There was a reason we had a 55 gallon drum in the garage of our small house in Arlington, Texas that Saturday. It was full of fresh water and live bait, goldfish of some sort that Dad had bought at the bait shop the day before. By nightfall, they would be dangling from hooks enticing catfish somewhere deep in Lake Benbrook, and Dad and his friend would be running trotlines all night.

 

But, he would be gone for most of the day, and my mother too was leaving for a short trip to the corner store. She told us three kids, none of us older than eight or nine, to stay away from that barrel and don’t mess with the goldfish. She said if they were chased around or excited, some of them would die and Dad would not be happy about that.

 

Those pretty orange fish were attractive bait, for catfish or kids, and she had not been gone long until all three of us were staring down into the water, and soon enough we were trying to see who could grab one first. The fish were too fast, and we were flirting with danger, so we gave up the game after a bit and did something else.

 

I guess my mother saw the water splashed around that barrel when she walked back through the garage. And from her kitchen, like a policeman interrogating a gang of delinquents, she called only one of us in to see her at a time. She asked my sister if she had disobeyed her orders, and had played in that barrel of fish. Timidly, but guiltily, she confessed and my mother said, “Now you go off to your room and don’t come out until supper.”

 

I hadn’t heard any of this, out in the back yard and was oblivious to the fact that the gig was up. My mother stepped out and asked my little brother to come inside, and I suppose the question and the pitiful response were the same, and another sibling was off to his room.

 

When she called me in, she said, “Ricky, did you play out there in that goldfish barrel while I was gone to the store, after I told you not to?” 

 

I did not hang my head, but very calmly and politely said, “No ma’am, I didn’t play with those goldfish out there.”

 

“Are you sure you didn’t play in that water and try to grab some of the fish with your hands?”

 

“Oh no ma’am, I didn’t do any of that,” I said, and wiped my nose with a sleeve still quite damp with water of the fishy sort. “I heard you say not to, and I didn’t do it.” 

 

And that was all it took to find out what my mother did to little children who lied to her, and brother it wasn’t being sent to their rooms! This was in the sixties, and corporal punishment was alive and well in the state of Texas, let me tell you. And that was the last time I ever lied to my mother.

 

My mother must have raised me right, because that was about the last time I intentionally lied to anyone. However, in business, or around this shop, I do come up with some pretty good ones, though I’m usually the last one to know.

 

This is because it is my job to layout most every job that goes through this sign shop, and quite a few of them I do pretty fast. It is not beyond me to give instructions in my layouts that are a little less than a truthful, like this customer wants a white banner with red letters, when the opposite is true. Or we need to make two of these decals, even though the customer plainly requested twelve, and the order was written down as twelve, but I typed the instructions with a deceptive hand. 

 

I don’t feel all that guilty about occasionally misleading our employees, and therefore making them double-check each job against the original order the customer placed. In fact, I tell them that checking my mistakes is their number one job, and not to start plotting letters, or cutting metal, or doing anything whatsoever until you know that Rick has gotten the details right. Be suspicious, be paranoid, be diligent and don’t just take my word for anything. And thank goodness, they are!

 

In reality, I try hard to catch those mistakes before they do, and live by the carpenter’s motto of “measure twice, cut once.” I check patterns for errors and I measure centerlines several times before I start drilling holes that cannot be undrilled. I work hard at it, though not flawlessly, and my people do too. And together we don’t let much get by, thank goodness.

 

In sign shops, those little untruths and inaccuracies can certainly be expensive, and we can’t afford them around here. My little trip down memory lane can serve as a reminder to anyone in my operation, or yours, that being cautious, suspicious or perhaps a bit tedious about catching mistakes is really a good thing. Here, “In the Trenches,” it isn’t the truth that hurts, it’s anything and everything even a little bit short of it that does. 

 

I hope you and your staff have a productive, profitable and mistake-free month. 

 

Have a great month—Rick