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Audrey Tries out for Servant of Servants at Minimum Wage

I respect that you as a reader of Gifthub are very busy, so let me fast forward to Audrey's audition for a minimum wage job in the kitchen.

Below stairs is the kitchen and adjacent are long wooden tables, and benches, where the staff eat, and also at times the retinue of visiting notables.  The kitchen is maybe 20 yards from the tables. The task at hand is to take a fully loaded silver try from the folding tray stand by the kitchen, out to the tables, then deposit the tray on another folding serving stand, then serve the plates to the tables.  An adult waiter will lift the tray with both hands, then shift a palm beneath it, and carry it, shoulder high to the folding serving table, then, back to two hands, and lower it down. Then serve one or two plates at time from serving stand to table.

Tutor has told Cook that Tess wants Audrey to earn her way, but that it must be "a true market transaction." At the word "market" all faces become solemn. (Tutor recalls when, in the middle ages, he could say, "God the Holy Father" from the rostrum in church and get the same look of stupefied submission to a higher power.)

Now, presenting herself for market based test, is Audrey, whose head comes no higher than Cook's waist, unless you count the 18 inches of red hair standing straight up and out.  Cook loads the silver tray, as he would for any other server, with 12 plated salads. The servants are waiting, impersonating the retinue of noble guests, at the trestle table, uneasy. How can this end well? The kid will fail, and she is the boss's daughter, and their future queen.  If the tray were stood on its side, it would come to Audrey's nose. She would look like a Spartan Warrior, ready for battle. As it is, on the folding serving table the tray is far too wide for her to get her hands on either edge, much less to hoist it shoulder high. Hopeless!, the servants are silently thinking. Unfair! Maybe there is some other job the kid could find.

But Audrey gets that crazy look she gets, when tested. Eyes slitted, tongue  tip protruding. Face reddening. The room is quiet, except for the ticking of the old grandfather clock at the far end of the hall. Scary to see it, but Audrey suddenly drops as if falling backward on the stone floor. She catches herself with backward flung arms, shouts, "Save Dogs!," she exclaims, and simultaneously her pink-sneakered feet in a blur kick the stand  out from under the tray, which hangs, stunned, in the air for one instant. Audrey bounds off the floor, assuming the pose of Atlas, on one knee, only an Atlas who will not shrug off the weight of the world, let alone a mere serving tray. The kid rises, wavering and trembling, like a weight lifter, until the tray is pressed straight up from her shoulders. She then humps the tray to the second serving table. But now a second challenge. How can she lower it to the rickety folding table? She tries kneeling down and letting one edge go over the edge of the serving table, but when she tries sliding the tray, the table collapses, and her tray quivers, the plates beginning to slide, the tray on the verge of tipping over. Up, up again, until balanced over Audrey's head. 

Now, Audrey is a walking around the table, spinning her tray like Lazy Susan, or Carousel. The tray seems to float in air, as if held up by a shock of red hair, as she walks around the servants' trestle table. Each servant gets his or her salad served, as the tray deftly turns. Perfect service! 100% better than the traditional way.  The hall fills with cheers and laughter. So, Audrey serves and clears the entire three course meal. At the end, she not only gets the job at the full $9.50 an hour true market rate, but she also gets carried around the kitchen on Cook's shoulder, as the servants cheer. "May God save our future Queen!" If The Castle were a union shop, Audrey could have gotten elected steward.

Back in her room, Tutor finds Audrey on the floor, feet apart, her T-Shirt laid out flat as she paints a slanting line through "Own" in her motto, "Own Rule Save." Above "Own" she is painting "Earn." Tutor thinks to himself, "Momma is smart. If Audrey ever gets deported back to the working class, even at 9.5 years old she could support a family of three at minimum wage if she works three shifts."

Audrey Learns Habits of Highly Successful Salespeople, and you Can, too!

When consulting on serious matters, Tutor and Audrey believe in bringing all of themselves to the conversation. If you stood in the doorway to Audrey's room, you would see them side by side, sitting on the floor, facing in opposite directions, shoulders touching. On "Go!" he will turn slow majestic somersaults to the right, hitting the wall and returning. She will turn fast somersaults to the left, hitting the wall and meeting precisely in the middle of the room, at precisely the same moment. Her RPMs are three times his, because her circumference is a third of his majestic girth. Upon meeting, each must shout out the one word or phrase that has come to mind. Then another run of the room, then, the next word or phrase, taking into account what the other has said. You will admit, if you are candid, that few Grownup to Grownup Consultations show such seriousness of purpose, and depth of shared understanding.

