I am often tickled by professional athletes who break out in a celebratory dance whenever they do their job.
For example, when a football player scores a touchdown, he will often dance around, flex his muscles, throw the football into the stands and make like a superhero. Occasionally, he will enlist his teammates, who dance with him. I remember once when my Philadelphia Eagles scored and lined up like bowling pins in the end zone. The guy who scored proceeded to do a pantomime in which he rolled an imaginary bowling ball toward the other players, who then fell down in an imaginary strike.
It was all in good fun, then it occurred to me. These folks are just doing their jobs. Professional football players are paid millions of dollars to do one thing: score touchdowns. When they do that they are doing their job.
That got me to thinking. As readers of this column are well aware, that can be dangerous.
I was thinking that the rest of us should celebrate every time we do our jobs.
For example, in my new enterprise selling autographed celebrity photos online – attention shoppers: that Raquel Welch photo is still for sale! – I put together a spreadsheet. Every time I sell a photo I update it.
When I complete that task, I should – obviously – take a minute or two to celebrate. Perhaps I should high-five the cat and boogaloo around the office.
No matter that making that sale is the job.
Others should do it, too.
When the checker at the grocery store finishes with an order, he, or she, could do a little dance, or maybe a somersault.
When I get help with pumping gas, I would expect at least a fist bump from the attendant.
The other day, I set a record – at least for me. I set the land speed record for driving from Stayton to the Portland Airport. Actually, it was a record for a lack of speed. I made the 62-mile trip in three hours flat.
And I did by driving Interstate 5 and I-205.
That’s an average speed of about 21 mph, slower than a bicycle rider in the Tour de France.
The traffic jammed at Wilsonville – it often does – and didn’t let up until I got to the airport turnoff. I should mention that there were no traffic accidents to gum things up. This was apparently just a matter of roads that couldn’t handle the volume of traffic.
By the time I got to the airport, I didn’t have time for a happy dance. I had to run to get to the lost-and-found office, which was about to close. A friend had lost her phone, and I volunteered to retrieve it. Good thing that quadruple bypass I had held up.
The folks at the Port of Portland just got done remodeling the airport, and it’s gorgeous. They spent $2.15 billion to make it one of the most handsome airports in the world. Unfortunately, the folks at the Oregon Department of Transportation apparently haven’t spent a dime to make the trip on I-5 and I-205 easier, or faster.
I’m not complaining, mind you. I’ll just use the Salem or Eugene airports whenever I can. Then I can celebrate.
Carl Sampson is a freelance writer and editor. He lives in Stayton.
