In the communications biz, we like to throw the word “engagement” around a lot. We’re always trying to figure out if our workforce is “highly engaged,” or “somewhat engaged” or “disengaged” or some other kind of engaged.

Because, we're told, highly engaged workforces lead to lower retention, higher productivity, increased efficiency, and all sorts of other stuff that gives executives sweet dreams.

But the problem that none of the high-priced engagement consultants want to admit is, it’s really, really hard to tell if an employee is engaged in his work, and in the company as a whole.

Supposedly these consultants, like Gallup, have ways of telling. They do intensive surveys, and ask magic questions (such as, “Do you have a best friend at work?” and “Do you feel your coworkers do great work?”) that will reveal the level of someone’s engagement.

Which is all bullshit, of course. Because you can’t tell anything from a survey like that.

Here’s an example:

Let’s say that you are a male employee in a manufacturing environment. And let’s say that you are having a torrid sex affair with a female coworker.

It’s a scenario everybody should be allowed to experience at least once in their lives: sex at work!

And because you don't want anyone to know you're screwing around, the two of you have all kinds of cool code words and phrases that you use when you want to sneak away for some afternoon delight.

For instance, if you say: “I’m going to get a bagel. Do you want one?” It really means:

“Grab the grease gun and go wait for me in the janitor’s closet.”

And, “Where are you going for lunch?” really means:

“Go in the tool shed and take off everything except your hard hat and your boots.”

And all kinds of cool stuff like that.

So you’re having sex two or three times a day, while you’re supposed to be working.

And why can you do that? Because you’re not really doing any work! In addition to screwing your coworker, you’re also screwing the pooch on any one of a number of projects.

How can you get away with this? Because your boss doesn’t give a shit! He’s been on the job forever, and he’s just treading water until retirement. On top of that, he’s a raging alcoholic who suffers from back-breaking, mind-crushing hangovers every morning, up until 11:30, when he goes to lunch for two hours and drinks seven beers.

Then, in the afternoon, he sits at his computer and plays with the stock market.

Now, let’s say you’re that employee who is having sex on the job rather than working. And now, the annual “Engagement Survey” comes in. You’ve got to answer all these questions about your absentee boss.

What would you do? I know what I would do . . . I’d give the son of a bitch the highest ratings I possibly could, that’s what! Because if I grade him low, they’re going to make him actually work! And I don’t want that!

If you think this is unrealistic, you’ve never heard of the “Mark Five to Survive” mentality. I first heard about it when I was doing some focus groups for a large company that did this kind of engagement survey every year. In the group, I asked the participants about the survey.

“Oh, yeah,” said one woman. “We call that the ‘write five to survive’ survey.”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked, in my best focus-group-moderator voice.

“It means if you just give the manager all fives across the board, they’ll leave you alone,” she told me. “If you give him lower ratings, they’re going to start messing with you.”

Five to survive! Who the hell wants someone from corporate to come nosing around, trying to fix your work group when it isn’t broken to begin with.

That’s why I’m so suspicious of those engagement surveys.

In fact, I am convinced that there is only one way to tell if an employee is truly engaged. And I have the perfect example to prove my point.

But I have to jump on a plane to Boulder, Colorado to teach the Advanced Writing and Editing seminar . . . . so before I post my thoughts, I’ll throw it to the group:

What’s the only way to tell if an employee is truly engaged?

I'll post my opinion from the Rockies, probably tomorrow.

To continue the discussion on employee engagement that we started last week (or was it the week before that? I don’t know. My life has become a blur of airports, hotel rooms, and eight-year-old soccer and football games and practices).

But I do remember that I promised to “reveal” the “only sure way” to tell if an employee is engaged, since surveys on the topic can be very misleading. So here's one man's opinion:

The only way to tell if an employee is engaged? Direct observation. You have to watch how an individual works, how he responds to certain things that happen at work, what they say when they think nobody is listening, and what decisions they make at crucial times during the work day.

That's it. It's the only 100 percent accurate way of doing it.

And unless you’re going to hire a team of Pinkerton detectives to infiltrate your work force, who the hell is every going to be able to directly observe individual employees?

