Talking recently about what we value in co-workers, we discovered that it basically comes down to two things: people who are kind and people who are competent.

But, of course, no one is always kind, and even the genius slips up on occasion. In an economic downturn, how do you make the tough call?

So we devised a sort of Cartesian axis, or coordinate plane, with kindness on the vertical grid and competence on the horizontal.

Let’s say on the vertical grid, on a scale of 1 to 10, 1 is the jerk and No. 10 is your best friend.

On the horizontal, 1 is the person who can’t figure out how to turn on the lights and 10 is Einstein.

O.K. If you’re an incompetent jerk—say, someone in the lower left quadrant—goodbye and good luck to you. Easy call.

If you’re in the top right quadrant—a pal and a star: Bruce Springsteen, in other words: name your price.

If you’re kind but can’t figure it out, or skilled but unhappy, well, let’s talk about training and experience.

But for managers, the truth is, a lot of people are right there in the middle, where average kindness and competence sort of intersect, and you have to make the tough call.

That’s why you’re a manager. That’s why you make the big bucks.

It’s a cardinal rule for focus group facilitators that you must never show bias or enter the discussion. You’re social scientists, there to gather accurate data. All data, if accurate, is good. You have to be unbiased, objective, disinterested.

That’s hard when somebody says something that outrages you. But that’s your trial. Three quick examples:

1. “Why do we have to think about everything?” I get this a lot outside focus groups, too: “What did you think of the movie?” “Did you enjoy dinner?” “Why do we have to think about everything?” Of course, you can over-analyze anything, but if you take it as an operative principle, as one focus group participant did, that reflection, analysis and thought are pointless, then I’d say life itself becomes pointless. Consciousness of our lives is what gives them meaning. The unexamined life is not worth living. The trait that defines our species, for Aristotle, is self-discernment. We are, after all Homo sapiens.

2. “It happened before I was born.” I get this from people of every age. It’s a lazy way of saying: “I’m only responsible for knowing things I may have gleaned along the way incidentally while I’ve been alive. I’ve heard people use it to excuse lack of knowledge about the central events of American history, and even the central texts: the Bible, the Constitution. But what gets me angry, I suppose, is the implied egoism: “Things didn’t really get going ’til I showed up.”

3. “What do I care about the child of a stranger?” This is another version of #2: The only people I care about are people I know: those 50—not the other 6 billion strangers. I heard this in a focus group during a discussion of onsite day care, and the speaker was strongly against it, as she didn’t have children of her own: “What do I care about the child of a stranger?” As though those children weren’t going to run the world in a few decades. As though everyone in the room wasn’t the child of a stranger. “What do I care about the child of a stranger” is just another way of saying “What should I care about other people?”

OK. Swallow hard. Better to get this out now so we know what we’re dealing with. It’s this kind of thinking that underlies many communications problems in organizations. If we want people to change their behavior—the ultimate goal of communications—we first need to understand what must be overcome.

Not long ago, they opened a special security lane at Midway Airport in Chicago.

It’s called the “Expert Traveler” line.

The lane is supposed to be for people who are seasoned and regular travelers. People like me, who travel all the time, know all the procedures and would blow through security in a heartbeat if it weren’t for those slackers in front of us who didn’t know they had to take their shoes off, can’t find their boarding pass and didn’t put their hair gels and toothpaste in the correctly sized plastic baggie to run separately through the x-ray machine.

The idea is that the expert travel line is faster and more convenient, as long as you know what you’re doing. All you have to do is choose it.

That’s what kills me. Every week, I go to the airport and see people engaged in a curious exercise in self-selection. Some are picking the expert line, but most are avoiding it.

Imagine what must be going on in their heads: “Damn, this security line is really long. Wait! There’s a short line with hardly anyone in it. Let’s go!

“Whoa, hold up a minute. The sign says it’s for expert travelers. I don’t know . . . um . . . well. .. uh, I better not risk it.”

These people are consciously deciding against the expert travel line, even though the other lines are twice as long. Why?

Maybe they think they’ll encounter a TSA official at the x-ray machine, peering at them suspiciously:

“Hey, are you an expert traveler? Let me see your boarding pass. I DON’T THINK SO! DID YOU THINK YOU COULD JUST WALTZ IN HERE? NOT ON MY WATCH!

“Let’s go. I’ve got a little surprise for you we like to call “body cavity bonanza.”

That never happens. The TSA folks are there, but there’s just like the TSA people in all the other lines. They can’t tell if you’re an expert traveler or a first-timer. And they’re just as slow replenishing the bins.

You can be a complete doofus of a traveler and still go through the expert travel lane. There are no qualifications, no proof of expertise required. It’s kind of like journalism. Any idiot can claim to be a journalist, and many do.

Of course, if everyone realized this and starting going through the expert travel lane, it would become the slowest, most clogged lane at the security checkpoint.

