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.