Let me give you a couple of examples of what I'm talking about. I was down at Southwest Airlines all this week, for the “Communication Roundup” conference that Southwest and Ragan put on together.

It was terrific. I’ve been in love with the communicators from Southwest for about 12 years now, and finally got a chance to visit them at their home.

The conference was terrific . . . and Southwest was everything you would think it would be: A casual, comfortable company filled with people who like being where they are. Great leaders, awesome communication vehicles, and a culture most companies would kill for.

So . . . on Tuesday I was about to start my pre-conference session on Integrating Print and Online, and I’m chatting with one of the attendees, who told me he was from East Lansing, Michigan.

“What’s that, about four hours from Chicago?” I asked.

“Yeah, maybe a little less,” the man told me. “It’s a quick drive. In fact, I come to Chicago a lot, and I never fly. It’s too easy to drive it.”

As someone who hates to fly, I could certainly see the logic in that.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Why would you go through the hassle of flying these days if you don’t have to?”

Then I turned to leave, and bumped right into Katie Caldwell, the excellent editor of Southwest’s print publication LUVlines.

She had overheard my little conversation with the guy, and had something to say about it.

“We do not encourage people not to fly around here,” she said, in a menacing tone.

Now, Katie is probably, outside of maybe her boss Tonda Montague, the nicest person in the history of nice people. So she was kidding. I think. But not really.

The point is, Katie cares about Southwest. She cares about the company, not just her job. That is true engagement . . . and it shows itself a hundred times in a hundred different ways throughout the workday . . . if you're watching and paying attention.

Here’s another example:

Two weeks ago, I was sitting in my favorite deli, drinking coffee and waiting for Jim Ylisela, Ragan’s head of consulting, to show up for a breakfast meeting.

There was only one waiter, and the place was jammed. People just kept filing in. The waiter was crushed. He was taking phone orders, working the counter, dealing with take-out orders, bussing tables, screaming at the cook, and trying to get people their food.

Just at the height of the insanity, four corporate women in suits walked in. One of them said to the waiter (a little rudely in my opinion): “We need 24 everything bagels with assorted cream cheese to go.”

Now, I’ve been a bartender, a waiter, and a line cook. I’ve been where this guy was. He was “in the weeds,” meaning he was flailing and scrambling and falling behind. It’s a horrible feeling.

Now, with these corporate women, the waiter had a decision to make. The order—even though it was fairly large—was not going to make or break the restaurant. There was plenty of business—a lot more than normal, actually—in there already that morning.

And taking the order was going to make this guy’s already miserable morning a total living hell.

He could have told them it was going to be at least 30 minutes. He could have told them to come back. He could have, subtly, let them know it was going to be a while before he could get that order.

That’s what I would have done. I would have said something like:

"I'm a little short-staffed right now because my bus boy is hungover and throwing up back by where we make the bagels, but I'll get to this as soon as I can, but there are 43 people ahead of you and by the way there's a Dunkin Donuts two blocks down just in case you're curious so why don't you have a seat while you wait for what might be 30 minutes or more?"

But he didn’t say any of that. He smiled and joked and told them it would be right up, if they’d care to take a seat at the counter for just a couple of minutes. Then he somehow made it happen. I still don't know how.

This guy wasn’t the owner. He wasn’t getting a piece of the profits on that bagel order. He was a grunt. A foot soldier on an hourly wage. And since it was a takeout order, he wouldn’t even make a tip on it.

But, for the good of the company, he made it happen. And he treated the customers as if they were the only people in the place.

That is an engaged employee. But you wouldn’t be able to tell that just by doing a survey.

And do you want to know the flip side of that engaged employee? It’s me. Or, rather, it was me, when I was younger.

When I was in college, I used to work at a hot dog stand.

On the weekends, I would fill one of those portable hot dog carts up with dogs, buns, and condiments, and push it to the strip of bars where all the frat boys and their stupid bimbo sorority girlfriends—none of whom had to work during their college years, not that I am in the slightest bit bitter about that—would go from bar to bar getting sloppy drunk.

My job? Sit out there and sell hot dogs to the rich kids.

It was the greatest job I ever had. Why? Not because I loved the company, or loved the boss, or loved selling hot dogs. It was great because I could drink and do drugs on the job!