And when that happens, I’ll jump over to the line marked “Lame-ass travelers only.”

In Ragan Consulting, we often counsel our clients that managers are paid to make tough decisions. The disciplines of research, planning, and measurement help. But if the decisions weren’t tough, anyone could make them.
Often, in the economic downturn, managers must choose between two equally attractive or unattractive but mutually exclusive alternatives, e.g.: telling the boss she’s a bore, versus letting her go on with her pointless meetings. Life’s full of tough choices, kiddo.

Here are eight ideas to help you make them. (This is largely from wikipedia.)

1. A “dilemma” is a problem offering at least two solutions or possibilities, of which neither is practically acceptable; you’re on the “horns” of a dilemma, about to be gored, either way. You can’t afford research; but planning without research gets you the same results. Do the research.

2. Familiar clichés to describe this situation portray one “between a rock and a hard place,” or “between the devil and the deep blue sea,” a devil being a joint or piece of wood difficult to reach on a ship. Pursue the metaphor: You need a buffer or a lifeline. Form an unexpected alliance: IT, Legal, HR.

3. In Greek mythology, “Scylla and Charybdis,” two sea monsters situated on opposite sides of the Strait of Messina between Sicily and Calabria, were located in close enough proximity to each other that they posed an inescapable threat to passing sailors. Don’t get between two political rivals. That’s their problem. Don’t take sides. Don’t try to appease opponents. When one of them defeats the other, make peace with the victor.

4. Sometimes, a dilemma presents people with a “false dichotomy”: either A or B. “Well, we have to kill either the publication or the intranet.” Actually, there’s often a C: Integrate print and online. Use both to support front-line supervisors.

5. “Catch-22”, a term coined by Joseph Heller in his novel by that name, describes a false dilemma in a rule, regulation, procedure or situation, where no real choice exists. “We can’t fund your program until you show us some return” (but you can’t show us a return until you launch your program). So it’s always necessary to prove your worth, to measure, to have an established ROI track record.

6. A “Hobson's Choice” is a choice in which only one option is offered: "take it or leave it," from Thomas Hobson, a livery stable owner who offered customers the choice of taking either the horse in the stall nearest the door or none at all: “We can continue to put out our crappy newsletter, or just kill print altogether.” Of course, the right choice, is to put out a great publication.

7. A “Chicken or Egg” problem is a seemingly unbreakable cycle of causation, which has an unknown origin: “I don’t read the publication because it’s full of lies.” “How do you know what’s it’s full of if you don’t read it?”

8. “Occam’s Razor,” a principle attributed to a 14th-century English Franciscan friar (William of Ockham to his friends), proposes that the simplest solution is the best: “Let’s put everything online.” The problem here is two-fold. First, some problems are complex, and require complex solutions. Second, one rarely, if ever, hears mention of Occam’s shaving lotion, nail clippers, toothbrush, or other items you’d find in Occam’s medicine cabinet. See? It’s too simple. It’s all about the razor.

The more I think about it, the more I think there’s something to be said for the coin flip.

On a personal note, as a clarifying allusive reference, I sometimes remember that, while I was an English professor at The University of Michigan, I rented a house in which the American poet Robert Frost lived one year, while he was a visiting poet-in-residence there, half a century earlier. I watched Gerald Ford’s Presidential Library being built across the street while living in that house, which has since been torn down. I recall Frost’s advice to those facing a tough choice, a favorite verse of President Kennedy’s:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I –
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

On Feb. 1, more than 1 billion people in some 235 countries and territories will watch the Super Bowl – and hear it in 34 languages.

It might be a good idea to make sure the English is right before it’s translated. And judging by this past week-end’s broadcasts, there’s room for improvement, especially in conciseness, precision, short words, clichés, and logic.

“He’s very, very multi-dimensional for his ability to run and throw.” Watch the exaggeration: He’s two-dimensional.

“He’s got all his weapons healthy.” Sharpened, or loaded.

“They all have over 600 yards rushing.” They each have more than 600 yards rushing.

“In getting ready for the game, it was interesting. . . . “ In getting ready for the game, I found it interesting. . . . (the so-called “dangling participle”)

“You see the turn-over differential.” Difference.

“He’s been hit multiple times.” Many.

“ . . . good at the linebacking position.” A good linebacker.

“ . . .only making it to the 10.” Making it only to the 10.

"He played quarterback collegiately.” In college.

“The fumbles is really the only chink in his armor.” Fumbling is his only weakness.

“He’s not an overly big guy.” He’s average size.

“They all bring something a little different to the table.” They each have slightly different skills. What is this table I keep hearing so much about? Is the metaphor a potluck dinner, or a brainstorming session?

Commercials at the Super Bowl cost more than $2.5 million for 30 seconds – so some people take its impact seriously. Language watchdogs should, too.