A former president of the Maytag Company told me he couldn't drink coffee at work in the early years when his office was down the hall from Fred Maytag, Jr. To reach the restroom, he had to pass Fred's office, and he didn't want the grandson of the founder to see him making multiple trips to the john. So, he literally gave up drinking coffee in the morning. How far are you willing to go to improve your situation? The ex-coffee drinker was trying to avoid making a negative impression. I'm suggesting you develop and employ some tactics of your own to intentionally and systematically engineer the impression you want:

■ If you're willing to help look after the office plant life, do it when and where the boss will see you.

■ If you see trash on the floor, pick it up. You never know who's looking. If you have a chance to police the area when your boss is present, make a reasonable and believable demonstration.

■ If an opportunity arises to lend the boss a hand with something, from carrying a large box to helping reboot the computer, graciously offer to help.

■ Bring the donuts once in a while. When you do, don't just drop them in the coffee area. Walk past the boss's office, display the box, and say, "You can have first choice before I put these out for the masses."

■ If your boss articulates frustration with a situation to which you can bring a reasonable solution, offer to help. Don't get pushy and aggravate his insecurities; make suggestions in the form of questions. "Would it help if..?" "What if we tried..?"

■ In all things and at all times, be positive. Not, over-the-top giddy, making everyone sick—just positive. This means finding ways to get along with difficult people, greeting your boss's directives with a "can do" attitude, and making sure the boss knows you're a team player.

■ Come in early and go home late. If you don't want your family life to suffer, drop into conversations that you polished up that proposal last night at home or got up early to work on it before coming to the office. Throughout the humorous anecdotes and advice I've put together in this and future articles, you'll find a constant theme: Your success when working with difficult peers and difficult people in positions of power all comes down to attitude—yours. "But, John," you complain, "I have serious problems and I need serious solutions." I agree. I've been there, done that. No matter how miserable your situation, your solution starts in your head and works its way out through your hands. Deliberately scheme how you can be a positive influence in your working environment. If you think it sounds cheesy to tidy up the coffee area within your boss's view or to offer first dibs at the donuts, you don't understand how a boss's brain functions. Henry Ford said he was willing to pay more for a person's ability to get along with others than any other quality. If you think shedding resentment and hostility, and replacing them with a positive and helpful demeanor are for Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts, you're not seriously interested in improving your working atmosphere. There is no more powerful way to impress a boss than to be a supporter. There is nothing more miserable to a boss than a detractor. Think this through to its logical conclusion. That's your office you're tidying up. You enjoy those plants along with everyone else. A happy boss, idiot or no idiot, is key to a pleasant working environment. Be honest and real about it. You are doing these things, as silly as some of them sound, and purposefully altering your attitude to improve your professional living conditions. Aren't you worth it?

Hard Work Makes Friends and Enemies

If idiots in positions of authority annoy you, it could be your I-Boss is holding you back from hard work. To my credit, I have always been a dedicated, hard worker. Ever since my first job as the pro shop boy at the Newton, Iowa Country Club (I've been paying income taxes every year since the age of 11), I've felt, if I must work, I should get into it so intensely that when I come up for air, it will be quitting time. It's hard for me to take a breather and then dive back into something with the same intensity I had before I took the break. Like a helpful and positive attitude, I've found that working hard benefits me as well as my employees. I moved to California in 1977 and went to work as a union audio and lighting technician at Disneyland. It wasn't long before my work habits attracted some attention. One day I was on a crew of three or four, unloading sound equipment from a truck. Big Mike, the union boss, joked with several of the other fellows I was working like a human forklift. He suggested a couple of times that I should slow down before I blew a gasket. I chuckled with them and worked on until I felt a sharp tug on my arm. I had a microphone stand in each hand. "Put those down," Big Mike grumbled. I could see by the veins bulging from his neck that he wasn't joking anymore. I must have looked at him funny because he said it again, louder. I set the microphone stands down and reached for some more gear on the truck. He grabbed my arm harder and swung me around. I was about to apologize for not working hard enough when he said, "Stand over there against the wall." I began to suspect my befuddled expression didn't please him as he shoved me against the wall. "You watch from right there," he growled. "Don't let me see you touch another thing." It was one of the most excruciating experiences I've ever endured. Every synapse in my nervous system was firing, trying to get back into the unloading process. But I stayed put. The other stagehands kept doing their thing and I watched them helplessly as Big Mike watched me. When the truck was finally unloaded, he gave me permission to move. "Next time I tell you to slow down," he snarled menacingly, "slow down."

With that, he stomped off toward the commissary. The other guys turned and walked away, too. I remembered Big Mike hinting I should slow down a couple of times before, but I thought he was making a joke. After all, there was no reason for him to be concerned about my health. In the locker room later that day, one of the other guys expressed his displeasure that I had made them look bad by working so fast and left them unloading the truck shorthanded while Big Mike had me pinned to the wall. I was nicknamed the human forklift, which was not a term of endearment at the union hall. Not long thereafter, Bob, the management guy came backstage between shows and took me by the arm. "Come with me, John," he said. "I want to talk to you." I was sure he going to fire me for slowing down on the job, even though I only did it when Big Mike was around. "I've been watching you and asking around," he went on. "Here it comes," I thought to myself. "We want you to head up a new department that will bring the union technicians under the jurisdiction of the Entertainment Division." "What the...?" I thought. The International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employees personnel had been part of the Maintenance Division since Walt opened Disneyland in 1955. Here it was 1978 and they wanted me to team up with another person and effect one of the biggest organizational changes in the park's history. I was to be in charge of audio, and an engineer from WED (the Disney design firm in Glendale named after Walter Elias Disney), was to be in charge of theatrical lighting. I thought this was all good and couldn't understand why the union guys weren't happy. After all, I couldn't pick upequipment anymore.