I sold hot dogs on acid. I sold hot dogs on mushrooms. Some nights there would be an almost impenetrable cloud of reefer hovering around the stand.

I traded free hot dogs for beer. I gave hot dogs to my friends. I once gave a guy a “lifetime pass” for free hot dogs because he gave me a quarter ounce of mushrooms.

I was famous! Whenever someone needed a break from the bars, they’d come out and hang out with me. And they’d sneak me beer. And I’d give them a dog. I met tons of pretty women who would sit and drink with me and watch the parade of fools stumble by.

I wish I had that job today. But was I engaged? Hell, no. Was I a productive employee? Hell no.

But I was happy! I was as happy as a pig in shit! And if you gave me some kind of employee opinion survey or engagement survey, I would have given you the highest marks possible across the board.

And I loved my boss! In fact, I'm still buddies with him. But that wasn't enough to get me to put the interests of the company ahead of my own personal interests.

The company's interests: Sell as many dogs as possible, don't give any away, present a professional image to the customers, and work as quickly and efficiently as possible.

My interests: Drink, meet women, score drugs, have fun, somehow remember to push the cart back to the store at the end of the night (one night, I almost forgot; remind me to tell you that story one day).

My interests were more important. I was not engaged. I was happy, but about as far from engaged as one person could get.

And that’s where I think many people make a mistake when it comes to engagement. Engagement isn’t about being happy. It’s about feeling like you’re part of something bigger . . . that you’re more than just an employee. It’s about doing the extra stuff.

And I’m just not sure you can “measure” stuff like that. I think you have to see people in action.

Well . . . I did it. The Death March is over. And I made it. I'm scarred, and not whole, but I'm alive.

I just finished five straight days of full-day workshops, for the government of Alberta in Edmonton.

I’ve never done five days in a row. The closest I’ve ever come to it is doing a two-day seminar, then a day off, then another two-day seminar. I did that once, and then I vowed to never even do that again.

But the people from Edmonton were so nice, and they really wanted and needed the five days . . . and as always I needed the money, so there you have it. I signed on for the March.

Midway through Day Three I couldn’t feel my legs; my back gave out at 2 p.m. on Day Four; and by the end of Day Five I had forgotten what city I was in.

If the people in the classes were jerks, I couldn’t have done it. But they were so nice, and so engaged in the workshops, they made it possible. And one nice thing was that by Day Four, people were coming up to me and showing me how they were using the information I was sharing to already improve how they communicate.

One women completely redid the cover of her print publication; another launched a blog while I was there; another was starting a podcast. That is heaven for a trainer—actually seeing the results of your work in real time.

But that’s not what I’m writing about. I’m writing with a warning, for any U.S. citizens who are about to travel to Canada. I don’t want what happened to me up there to happen to you.

First, let me say that Edmonton is a terrific town. It’s a weird little place, because the people are all down-to-earth and very blue-collar . . . yet the whole province of Alberta is swimming in oil money.

I heard from several people that Alberta has more oil than all of Saudi Arabia. (If an American said that, I’d write it off as empty bragging; but Canadians, as far as I can tell, don’t brag. So it must be true).

So the city is growing and changing very quickly. It would be as if someone discovered oil on the South Side of Chicago . . . if the people on the South Side of Chicago were friendly, like the Canadians. Which they are not. So, I guess, never mind.

The first thing I noticed about Edmonton is that, for a smallish city in western Canada, it’s a pretty expensive little place. The cab from the airport to the Westin, where I was staying all week, was almost $50.

“But that’s Canadian dollars,” I remember thinking. “So it’s really about $35 U.S. That’s not bad. Besides, the client has to pay for that.”

Then, on my second night, I had a couple of martinis at the Fairmont Hotel. The bill? Forty bucks. For two drinks. But I didn’t care! It was Canadian Funny Money! Probably about 25 bucks in American dollars.

And since the Fairmont bar was beautiful and overlooked Edmonton’s gorgeous river valley, and since I happened to be there right when the light was making the entire scene look like a painting, and since the martinis were made with Hendricks gin and were perfectly concocted, I thought it was the best $25 I could spend right at that moment in time.