Round one: Tutor shouts, "Earn!" And Audrey shouts, "Money!"

Round two: Tutor shouts, "Earn money!" Audrey shouts, "To save dogs!"

Round three (by now Rex is running up and down excitedly barking): Tutor shouts, "How?" Audrey shouts, "How?"

Round four: Tutor shouts, "Find the need!" Audrey shouts, "Ask people!"

Now, Tutor and Audrey go face to face, cross-legged, knees touching. Tutor explains that we can "sell to needs or sell to wants." First we must discover who in the Castle needs help, and has the capacity to pay for it. And also, who in the Castle knows and is willing to say they want help. Only after we convert needs to wants in our prospects should we make the ask, or conduct the close. Do not close when you know what the prospect needs. For example, she might need a retirement plan. Close for what the client wants. For example, she might say, "I know I need to save, but God! What I really want is straw hat." What are you going to sell her? Straw hat! Unless you can get her to say, "I want help with my retirement," or "I want more security in retirement." Then once she says that, you can close for your next step in the sales process. Audrey bobs her head. Got it! Needs to be confirmed as wants. But how find unmet needs, let alone unmet wants? Who might have a need? Wouldn't Momma just hire someone to meet that need? What could Audrey do that is not already done? Tutor and Audrey both sense they are making progress on this knotty problem. Both tap the side of their heads with a finger, making "thinking hard" faces, all scrunched up, like you do when you think hard. Now, they must go another round or two to elicit specific ideas. Ready? They are ready. "Go!," shouts Tutor.

Round five: Audrey shouts, "I know!" Tutor shouts, "Who?"

Round six: Tutor shouts, "Really?" Audrey shouts, "Listen!"

What Audrey has noticed is that when Momma has big parties of dignitaries, like to discuss Global Warming, or China Trade Policy, the wait staff and kitchen staff are pressed beyond measure. Every available body is pressed into service cooking, or serving, or cleaning up. The matters are made more difficult by the entourages. For every dignitary there may be three or more Trusted Advisors, Clerks, baggage handlers, body servants, mistresses, traveling companions, chauffeurs, helicopter pilots, or bodyguards. So, upstairs Cook must serve, say, 75 guests, but downstairs he must serve, say, 300 of the entourage. Momma could bring in contingent help, but Legal Counsel and Master Jack recommend against it. Vetting servants at the Castle takes month, like getting into the CIA or the NSA. You can't just have anyone waiting on the world's most important people, at $15 an hour, no benefits, hired off the back of a truck, like migrant workers.  So Cook has a need, but does Cook have a want? Can Audrey get Cook to say the words, "I want help with this so so bad!" Or words to that effect?  Then she is to say, "Would it help if....." Like this, "Would it help if you had totally reliable help that you could call on at a moment's notice, right here in the Castle....?" But to get that far we have to begin we must first probe for the needs.

Are you surprised Tutor knows consultative selling big time? Are you kidding? Do you have any idea how many Top Producers he has trained for Wealth Bondage? You don't get to be a Senior Dungeon Master to the Stars without knowing a little about Eliciting Human Desire and Converting to Cash. But sales requires commitment, alignment, authenticity, and enthusiasm. Never has Tutor had a salesperson so at one with her product, and so on fire for her cause (saving dogs). She is a fast learner, as they role play probing for needs. "Can you tell me a time, Cook, when you were felt overwhelmed?" Or, Cook, "Thinking back over the last month, do you recall a time when you felt you could not keep up with the work, and even feared for your job?" "Tell me more....!" "So you are saying, Cook, that sometimes it gets so busy you could scream because you have too few reliable staff? Do I have that right?" "Would it help, Cook, if.....?" Rehearse, rehearse, rehearse. Objections arise as to the size and scope of the proposed solution. Objections are answered: the solution is small, yes, but very strong and speedy. Then, after answering the objection, reiterate the needs, confirm the solution, and close again, again, again. The biggest sales are made after how many objections? Twelve! You got to close until they drop to their knees and beg for mercy.  Stick in, twist, and break it off. In every interview a sale is made. Either you sell them or they sell you. Audrey strides about waving her plastic sword. Objections will be slain. No mercy! Because? Because no dog should go hungry.

