It was the summer of 1990 and the Berlin Wall was just torn down.
There was still a lot of the wall physically up, but the idea of the wall…that was gone. It was a big deal and I was lucky enough to be there that summer to be a part of the historic transition of two Germanies becoming one again.
It was an annual international school trip and this year, I was going. A bunch of us chaperoned by our German teacher, Doc K (whom we affectionatley called, “Doc”). I was 14 turning 15 that summer. I was young, but still knew how amazing it was to be there at that time.
We soaked it all in. Wandered around the cities we visited, tried to speak German to people without them realizing that we were tourists (it never worked), and stared boyishly wide-eyed at how prominent nudity was — advertisments, regular TV shows — everywhere. Remember, I was 14….sooo…yeah. It was pretty awesome.
Lots of great memories and experiences, but the main story of this post is about the time me and 5 other guys lifted up a car with our hands. Yeah. You read that right. 14 year old me, and 5 other guys on the trip, lifted a car off the ground. A cool experience, but also a good business lesson. Let me explain….
So, back in the day, in East Germany, it took 12 years to get a car. 12 whole years. I know. Crazy? What’s even crazier is that they were all the same car. Colors were different, but it was a country that had only one kind of car. It was called the Trabant. These badboys had a top speed of about 60mph and had the power of only about 25 horses. That was all East Germans had. But to be fair, where were they going, anyway?
But The Wall was gone now. I was with 4 friends in Berlin just as the sun was going down. We were heading back to the hotel when we ran into Doc, so we stopped to talk for a bit. We were technically in West Berlin but noticed a Trabant parked across the street from our hotel. One of us (I can’t recall who) laughed at the size of it compared to other “normal” cars next to it and wondered how much it weighed. Doc said that those tin cans weighed only around 1,000 pounds and we all stared at it for a while. I remember it was a dirty light blue.
Then I looked left, looked right, and blurted it out, “You guys. Let’s lift it up!” Everyone laughed until they realized I wasn’t kidding.
“Yeah!” “Let’s do it!” “Can we?” “Hurry!” “Holy shit, yeah!”
We all looked to Doc. His facial expression said, “no effing way.”
We begged. Explained that it would be a great story and I started sensing that he always kind of wanted to try to lift one, anyway.
“Oh goddammit,” Doc said, “Ok. C’mon. Schnell (which roughly translates to “hurry the F up” in German)!”
Oh man. We were doing this.
“Schnell! Schnell!” He kept screaming it. It was hilarious. We were all already laughing as we ran to the car.
3 on each side. We grabbed underneath. Doc told us to keep our backs straight. Counted to 3. And we all stood up. Lifting the car off the ground.
We put it down and ran across the street into the hotel. Lauging hard and running hard isn’t easy when you’re doing it at the same time….but off we went. Oblivious to the scene that we caused while rocketing through the hotel lobby.
I think of that experience a lot, but just recently started to think about it through Doc’s eyes. It should be known that he was one of — if not the best — teacher that I ever had in any level of schooling, but seeing this experience through his eyes taught me a lot about how important his students were to him. He knew that the only way to reach us, was to try to understand and relate to us.
We reeeaaaally wanted to try to lift that car off the ground. He knew we were going to try with or without him, so he decided to be a part of that experience with us. It meant more to us than merely someone else to help lift. It was support both literal and figurative.
He showed us that regardless of what you do, you can’t communicate and reach people if you don’t sympathize with or “get” them. Doc was always good about reaching us as students because he made our priorities, his priorities. Our concerns were his concerns. He wasn’t trying to merely do his job, which was teach us the German language, he was trying to help us learn and grow through opening our eyes to the world and to new cultures. German was his vehicle to do that. Yes, his “vehicle.” That pun was like 50% intended. Get over it.
Since starting Magic Room Brand and communicating with customers and potential customers, I always try to keep this story in mind. Relating to customers and understanding what their priorities, concerns, and goals are is the only way to put yourself in a position to contribute and be of value in their life…in whatever shape, way, or form.
You don’t always have to agree in order to reach understanding. But from there, you’re able to be a part of the solution.
Kind of a well-documented and obvious idea in the business world today, but one that is overlooked or sometimes forgotten. It’s good to have a fond experience that reminds you how it feels to be understood.
Danke, Herr Doktor.