Then it was on to dinner at an Italian place. They had a bottle of Barolo on the wine list for $65!! Which, I figured, was less than $50 American . . . and you can’t get Barolo for that price in the States, so bring it on my good man, I said to the waiter! And yes, let’s do the smoked salmon and the duck, the two most expensive items on the menu!

The next night, it was on to Ruth’s Chris steak house . . . where my waiter and new BFF Glenn talked me into ordering the venison chops.

“They’re $63, but worth every penny,” he said.

“Okay,” I said, playing the big shot, “but only if you can find me a suitable bottle of Zinfandel to go with it!”

And guess what? Glenn did! He found me a bottle for $75 . . . and it was terrific! Especially when you consider that it was probably only about $55 American dollars. I was living high on the hog . . . or the venison, anyway!

What’s that, Glenn? Brandy to finish off the meal? Oh, no, Glenn. Not brandy. Calvados! The nectar of the Gods, and a steal at $15 Canadian for one glass!!

And so it went. My reward for each day’s successful, though back-breaking, seminar was a really good meal, with great wine. Why not, right? After all, this is Canada, where the dollar can take you farther than it can in the States.

And then it all fell apart. It was on the morning of Day Four of the Death March, and I’m talking about my meals with the class, when they dropped the bomb.

“You do know that the Canadian dollar is worth more than the U.S. dollar right now, eh?” somebody told me. Everybody else laughed. I wet myself. I did the rest of the day with my trousers soaked in urine. Now I know how accountants feel every day. I'll never make fun of them again.

When did this happen? I'm no finance professional, but isn't the U.S. dollar always stronger than the Canadian dollar? How did I miss this?

What a disaster. My Fairmont martinis weren’t twelve bucks a piece . . .they were more like $23 each! With tip that is just about fifty bucks American! When I travel for Ragan, that’s my whole per diem . . . for the entire trip!

And I want to know: Who is to blame for this? Can I blame Bush for this, too? It’s bad enough that he has destroyed whatever reputation we had in the world, is trying to turn this country into a theocracy, and got us involved in a tar baby war in Iraq that can only end badly . . . but did he fuck up the dollar, too? Can the man do nothing right?

And Canada, you should be ashamed of yourself! You know that there are plenty of morons out there, like me, who don’t pay attention to exchange rates. You need to be a better host and make people aware that things have changed.

You should have a big sign up at the airports and other entry points to the country. Something that says:

“Hey, you big fat-ass stupid Americans. Your dollar ain’t worth shit up here anymore. Proceed accordingly.”

I’m doing the math on this right now, but I think I might have actually lost money on this job. Which means I need some work.

Does anyone need a speaker/consultant/writer? I’ll do anything. I'll work with IT. I'll work with legal. I'll work with accountants. I will do five days in a row again. I'll do seven days in a row. Whatever you need, I'll do. I have to pay off Edmonton.

The only condition is, I want to be paid in Canadian dollars.

Are you Green? You better be.

And if you’re not already Green, you better be Going Green. And if you’re not Going Green already, you damn straight better be at least thinking about Going Green.

Green is the hottest color in the world right now. Corporations everywhere are either Green or Going Green. Al Gore is so Green they gave him a Nobel Peace Prize. It doesn’t get any Greener than that.

Now, before you read the rest of this column, you need to know that I am as Green as the next guy. In fact, I'm Greener -- unless the next guy is Al "Green" Gore. I care about the environment. I care about it a lot. I’m Green, man. Way Green. Not Lime Green. Not Olive Green. I'm talking Dark Green. Forest Green, baby.

I would drive a hybrid car, whatever that is, if I could afford it. That’s how Green I am.

Whenever I’m at a corporation doing a seminar, and they have one of those garbage cans with multiple holes on the top of it, with labels telling you where put your cans, your pull tabs, your bottles, etc., I always put my stuff in the right hole. Always. In fact, I can say with 100 percent confidence that, in that particular situation, I’ve never put my stuff in the wrong hole.

And even though I live in Chicago, I spend more than half my life in Naperville, Chicago’s biggest suburb, where my son lives, and where they have a very robust Green Recycling Program. You know, one of those places where they have a big plastic blue box where you’re supposed to put all your recyclables.

