you all in, or do you hold back? Do you commit completely, or is your service contingent on your own comfort?
To deliver exceptional service, you don’t have to be trained for a particular opportunity.

It doesn’t require that you carry the weight of an assigned job responsibility, or that you even know the people you are serving. Service is an attitude.

Take responsibility. Take action. Take care of others. Serve.

The View From the Well

Posted on by Scott

fountain-2311804_1920For forty days, his friends laughed at him. For forty days, his neighbors insulted him. For forty days, his family begged him to stop embarrassing them. Yet, for forty days, Bapurao Tajne continued to dig.

Tajne lives in Kalambeshwar, a village in the Maharashtra region of India. After years of drought, the residents of this rocky corner of the world were growing desperate for water. Some villages had begun rationing their dwindling supply, and people often had to travel for miles to find a well that hadn’t gone dry.

After making one of these long treks to a working well, Tajne’s wife found herself denied access to the water her family so urgently needed. She was a Dalit, the lowest members of India’s caste system. Dalit’s were poor, uneducated, and generally despised by the higher castes. The well she had come to for water was owned by an upper caste member who insulted her and sent her away empty-handed.

Upon hearing his wife’s tale, Tajne cried. He was used to the daily struggles of life. Dalits earned their living via manual labor, often working long days for low wages. He was used to the insults his people received on a regular basis. But hearing of his wife’s shame broke him.

And then it spurred him to action. Vowing never to beg for water again, Tajne gathered what money he had and walked to the nearest town. He bought a few tools, prayed for guidance, and started digging.

It typically takes four or five men to dig a well. It’s backbreaking work and the going is slow. As the hole gets deeper, the extra hands really come in handy for moving the loose dirt and rock. But Tajne dig alone. He started early in the morning, putting in four hours of work before heading off to his day job. After returning home, already exhausted, he dug for another two.

No one came to help him. Other villagers called him a fool. There was no water, they said. The drought had rendered other wells useless, so his effort was being wasted. He’d give up soon enough.

His wife, the very catalyst for his action, pleaded with him to stop. It was bad enough being a Dalit. Why bring even more shame on the family and their community? Just accept things the way they are and move on.

Tajne ignored all the negative feedback coming his way and focused on the task at hand. Day after day, hour after hour, he chipped away at the hard, unforgiving ground. Finally, forty days after he’d first begun, he struck water.

Suddenly the attitudes around him changed. Friends gushed with words of support. His wife apologized for ever doubting him. Family members picked up shovels of their own and offered to dig alongside him. Tajne’s response shocked the world.

He had no harsh words for his critics, and no reprimand for his family. Instead of berating the doubters and turning them away, he offered them a drink from the well. He had, after all, dug it for them.

How often do we withhold service because we aren’t receiving the response we feel we deserve? How often do we wrap our acts of selflessness with expectations of self-promotion? It’s as if we’ve forgotten what service truly is. Thankfully, we have men like Bapurao Tajne to remind us.