Why Was I Hiding In The Bushes?

No, it was not for illicit activities!

Sometimes You Just Have to Hide in the Bushes

It wasn’t my usual practice to hide in the bushes across the street from one of the stores I managed—but this time I had a persistent issue to solve and I don’t like being deceived. Here’s the backstory.

In 1988, early in my time at Silo, Inc.—a Philadelphia-based national retailer of electronics and appliances—I was the District Manager responsible for about 20 stores across Philadelphia and Southern New Jersey. As I’ve mentioned in prior posts, I believe in being a customer before being a manager, so I mystery shopped all my stores before the team knew who I was. I saw a lot of consistency issues with merchandising, staff appearance and salesmanship. After that, I met with the team, shared what I found, and together we established performance standards that everyone would be held accountable to.

One company policy was non-negotiable: stores were to open at 9 AM for staff, one hour before customers arrived. That first hour was for turning on displays, prepping the sales floor, and conducting a 30-minute product training (the training was repeated later for the evening shift). Doors opened to customers at 10AM sharp.

One day, I noticed a mundane report that landed on my desk. It was the burglar alarm on/off log printed on green-bar dot matrix paper (this was pre-rapid computer days!). I had never seen it before but I noticed something odd. At one particular store the alarm was consistently being deactivated just minutes before 10 AM. That meant the team was showing up late, skipping prep and training. I went back and looked at prior reports and this was, indeed, a pattern.

When I confronted the store manager—who happened to be the most experienced in the district —he quickly dismissed the report as inaccurate. He dismissed my comments as he was prone to do. He felt he knew better and challenged the whole concept of one hour store set-up. I disagreed.

So, what did I do? Simple. I hid in the bushes across a busy street from the store and observed. I noted every arrival time, and I did it more than once.

I won’t lie—I took a bit of satisfaction in showing the manager the hard evidence. The report was accurate, of course. I made it clear that I didn’t care how long he’d been around, what his sales were, or how great his merchandising ideas might be. First, run the store the right way. Then we can talk strategy.

That moment made something crystal clear to my team. I wasn’t a passive “supervisor.” I was a manager. And under my watch, stores would be run with consistency and accountability. Once that was established, I was happy—eager, even—to collaborate, listen, and learn from the many talented people around me who knew more about the business than me. But I wasn’t there to be snowed.

I was also reminded of a simple truth I’ve carried with me ever since: sometimes, “stuff” flows uphill. And sometimes, you’ve got to take off the suit and get your hands dirty to fix a problem. Those are the moments that become legend—and more importantly, the ones that earn respect

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