Mind the Gap!

As the MBA class of 2008 barrels towards graduation in May some of us have elected to take a negotiations class with Dr. Lucian "Skip" Jones; a choice I confessed was made in fear. For many the word negotiation may conjure images of long mahogany tables, business suits, and set, square jaws or perhaps the smell of tar on a humid car lot while an earnest salesman sweats and grins and tries to keep his mental calculations a step ahead.

I think of the prairie.

Connor Prairie to be exact, a perfect family day trip and Indiana's answer to Williamsburg (this is a guess because I've never actually been to Williamsburg). In talking about the differences we might encounter there, my parents told us about the general store where people didn't use money but bartered for supplies and wouldn't it be a great idea if we could bring items to barter with the folks at the General Store?

Let me be honest here. I am somewhat of a romantic, which means only that my heart is often fully invested in my imagination and this was even more true when I was younger. So the idea of bartering at a General Store in much the same way as Laura Ingalls might have was near and dear to my heart. Still, I was at that tender age when one begins to see flashes of the world through adult eyes-- one moment eager to go out on a limb and the next moment comprehending embarrassment and fear. A delicate balance.

When the day came I was armed with some pretty calico fabric and my brother, Jude, with some scrap wood, both of us feeling bold, knowledgeable, and well-prepared. My memory of the general store was that it was dark and largely empty. One man stood at the counter and our parents encouraged us to go forward and "barter" although for what I'm not sure. Jude, who by now has embraced his Hueber birthright and is a stellar negotiator, was so young that my recollection is that I had to do the talking, which, it turned out, was very little. We brought our goods to the store clerk and he asked, "What do you want me to do with those?" proving that even in the 1800s rudeness was a job requirement. At that point, I realized how silly we looked with less than a yard of curtain fabric and a foot of scrap 2x4. What were our parents thinking? To a real store clerk it would have been insulting, but to a historical actor it should have been his cue to begin old fashioned negotiations with the Suburbanite children and thus delight his customers. Perhaps this man's dedication to historical realism was too great, however, because he refused to even consider our paltry offerings and, in my memory, we left having been laughed at and were then forced to carry our rejected items like scarlet letters for the rest of the day, or at least until we got back to the car. My first memory of a failed negotiation left me with a dread in my gut whenever the opportunity to haggle came up again.
Herb Cohen, author of "You Can Negotiate Anything" points out that people negotiate all the time, especially in families, so it's likely that the Connor Prairie experience wasn't truly my first taste of failure at the negotiation table (attempts at both wearing make-up and joining the Boy Scouts were summarily put to rest despite my best efforts). George Hollen, friend and MBA president (Get to know him!), recently asked how the negotiations go when Jason announces he will be going on yet another surf trip. Ah, how indeed. The more I think about my husband's unquenchable need for travel and my white-knuckled grip on foundation and security the more I am reminded of the Story of the Orange (or potato or banana, etc) in which it is discovered that the different needs of both parties can be addressed by divvying up the spoils creatively. That is to say, one person wants the fruit and the other wants the peel. While Jason and I have made attempts at addressing the satisfaction gap that exists we have not viewed our negotiations in terms of the ZOPA that exists. Most days, especially these past few years in school, my view is that if Jason has the fun money for trips to the Canary Islands, J-Bay, or (insert name of latest and greatest surf location here) then bon voyage! as long as he comes home safely. The empty house gives me ample quiet time to finish homework or get myself into trouble at craft parties. But sometimes I feel like the poor sucker who got stuck with the peel, not realizing that they wanted a slice of the orange until they watched the other negotiating party with juice dripping down their chin. Inarguably the peel owner got what they wanted even though in retrospect the stories they can tell about their side of the Win-Win won't be as exciting. I guess I need to decide what it is I really want and then come up with an equally satisfactory BATNA before the issues comes up again. True, I could use the orange peel, but does that make me practical and boring?

Poor Jason.

While he is exploring Madrid his studious wife is arming herself with lofty acronyms and fruity metaphors for the next time someone utters those immortal words, "Honey, I've been thinking...let's chat!". He's not going to know what hit him. ;)