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Reflections on Cash Flow 2003 (and the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders)
Now that I’ve been home from Dallas for a few weeks, life is nearly back to normal. Some might describe “normal” in my home office as
resembling quiet, controlled chaos; but in the midst of this activity I’ve been thinking.
“What is a working equation I can use in the future to calculate how long it takes to catch up after an out of town trip?” I’ve
wondered.
Now why would any sensible (let alone busy) person contemplate coming up with something as obtuse as an equation for calculating catch-up time? The answer is: I can’t help it; my son’s home for the summer from
college. You see, he’s a math major -- where he gets such remarkable powers I have no idea -- and his quiet but lightening-quick mind makes me feel like I’m five cans short of a six-pack when it comes to anything having to do
with math. I mean, he has books on Advanced Calculus and other mathematical subjects I can’t even spell, let alone comprehend. I’d say it’s all Greek to me, but I studied Greek years ago in preparation for my previous
profession. Sad to say, all that helps with now is knowing the names of a few of the symbols in the equations he works on. Beyond that, I’m clueless when thumbing through his books.
Anyway, my algebraically simple (“pathetic” might be more descriptive) Equation for Figuring Out How Long It Takes to Catch Up after an Out of Town Trip is this:
x = y * 3.5
where x = number of days to catch up and y = number of days gone.
The asterisk, for those more mathematically challenged than I (if there are any) is a multiplication sign. I
remember learning to say it this way: “times.”
Now despite its lack of sophistication, if this formula is correct I can take solace in the fact that I’ve nearly arrived at “x”: gone one week equals three and a half weeks
to catch up. At least this is math I understand, that makes sense…and actually seems to work.
Like many of you, I was in Dallas attending the Cash Flow 2003 convention. This annual trek started for me in 1994 and I’ve
missed two since then. For those of you counting on your fingers, that means I’ve now attended eight conventions. (Yes, I had to resort to that time-honored means of digital computation, too.) Each year I’ve seen improvements
in smoothness of the planning and execution and this year was no exception. While there, I heard generally positive comments about the convention as a whole.
The only nay-sayer in Dallas was on my trip to the airport
heading home; one guy in my blue airporter van griped about various things I hadn’t even noticed. The others in the van, however, like most new broker consultants, were generally in a dazed fog brought on by information
overload from all the stimuli that had bombarded their senses the previous three or four days. All the workshops and presentations and exhibit hall booths and handouts and bookstore browsing were just about too much to absorb.
And then…having eight Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders right there one evening, close enough to reach out and touch, just about sent a few folks over the edge. As we were entering the large room for the
evening’s event, there they were, seated at three tables smiling and schmoozing and signing autographs. Because several people were standing in front of me, at first I didn’t see them seated at the tables. Then someone said,
“Look, some of the Dallas Cowboys in their outfits!” I turned and noticed the outfits were definitely not filled by Cowboys. Anyway, getting all eight autographs on an 8 by 10 glossy (...I did it for my son, mind
you...) was a memorable event. Yes, those ACFA people do know how to both educate and entertain their constituents.
For me, the only unfortunate part about meeting the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders was the reality they
brought crashing down on my sense of identity. There I was, standing in line with several other pot-bellied middle-aged men with thinning hair, waiting for autographs like a bunch of 10-year old kids, eagerly waiting our turn
to reach the front of the line. When I finally arrived and they actually spoke to me, the realization hit me like a load of bricks: these women were about the same age as my son. Oh my God.
I didn’t feel
twice their age, but…alas, I was. Twice their age or more, as my son would have quickly pointed out had he been there and read my mind. With a few of these beauties the equation was hauntingly close to my Out of Town
Time Catch-up Equation:
x = y * 2.5
where x = my age and y = the Cheerleader’s age.
My goodness; these women were the peers of a potential
daughter-in-law. And when they introduced themselves during the high-kick routines during their show and each said her age, my depressing guess proved to be correct. One was actually a year younger
than my son (who’s 21), and the oldest…an enfeebled 27. Lord help me.
Anyway, once I arrived home, two factor colleagues were kind enough to share with me their opinions about the convention. Neither mentioned the
Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders, for whatever that’s worth -- and both men are considerably younger than I. So I couldn’t help but wonder…did they sleep through this particular convention event?
Now I have noticed that for
some reason, when it comes to evaluating a conference, factor-types tend to be a rather critical lot in general. Is this because, after a few years, we’ve “seen it all” and have become jaded? After all, old salt factors have a
steady diet of unbelievably lame customer excuses for not paying previously verified invoices, clients who willingly bite the hands (ours) which have so generously fed them, and raw, awkward broker consultants who are eager to
learn but need a boatload of help. Do these daily doses of reality jaundice our outlook on life in general – and conventions that are intended to make us more professional, in particular?
I think so. After attending the
IFA convention in Salt Lake City last April – an event for factors and attended only by
factors – I saw a list of their gripes about that convention...many of which frankly seemed rather petty to me. All in all I thought that was a darn good conference.
Griping about an event is certainly easier than
putting a conference together and doing one’s best to make it come off. What seems to me to be more important than the quality of the hotel carpets or food that was or wasn’t available is this: what valuable information and/or
contacts did those in attendance obtain? Is the overall benefit greater than the minor inconveniences, the number of unhelpful workshops, and time and money spent to attend? To me it certainly better be, or I wouldn’t attend
each year.
Yet I’m just one person, and am curious to hear from more than two other people. So those of you who attended Cash Flow in Dallas (and/or the IFA event in Salt Lake City), attention! I would really like to
hear from you. Just a sentence or two summary would be welcome. What did you think? What did you like? What didn’t you like? Will you attend next year? What would you like to see at such a gathering? Do we need an annual,
national conference similar to IFA’s or ACFA’s on a smaller scale -- just for small factors?
Please let me know and I’ll be happy to put your well-considered comments in an upcoming issue. The first two remarks just
mentioned – and I sincerely appreciate these individuals’ honest assessments – are printed in the Reader’s Question section below. Now let’s see more! Email your comments to info@Factor-Tips.com.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch…summer’s
officially here and I hope you can take this time -- for many in the factoring world, the slower season -- to catch up, relax a little, and enjoy the nice weather. I’m going to try. And I’m also taking this time to work on some
new projects I’m very excited about, which you’ll hear more about in the coming months.
I’m also going to celebrate the summer with two weeks of jury duty in August. If you can’t reach me then, leave a message and I’ll
call you back. Who knows, maybe federal court will provide unanticipated grist for a future FactorTips issue.
One last thing. The autographed Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders picture I brought home to my son will be
prominently displayed in his dorm room next fall, and will no doubt duly impress his fellow dorm residents. The autographs address him personally: “Cowboys Cheers to Andy!” with eight signatures over eight bare, shapely
midsections. He happily acknowledges the peer value of my gift. That acknowledgment has made my standing in line, feeling like both a 10-year old kid and a cragged old man at the same time, worth it. But if I were half as
smart as he is, I’d have gotten two autographed pictures when I had the chance.
Obviously I’ve never been a math major.
Jeff
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