And I do that. The box is right next to the garbage can in the garage, and every time I’m out there, I have a choice. Do I throw my empty can of pop into the trash can, or into the blue box?

Somebody less Green than me would chuck it into the garbage can. But not me. I’m Green.

Every time I’m faced with that choice, I pick the blue box. Every time. Now, a cynic would say I do that because there is no lid on the blue box, but there is a lid on the garbage can, so it’s just easier to toss it into the box, rather than lift the lid and throw it in the garbage. To that cynic I would say this: mind our own business.

And since I’m in Naperville a lot on Wednesdays, which is garbage night, I am often the one who drags the blue box out to the curb. I have done that in . . . the . . . rain.

So I’m Green, okay? With a capital G. I’m so Green I make Kermit the Frog look like Snoop Dog. Let’s get that straight.

And it’s because I’m so Green that I am getting sick and tired of all the hypocrisy and posturing over the whole “Going Green” thing in the corporate world. Does anyone else think that most people are full of shit on this topic?

I’m not talking about Al Gore winning the Nobel prize for saving the Earth, while he traipses all over said Earth in his private jet, leaving a carbon footprint the size of Rhode Island in his wake.

And no, in case you’re wondering, I have no idea what a ‘carbon footprint' is, but I read somewhere that Gore probably has a huge one, and that it’s bad that he does.

But in my opinion, Al Gore has every right to have a massive carbon footprint. I mean, this guy first invented the Internet, now he’s saving the planet. If anyone deserves a carbon footprint the size of Manhattan, it’s Al Freaking Gore.

No . . . what irritates me is the hypocrisy being shown by corporations and institutions who are riding the "Going Green" wave in an effort to curry public favor, because it’s the latest Cool Cause. I just get a sense that a lot of organizations are publicly jumping on the Green wagon, but in reality only paying lip service to it.

My best example of this? Major hotel chains. I’m sitting in a Hilton Hotel in St. Louis right now, and I just got out of the shower. (Don’t worry, ladies. Uncle Fester has a robe on. So you don’t have to worry about getting a bad visual).

And in my hotel bathroom right now, sitting on my toilet, is a little card that reads:

“Conserve to Preserve: Dear Guest, Hilton Family of Brands is committed to conserving our country’s natural resources. Every day, tons of detergent and millions of gallons of water are used to wash towels which have only been used once. Here’s how you can help.

• A towel on the rack means ‘I’ll use it again.’
• A towel on the floor means ‘Please exchange.’”

Please. What a crock.

First of all, what the hell is a “Family of Brands?” Can a bunch of brands be a family? Do they get drunk during the holidays and start fighting with each other, like most families?

Do the Doubletree people start giving the Embassy Suites people shit at the Annual Holiday Party? Do they stumble over to them and say things like, “Embassy Suites MY ASS. If you’re a Suite, then I’m the freaking Taj Mahal, man!”

But never mind that.

Does anyone really believe that these huge, massive conglomerates are washing less towels in order to save the environment? Really?

Of course not. They don’t want to wash your bedding and your towels because it costs them money! The less they wash, the more they make. But they can’t say that, so they try to hang it on the whole Green thing.

Why is that they won’t wash my towels in order to save the environment . . . but every night I come back to the hotel tipsy, they have two or three plastic bottles of water waiting on my dresser, “for my convenience?”

Oh, it’s for my convenience? It’s convenient for me to drink $12 of water out of plastic bottles, but they want me to reuse one towel all week and sleep on soiled sheets? (Not that I soil my sheets very often, but some people do. And places like the Hilton would have you sleep in the muck, supposedly so they can save the planet).

I don’t fall for it. I don’t hang up my towel at home, and I’ll be damned if I’ll do it in a hotel. In fact, I make sure to use ALL my towels, for various purposes that you probably don’t want to know about, and I leave them ALL on the floor.

I use the wash rags and the medium sized towels and the big towels and God help you if you give me one of those robes, cause you’re washing that, too!!! I may do things to it that make you wash it TWICE, just to prove a point.

Am I alone in this? Does anyone else think that most corporations are full of it when they talk about how committed they are to Going Green?