Is Audrey ready? Very ready! Tutor and Audrey do a fist bump and race each other down below stairs to the big fragrant kitchen. Let's see how our once and future Queen does under actual Field Conditions.

Earn Rule Save

Returning to Audrey's room, Tutor finds her in Joan of Arc mode, helmet on, sword drawn. "Noble Tutor," she says, regally, pointing with the tip of her plastic broadsword to the forlorn dog in the photo. "This dog needs food! She has been neglected. No dog should suffer! Right, Rex?" Rex is whining and cowering, picking up on his owner's dire mood. "We must save these dogs!" Fortunately, having thought ahead for once, and not used his own fallible judgement, having gone direct to Momma, Tutor is prepared. "Yes, the dogs of New Delhi will be saved. But first, we must formulate a plan. I have taken the liberty of approaching Momma on this matter directly...."

"You talked to Momma, about the dogs? Directly?," asks Audrey. "I did, yes," says Tutor puffed up with the reflected majesty of a trusted advisor who has access to the powers that be, directly. "What did Momma say?," asks Audrey. Tutor hems and clears his throat, enjoying his positional power as one who has direct access. A Wise Counselor, in possession of the Answers to Life's Riddles!, which it is now his privilege to impart to the young. All Audrey need do is listen and be schooled.

Whack, goes Audrey's sword on Tutor's shin. "Ouch," goes pompous, Tutor, "That really hurt." "Speak up, yon Varlet, when I speak to you, as your future Queen." "Yes, Princess." Whack, whack, whack, goes Audrey's plastic sword. "Thou shalt never ever refer to me as Princess, that is demeaning, I am Audrey!" "Yes, Pumpkin." "What did Momma say about saving dogs?" "She said you may, but....." "But what?," asks Audrey. "Momma gave me three words. And she said we have to figure it out ourselves, ok?" "Three words, like 'Abracadabra please and thank you?" "No, besides that's five words." "Tell me what my Momma said, Tutor!"

Tutor loves being a Tutor. He loves dispensing knowledge, wisdom and virtue to young minds in formation. He feels the dignity of his high calling, as a pedagogue and moralist. He draws himself up to his full height. His right arm goes out straight. His index finger, for pointing things out, goes up straight at a right angle to his extended arm. Now, holding his portentous silence, his face as impassive as a Butler's, as Audrey fidgets impatiently, he pumps his arm like a piston, on a mechanical man, forward and back. His upright index finger moves so close to Audrey's nose it makes her eyes cross, then back out, then in. Then, in his most pompous, teacherly voice, like a panelist at a World Synod of Wise Counselors, he intones: "Earn, Rule, Save." "Wait, Audrey says, "What are you saying? It is supposed to be Own, Rule, Save. Look! It is on my t-shirt, see? And it is on my flag." She points to her toybox over which the Audrey flag is, indeed, flying.

Now Tutor and Audrey must puzzle it out, as heroes might who have consulted the Oracle at Delphi, prior to waging war, only to find the cryptic utterance baffling. "She obviously knows the real motto," says Audrey. "It is on the shield in the great hall, behind her throne. It is on the Castle's stationary, business cards, and Annual Report. It is in our Constitution that Master Jack wrote up, and we all signed with the great seal, in red wax. In fact, it is on the great seal, too. 'Own Rule Save.' Now, Momma is just going and changing it? You can't change the Constitution just like that. We would need to talk to Mildred in PR. We would have to get more parchment. We would have to get buy-in from all our stakeholders, including me, Tutor. Momma can't just go changing things. Our Values, once we sort the Values Cards, and get it down to three, and write them down, are fundamental to all we do. You said that when we made our Mission Statement. We judge all our stuff by it. We hold ourselves accountable to it. You said it was our 'lodestar,' and you showed me our moral compass, made of brass, and how it always pointed to the lodestar, remember? And you moved the lodestar around and the compass spun and spun. Now you just go changing it? That is not fair. And it is making me very confused. This is the doing of Grownups! They always wreck everything. And how does this save any dogs?" Audrey sits down, upset, her sword cast aside, her helmet askew.

