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My Love-Hate Affair With Money
 TIM: “I love hate money.”
DR. FROID U. LENT: “Vat dos zat mean: love hate? You speak in oxymorons.”
TIM: “On the one hand I enjoy having money and the things it can buy. But on the other — and perhaps even more poignantly — there are many thing about money that I despise.
DR. FROID U. LENT: “Like vat thinks? Vat could you possibly not like about munney?”
TIM: “Like that it separates people. It defines who can be your friend and who not. And that it makes people do things they normally wouldn’t do, such as lie and steal.”
DR. FROID U. LENT: “Vedy intedestink. But stupid. Zere is nothing wrong with munney and having lots of it. Zat is ze Amedican way, no? You are suffedink from middle-age laissez-faire. Zession es closed. Zat will be eight hundred dollars pleez.”
TIM: “But… but, I don’t even know what laissez-faire means!
DR. FROID U. LENT (shouting over his shoulder): “Ullllgga! Zend in ze next zucker… I mean patient. And make it znappy! Ve’re not runnink a chadity confessional here!”
If you are in business, it is your job to make money. The more the better. Following that logic leads to the notion that the more money you have, the happier you’ll be.
But that statement poses a couple of thorny issues:
1. Most humans will not restrain their overzealous pursuit of wealth even when it exacts too great a toll.
2. I’m not so sure that money equals happiness to begin with.
I recall growing up with my three brothers on our family’s 76-acre ranch in Modesto, Calif. Mom and dad were so strapped with mortgage payments and bills that some months there was literally nothing left. At Christmastime, were it not for a group of benevolent relatives in New Jersey, our thin gift exchanges would have been vaporous.
But I can’t remember a happier time. We were healthy and always had enough food; chiefly because we grew most of it in our gardens, raised beef cattle and milked our own dairy cows. We worked hard, but then, we played hard too. For some reason it is the play time that I remember most. (Unless I’m trying to make a point with my own children; then all I can remember are the 25-hour workdays and the absence of a single toy.)
One thing about being poor. You appreciate what you’ve got. When I was 12, I got a new baseball mitt for my birthday. I used that mitt so many years it became infamously known as “The Rag.” I restrung it at least three times using the materials we had on hand: shoe laces. One year I carelessly left it out in the north pasture (our ball field) over the winter. When I discovered it the next spring I was horrified to find that a cow had dropped a bomb on the last three fingers, which, after fermenting and promoting a healthy crop of mushrooms, turned them permanently black and rotted the stitching. (I think the cow recognized a distant relative in the leather and aimed for retribution.) Ten years later I was still using that mitt. Several years after that, my wife finally couldn’t stand the embarrassment any longer and got me a new one for my 30th birthday. I smiled thinly and pretended to be thrilled. Now, at age 46, that new mitt is finally getting broken in. I like to show the kids on my little league team the worn out spot in the middle where you’re supposed to catch the ball. A worn out spot like that is something you can’t buy.
Probably I shouldn’t get into the longevity feats I’ve accomplished with underwear.
Which brings me back to my first thorny issue: that our reckless pursuit of money sometimes takes too great a toll.
The ultimate motivator in our culture is money — cold, hard cash. As much as we’d rather admit to benevolence, love, environment or some other politically correct commodity, money is what motivates us.
Yes, we are addicted to cash like a heroin junkie to his next fix. We’ve set ourselves up with lifestyles that require a certain amount every month and we’ll sacrifice extravagantly to ensure that we get it. And if we can make even more — forget the spouse and kids, where do we sign up?
A good friend owns a small construction company. He recently told me a story about a client who did not pay for $60,000 worth of work. It brought back nightmarish memories concerning certain past clients of mine. My friend’s case is likely headed to court or arbitration — an almost certain guarantee that he will lose. Even if he wins the decision, the cost, both mentally and monetarily, will not have been worth it. I know, I’ve been down that road too many times. In my experience, judges and arbitrators are not looking to exact justice. They’re looking for common ground — compromise.
The problem with small-dollar lawsuits (anything under about $100,000) is that the cost of bringing them to court is too great to justify the return you might get. I’ve never seen a dispute like this result in a one-sided spanking of the guilty party. It is always a partial award. Partial because even if your case is iron-clad, a good opposing attorney will find a chink in your armor — some small foible or error you committed. Your case is not iron-clad, I guarantee it.
But if you’re like I was when I was younger and dumber — believing in the righteousness of our legal system — you’ll go to court anyway. The lawyers will get paid their fees and the chips will fall where they may. You’ll miss a ton of billable work in preparations, meetings and court time and spend several months stressed out like a bungee cord. In the end you’ll wonder, Where are the winners?
I explained this to my friend and advised him to settle out of court. “For what amount?” he asked.
“As a first stab, try to recover everything but your profit. In other words, propose a break-even agreement.”
“And if the shyster doesn’t go for that?”
“Negotiate. In the end, though, I wouldn’t hesitate to settle for 50 cents on the dollar, or even less.”
“Unh, I don’t know about that, man,” my friend said, cinching up the surgical tubing around his biceps and aiming a loaded syringe at the bulging vein in his elbow. “That’s a lot of money to leave on the table.”
“Okay,” I said. “I understand. I had to find out for myself too. Give 'em heck.”
The morals of this story are twofold:
1. Money is a powerful motivator. Proceed with caution, keeping things more genuine, like family and health, in mind.
2. Conduct your business to avoid being owed money in the first place. How, you wonder? I’ll tell you how in next week’s column.
Tim Garrison of ConstructionCalc.com, is a professional engineer, author, and software producer for the building industry. Check out his new book, "Cracks, Sags, and Dimwits — Lessons To Build On," available at www.lulu.com, Amazon and Barnes and Noble.
Send e-mail to buildersengineer@constructioncalc.com. Tim reads every one.
This column cannot be reprinted without permission from the author.
The views expressed in this article represent the personal views, statements and opinions of the author and do not necessarily represent the views, statements, opinions or policies of the National Association of Home Builders. NAHB does not necessarily endorse any of the views expressed by the author and NAHB is not responsible for any direct or indirect consequences arising out of the views expressed in this article.
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