Idiot Oblivion

I share my professional experiences with you so you'll know you're not alone. How much of your professional good fortune resulted from your best-laid plans? How much of your bad fortune resulted from your best-laid plans? I'm guessing that you, like most people, enjoy successes and disappointments that occur more often in the randomness of the universe than as intentional outcomes of a well-thoughtout strategies. Understanding and accepting how much our fortunes resemble corks floating in the ocean doesn't mean we should stop trying to position ourselves by doing the right things at every opportunity. Without my knowledge, the same work ethic that upset the union boss at Disneyland had impressed management. And I hadn't set out to make an impression on either one of them. I was just trying to stay busy until quitting time. Disney management thought I was something on a stick and my 85 or so union employees thought I was an idiot. Being a true idiot, I didn't realize how much I was despised. Even after a couple of big guys from the union office came by and demanded my union card (my membership had been involuntarily terminated), I still didn't get it. I managed to stay oblivious to the sneers and verbal jabs taken at my expense as I set out to move the technicians from the Maintenance Division to the Entertainment Division. Once again, my nose was close to the grindstone and I didn't intend to come up for air until quitting time. I didn't realize there is no quitting time for management. Sometimes I worked into the wee hours and slept on the floor of my office with the Anaheim Yellow Pages for a pillow.

Your I-Boss Might Care More Than You Know

Fatigue might have helped bring about my epiphany. The jeers and jabs slowed down somewhat due to the relaxed working schedules and other work environment improvements we were able to enact on behalf of our technicians. As time passed, the audio, video, and lighting technicians liked being part of the Entertainment Division and felt more at home. It was a major change, and we made it work because we were working for the team, not the other way around. We hacked our way through the bureaucratic underbrush to make working conditions better for them, and they responded. Attitudes improved, even though I'm sure they still considered me an idiot. At least I was their idiot. Your I-Boss might have a greater emotional investment in getting, things done right than he is willing or able to admit. An I-Boss's failure to communicate effectively can result from cluelessness about important matters or simply from an inability to express himself. People who are not formally prepared for positions of leadership are not taught effective communications skills. Stay alert. One of our Disneyland stage technicians was chronically late. She was one of our brightest people, but she also had an attitude with a capital A.

After three or four late appearances in a row, I asked her to come see me in my office, well away from the stages where her peers were working. She came in, slumped down in a chair, and dropped her tool belt loudly on the floor. I immediately recognized Chester the piano player's loathsome attitude. But whatever part of me that once admired Moe Green was gone. Instead, I started to cry. Not a big boo-hoo, but I teared up and a minute passed before I could speak. Maybe it was Moe's "bullet in the eye" thing. My unusual demeanor surprised us both and got her attention. Though she tried not to let her tough countenance down, I could see she was curious. To my amazement, I really didn't care. What was on my mind sort of materialized on my tongue as I spoke. I honestly didn't fully realize what was on my mind until the words came out. I know I had a picture in my mind of all the other technicians working away down on the Space Mountain stage. "Personally," I said in a calm, assured voice, "I don't care if you come in early, late, or not at all." I listened to myself closely because none of this was premeditated or rehearsed and I might need to remember what I said later. "All I care about is the rest of the techs down there setting up for tonight's show. Those are your friends, the people you go out and drink with after work, and some of the people who took you under their wings to teach you the ropes when you started here. They won't say anything to you, so I'll say it for them. They get here on time and cover for you when you're late. From now on, if you decide to come in, I hope you'll be on time. Not for me or the company—I hope you'll be on time for them." She was never late again. And her attitude changed to a lowercase "a." She seemed happier and more enthusiastic, which pleased her teammates. I stood at a distance and watched them work together many times. I'm not exactly sure what got through to her, but it resonated enough to make a change in her attitude and behavior; even if it did come from an idiot. Even a broken clock is right twice a day. That was a turning point for me. As clumsy and unanticipated as it was, my epiphany gave me enough of a peek at the Promised Land to never return to complete idiocy. Your I-Boss is no exception. Even idiots tend to retain bits and pieces of knowledge. If your I-Boss stumbles into a good move, something that is truly helpful to you or those around you, reinforce it the way we reinforced our psychology professor's behavior. Rewarded behavior is repeated behavior—even if it's accidental.

The Stupid Gene

Be cautious with your idiot diagnosis. Sometimes what appears to be an idiot is just a regular person with idiosyncrasies. We all have them. Idiosyncrasies become exaggerated with exhaustion and dehydration. If a person arrives at the office wearing a different color sock on each foot, he might be a genius, a fashion setter, or color blind. Most likely though, he's an idiot. Stupidity is different than alcoholism, drug addiction, or smoking. Well, maybe not entirely. But that's a different discussion. The analogy I'm about to make borrows liberally from 12-step recovery programs. I'm not disparaging 12-step programs, mind you. The point is that stupidity is a wide-spread disease. We have no control over stupidity in others. We didn't cause it, we can't cure it, and we can't control it. The only stupidity we can deal with is our own.