"Well, the official motto is one thing, of course, and that is our moral compass long term, as you point out. One day you shall inherit, own, rule, and save the earth and all things in it, thank God! But for now you own nothing...."

"I do so; I own Rex. And my toybox and everything in it."

"Momma changed only one word. Which?"

"She changed Own to Earn."

"Why earn?"

"To make fun of me! Because I don't earn anything. I am just a kid. She is saying I can't rule anything or save anything until I grow up, and Momma dies. And I don't want Momma to ever die! I love Momma." Audrey goes to her dark place, the night terrors. And Tutor knows he must bring her back to the daylight.

"Momma loves you, too, kid, and she knows what is best. If she said Earn, she means you can earn. She told me more, too." 

"What?," asks Audrey through tears that come and go in childhood, like showers on a sunny day.

"Momma said she would 'consider any reasonable plan.'"

"For saving dogs?"

"Maybe she meant a plan for earning the money yourself, I think, to save dogs. The more you earn the more you save! Cinchy! Earn a lot. Save a lot of dogs! The more you earn, the more you save."

Audrey is a lucky kid; she knows Momma loves her, even as busy as Momma is. Earn Rule Save. A new secret motto, just for now. Own Rule and Save for the long term. Earn Rule Save for now. But how? It is time to get magic markers, the drawing pad, to work on the plan. But, of course, no plan is valid without empirical research first. 

Audrey Acquires a Target

You, presumably, are not very literate, at least I hope not, since you would then be able to detect the hidden meanings in Gifthub and I would then probably be fired for breach of confidentiality among the declasse  billionaires, I serve as Consigliere, at least in my impoverished dreams, but I assume you see movies and know the moment in Top Gun, when Maverick, played by Tom Cruise, sweating in his flight helmet, yells, "I've got tone! I've got tone," meaning missile-lock, and soon his rocket will blaze up the bogy's tailpipe. Well, Tutor is watching over Audrey's shoulder as she sits on her floor, with a new National Geographic in her lap. Momma has subscribed to it for her, as part of making sure she does not grow up in a bubble. This first issue is about New Delhi, and has a spread of seven pages, "The Dogs of New Delhi." Audrey's got tone!  She flips pages forward, she flips them backward. She flip them forward. She studies each page. Then back. Tutor can see where this is going, and it could cause all kinds of trouble. Yet, it is a teachable moment.

Is now the time of teach Audrey about Effective Altruism? I mean, Audrey has saved one dog, Rex, from the shelter. She has found that even one dog, in a Castle in the Sea, is very expensive. Even the direct costs run well over one thousand dollars a year, and Tutor has never even taught her about indirect costs, like the body guards who accompany her and Rex on the helicopter, or in the motor launch, when Rex needs grooming, his shots, or to have his teeth cleaned. The true cost of this mutt (not that Tutor would ever call him that to his face) may be $20,000 a year. Audrey's allowance, grossed up for the direct costs only, is totally gone for small presents for Momma on her birthday and at holidays, and for Rex. So, what if.....? I mean really. What if we were to return Rex to the shelter? He was slated for death several months ago, and has had some good times. What if we were to take that allowance, or the fully loaded indirect and direct costs, and use them to save The Dogs of New Delhi?  Do the math, as my boss Candidia Cruikshanks, CEO of Wealth Bondage, with a Harvard MBA, likes to say. The numbers would tell a clear moral story. For the sacrifice of one mangy dog, Rex, we could save as many as 1,000 equally worthy dogs in New Delhi. How can we possibly not do it? "All dog's lives are equal," as Gates Foundation says of human lives. We can't be biased in saving dogs! Or do it at random. Rex, meanwhile, has his snout on Audrey's leg, looking up at her with sad soulful eyes. She is his savior. A girl and her dog is a special bond, but should the world's richest girl live in a Castle surrounded by a  raging sea, and oblivious to the suffering around the globe?

