You Did What?

Many years ago, there was a young lady who worked for me named Kelly Kitchens.  The one day, Kelly came into my office, and she started complaining about her husband.  I can’t remember what transgression he had committed, it doesn’t matter, but I stopped her at one point, and asked, “Tell me, has your husband ever tried to implement a purchase order policy?”  She looked at me in shock, and said, “Oh my God, no.”  I quickly said to her, “Well I did.  Your husband really doesn’t seem so bad after all, does he?”

I then related to Kelly the sad tale of the purchase order policy and the fallout that occurred.  Now, in my defense, we were in the process of moving, I had taken a new opportunity at my employer at the time, Barco, and we were moving from Dayton, Ohio to Kennesaw, Georgia.  We were sitting on a house that just wasn’t selling, and the finances were getting tight.  I was becoming desperate, I was losing my mind, trying to figure out how to make this all work.  I think I could possibly get off using the temporary insanity defense.  Or maybe not.

It all started the one Saturday evening.  I had been traveling back and forth between Dayton and Kennesaw, I was home for short periods at a time.  As I struggled, trying to figure out how we would manage this move, how we would sell this house, how we would get back together as a family, I started panicking about the finances while I wasn’t around.  I worried that money was just flowing out freely without me there to ensure we were fiscally conservative.  And thus the purchase order policy was hatched.  It was a perfect plan.  All purchases, large or small, had to be agreed to by both parties to ensure no unwise spending took place.  I even formalized it in a document, typed it up on the computer, with signature blocks for each of us. 

I know what you’re thinking right now.  This really couldn’t get much worse.  But it could!  You see, I decided to introduce this policy on Sunday before we went to church.  But not just any Sunday.  Mother’s Day!

After we got ready that morning, Laurel and I were in the kitchen, waiting for the kids to all get ready for church.  I pulled out the document, it was short, very efficiently-worded, and I showed it to Laurel.  I quickly could see, this may not have been my best idea that I’ve ever come up with.  I remember my brother Jim once taught me, “words are like bullets, once they’re out, you can’t get them back.”  I quickly wanted to reel them back in, but too late, the damage was done.  Laurel said nothing, she reached for her purse, she pulled out the check book, her credit cards, her cash, and said, “Here, you take care of everything.”.  She then said nothing else.

It just so happened that Laurel and I were teaching Sunday School that morning for a group of children, so she left before me, and I was taking all of the kids to church.  As I pulled into the parking lot at church, I couldn’t see her car, and the thought hit me.  She left me!  I went into church, and headed for the Sunday School room.  No Laurel.  I started quickly walking up and down the halls of Westminster, you have to understand, it’s a really big church with lots of hallways, still no Laurel.  I would see people, and ask, “have you seen Laurel?”  I remember the look of bewilderment on Patsy Stevens’ face when I asked her, I must have looked that crazy, but still, no Laurel. I started running up and down the hallways, full of fear and panic, stopping anyone I could see, “have you seen Laurel?”, no, no one had seen her.  Eventually, Laurel showed up at the Sunday School room, I tried to say something, but she was still sobbing and refused to talk to me.

While it would appear this story couldn’t be much worse, really, it was.  I had planned this beautiful Mother’s Day celebration that day.  When we got home, Laurel really wanted no part of it, but I convinced her that the kids had really gone to a great deal of effort, we couldn’t disappoint them.  I had written a poem for them all to recite, I don’t remember much of it, other than the first line, “Mother with your hair so brown, upon it you should wear a crown…”  The kids gathered around the fire place,  each one reciting their part of the poem, holding up the various presents, I remember a couple dresses and various other gifts for her.  It could have been so special!  I videotaped the whole event, the kids doing their best, and Laurel sitting their sobbing.  I even tried afterward to video tape an apology, it pretty much consisted of me saying over and over and over again, “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.”  Yeah, that didn’t work either.

One of the next few weekends, we had a Small Group meeting among the guys from my church, and we’d always start off with checking in, what is going on in your life.  I started off, telling my sad tale of the purchase order policy gone awry.  I still remember the look of horror on Sandy McConnel’s face when he said to me, “You did what?”  I know, I know, it was a really, really bad idea.

Over time, the pain did subside a bit, but it wasn’t a topic that was brought up.  We just tried to act as if it never happened.  Once in a while, someone at a social event might try to bring it up for humor, but Laurel still never saw the humor in the event, so the topic would quickly die.

Years later, we had moved back to Dayton, only to be moving back again to Georgia, this time to Duluth, Georgia, still with Barco.  John and Beth Ey put together a going away party for us, and many of our friends from Westminster were there, including several members of my Small Group and their spouses.  At one point, of course, the topic of the purchase order policy came up, I’m pretty sure it was John Ey that remembered it.  Some of the wives had never heard it, so John asked me to share the story.  By this point, Laurel had lost her anger about it, but it still wasn’t something she found funny.  So I shared the story once again, the whole sordid tale.  The funny thing was, Jill McConnel, Sandy’s ex-wife, was sitting near me, and it was déjà vu all over again.  She looked at me in horror, and said, “You did what?”  I know, I know, it was a really, really bad idea.

While it isn’t always easy to find a silver lining in unfortunate life experiences, I’ve done my best to find a “pony in the box” on this one.  Kelly Kitchens was the first, but I’ve used this story many times over the years with colleagues who may come to me complaining about their husband.  I quickly break into, “Has your husband ever tried to implement a purchase order policy?”  I then tell my sorry tale, and in virtually all cases, the young lady comes to realize, my husband isn’t so bad after all.  At least some good has come out of this really, really bad idea. 

If you want to share this story with someone who may need to hear that their husband isn’t so bad, or if you happen to be a husband, who needs to show your wife that you aren’t so bad, by all means, share my ill-conceived purchase order policy story.  Let it do some good.  Just please don’t mention this story to Laurel.  Even after 20 years or so, it’s still not a story that she looks back at and laughs about.