Saturday night I had the opportunity to work at a JPJ concession stand with my daughter’s Girl Scout troop. Six fifteen-year-olds laughing for six hours. We sold over 300 hot dogs and I think I made around 25 Nachos Grande. I also ate everything in sight (of course, following the strictest hygiene standards and eating out of sight of patrons). Craig Littlepage walked by, and I shouted “popcorn, three dollars.” A Darden student visited the stand and bought so much that I had to help deliver her goodies to her seat (she was with two other Darden students, what’s wrong with this picture?). The evening was a blast. In the midst of it all, I was reminded of what an MBA degree does for you, even if the degree was obtained twenty years ago.
At the beginning of the evening, the “supervisor” gave us instructions. Rather than listening to “how”, I found myself asking why. Why on earth would we count the cups, the plates, the hot dog sleeves? Pilferage is such low value-the time invested is worth more than the lost items. Fortunately for my daughter, I kept my questions to myself. Throughout the evening, I found myself trying to improve the process. Should we have four cashiers and two food handlers, or three and three, each cashier with a food partner. Should the nachos get a dollop of cheese then “meat,” or vice versa. I actually discovered that the most efficient way to make a chili cheese dog is to put the cheese on left to right and the chili right to left, all in one motion. And when I discovered these wonders of concessionaire-ease, I wanted to run tell the other concession stand(s). I insisted on doing the numbers at the end to see how we did. A major competitive vein: I wanted the paperwork done in the most efficient manor, and I wanted to see how we did versus the other stands. Where were the girl scouts when I was taking over? I don’t even remember seeing them…
So my MBA degree haunts me no matter where I go or what I do. And that’s a good thing. If you are already facing this MBA disease, and you have some humorous anecdotes about how you are using your new found skills, don’t be afraid to share them in your next interview. Face it—interviewers are bored to death. They are dying for something to breathe life into them, to meet someone with a sense of humor and someone who has good perspective on life. Share your anecdote—it’s the only way to treat the disease.