--

No, says, Tutor, love is not a zero sum game, and wealth may not be either. Every dog is special, and no dog should be treated like an integer, or bead on an abacus. What we must do is to appeal directly to Momma. Tutor has, as you can see, learned from his recent beatings. Rather than letting things take their course, and Audrey getting in trouble, and then he as Whipping Boy, getting his back flayed bloody, he will go, as His Employer told him he must, to ask permission rather than forgiveness. He will treat Tess as a Momma-in-Charge, because she is.

---

Tutor now stands upright like a Butler in attendance, ten feet from Momma as she works her iPad, in the drawing room. Sitting on the couch, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, hair as wild as Audrey's but tawny brown, no lipstick or make up, long nervous fingers, going at the iPad's keys as if she were Lizt, with hair flying and eyes flashing, playing a mad cadenza. Is the beautiful?, you might ask. Were you to line up ten men by brainpower, ask each starting with the dimmest, you would find the first indifferent, and that by the time you reached the last, he would be simply smitten, overwhelmed. She is so alive with a lambent force, electric. Say money is the operative life-force, God in Action, naturalized, how much money is she making make per second, per keystroke, or stanza? Inconceivable. More than you or I in a lifetime. Can she spare a glance, even one brain cycle? After his recent fiascos will she even deign to acknowledge Tutor's subaltern presence?

Dear daft Tess is in a flow state, her long nervous fingers making trades and trills, breaking "counter-parties" across the globe. Then, at the climatic moment, where, if she were Lizt, she would fall silent with a crashing flourish, and rise from the piano bench,  to a standing ovation, she says, "Yes?," looking up and through Tutor as if at a crowded hall, her global market.  "It's Audrey-related, Milady." Tess's eyes come around, focused and intent. "All is well, Miladay, she is safe in her room, but I believe she has acquired a new target." Small smile from Momma. "Flying?," Momma asks. "No, Milady, dog-related." "That National Geographic?" "Yes, Milady." "And?" asks Momma, holding up her hand like a police woman making a stop sign: "Keep it brief, Tutor. Time is money. Restrain yourself!" "Yes, Milady. I am afraid she may stow away on a package boat to India, or try to fly there." "And you are thinking I might fund the saving  of hungry dogs in New Delhi?" "Not my call, Milady." Momma devotes one full brain cycle (perhaps worth $10 mm to what are called Family Dynamics, in the professional literature, in a field in which she is a talented amateur). "Three words, Tutor." "Yes, Milady?" "Earn, Rule, Save." Tutor now understands why Momma is in charge. Earn, Rule, Save. "I will consider a reasonable plan," Momma adds, "at market rates. Dismissed." Yes, Milady." "O, and Tutor, you did right to ask." "Yes, Madam." "For a change," she adds back on the iPad." "Yes, Madam."

--

I know that many of you reading this, are actually quite literate. You would have to be cultured to serve as the  Trusted Advisors to the World's Wealthiest Families, just as, if  a cook, you would have to be a Four Staff Chef, at least. These wealthy kids are headed to Harvard. What if you, supposedly their mentor, only got into Colby? And some of you are  among the creme de la creme, The Most Trusted Advisors. You have multi-disciplinary fluency. You create cross-disciplinary syntheses of a very high order. You are always looking for the best practices of Successful or Happy or Flourishing or Resourceful Dynastic Families, so that those you serve do not, as you say, "get deported back to the Middle Class," and you with them, carrying their luggage to the docks, sweating like a Coolie, glancing around the docks to see if you can pick up a new arrival, some parvenu to The Paradise of Wealth, immigrating from the Old Country of Broken Dreams. As a literate person you are familiar, I am sure, with the conventions of Omniscient Narration. So, for your benefit, please, let me, as The All-Knowing Author, point the moral, the Best Practice that Tutor has had to learn the hard way, his back crisscrossed with scars that may never heal. No matter how wise and virtuous we are, no matter how in touch we may be with Wealth and Will of God: "Ask Momma first." Always ask Momma first when it comes to Wealth in Families, The Compact Across Generations, Wisdom and Wealth, Entrusted Wealth, Lives in Trust, Resourceful Families, or anything of that nature. Seems obvious. But who does? Even if you have no clients for wealth and wisdom, even if you are just an ordinary Middle Class person, and just getting by, you also can learn. Same rule applies in all happy families: Ask Momma first.