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The greatest con is when you don’t even know you’ve been conned.After graduating law school and getting my first few checks as a lawyer, I figured it was time for me to finally splurge and get a new car, after years of used cars that were in repair shops half the time.I had my heart set on a silver Hyundai Santa Fe SUV, all wheel drive, automatic transmission, and with whatever the biggest engine was at the time. Unfortunately, none of the Hyundai dealers near where I lived, in the DC suburbs, had the color and specs I wanted. Finally, working the Yellow Pages, I got in touch with a dealership out in the Virginia sticks, maybe an hour and a half away from where I lived. I talk to a salesman on the phone, and he tells me yep - he has a silver Santa Fe with all my specs on his lot, and to come take it for a test drive.So I drive over, and an hour and a half later, I arrive at the dealership, ask for the salesman I talked to - and discovered that there had been a mistake. Forgot how he explained it, but long and short of it, he had been mistaken, the car he thought he had had been sold that morning, and there was no silver Santa Fe with my specs on the lot.I hit the roof. I was just effing livid at the waste of my time, so I demanded to speak with the manager, and just created an unholy row and scene in that showroom. That they made me drive an hour and a half, incompetence, how dare they, shitty customer treatment, etc, etc, etc. Anyhow, I made them feel really bad, so they tried really hard to make it up to me - and the dealership’s owner himself came over to let me know he would personally arrange to have an SUV with my specs brought over from another dealership. It would be there first thing tomorrow morning, and he quoted me a good price that would have made 2 trips worthwhile. They even comped me a lunch at a nearby Sizzler for me and my girlfriend.In the meantime, the salesman, who was really feeling bad, was so apologetic that I started feeling bad for him and how much he was going out of his way to be helpful. So when he offered to let me and my girlfriend take a new black Santa Fe to the restaurant, I was like “sure”. It wasn’t an all wheel drive, it wasn’t even automatic, but stick drive, and it had a smaller engine than the one I’d wanted.However, it wasn’t a bad car at all - I’d never driven stick before, but it really came quick to me, and it was fun.So when I dropped it off at the dealership, the salesman told me that while it was not the car I wanted, he could cut me an awesome price on this black SUV. I was like sure - I’ll hear the price. Turned out to be a really good price - like waaaaay beneath sticker price.And guilt tripping him and his GM, I got them to go down even lower. Long and short of it, I walked out of there with a great deal that day, with a car that I really liked - never driven a stick since as enjoyable as driving that Santa Fe stick SUV was.So years later, I was shooting the breeze with a friend, and the conversation got to car dealerships. I proudly told her of my exploit buying my first new car. How I had browbeat that hapless salesman and the dealership’s management and owner, taking advantage of their mistake and their resultant chagrin, and guilt tripping them for making me drive so far, and using that to drive a hard bargain and walking out of there with a steal of a car.She looked at me with pity in her eyes. Then burst my bubble with something like: “ummmm… the salesman lied to you to get you to drive an hour and a half to his dealership, then he sold you the car he had on his lot instead of the one you wanted”.Only then did it hit me, years after I’d bought the car - and by then I’d traded it in for an upgrade - that I’d been played.

When I was in high school I had a reputation as a technology guy, in a not so great neighborhood high school where they bused in more wealthy kids I was the kid from the wrong side of the tracks but I was great with computers well one day I’m sitting in the hallway and someone who I know but don’t talk to (effectively the same could be said for about 99% of my high school class.) asked if I could take a look at his phone. So I said sure judging from the phone it was water damage and possibly a shot battery so I offered to fix his phone for 10 bucks + parts. Anyway, long story short after picking up a replacement battery disassembling the phone and drying it out with a heat gun and putting the new battery in the phone came to life and in these days phones didn’t have lock pins unless you really dug down into the settings to find them. So his phone is open and I’m going through the menus checking to make sure everything works, called my phone, sent a text message etc. So I was going to send a MMS (Multi Media Message) because at the time I was a bit more naive about technology I though they all got sent out on different signals which meant multiple antennas. So I grabbed a quick picture of my dog with his phone and I was going to attach it when I found out he had a “Photo List” it was pretty inclusive of all the girls (and some teachers) he found attractive. Apparently he either waited around trying to snap low res flip phone pictures of them or trolled their myspace pages and uploaded it to his phone. Needless to say I never mentioned it to him, he was kind of a loner like me who just floated through high school knowing everyone but not being friends with any of them.

As long as your copy of signNow version X or later (current version is DC), then you use the Fill & Sign feature. No muss, no fuss.

Arriving early and doing nothing is viewed more favorably than staying late and working assiduously. It’s unfair, but it’s only the first boot of real life to kick you in the ass.HR and the ethics hotline don’t exist as a resource to you; they exist to cover management’s ass. I’ve worked for bosses who have used racial slurs, homophobic epithets, threatened and intimidated staff, used drugs in the office, and misappropriated their expense credits, but they were never so much as suspended. I almost lost my job for marking a sale as closed when I got verbal confirmation from my client (with my manager on the phone), only to get the actual signed documents a few days later.Always, always, ALWAYS document and organize files of communication between you and your superiors and you and problem clients. Did I say always? Discrepancies (read lies) in accounts of your interactions from either of these parties is a fast track to being escorted out of the building. Nothing shuts up a lying SOB like a time-stamped email with the intro, “Per my email on July 15, I mentioned….”Always keep a pulse on the job market. At least twice a year apply for jobs in your industry to get a sense on what your skills trade for in the open market and to sharpen your interviewing skills. It’s also a great habit to be in the orbit of recruiters because they operate within a tight-knit ecosystem, network with, and know one another. If you’re not a great fit for one role, and they like you, they’ll refer you to a friend or colleague looking to fill another role as a courtesy.Even if you’re not interested in a role that they may signNow you for, always try to recommend or refer qualified candidates to recruiters. This pays dividends down the road.Be wise as a serpent, yet as humble as a dove. Many people advise against making friends, but I would advise that you make them believe that you’re a friend. Being too cold and stoic in the office will make your colleagues withhold gossip, news, and politics from you that may be actionable. You can be friendly without being friends. Whatever your line is, find it and stick to it.Never get comfortable. I had a former colleague who never placed photos of his family or accomplishments in his cube and I asked him why. He said he is always prepared to walk out of the building with the items on his person at a moment’s notice. Speaking from experience, there’s nothing more humiliating or anxiety-inducing than taking the security assisted walk of shame with all of your belongings in a box and colleagues peeking above their cubes like prairie dogs to watch you walk the green mile. Work is a place where you should be as productive as possible; your family, spouse, hobbies, religion, proclivities, and creature comforts shouldn’t occupy the work space.Your manager is NOT to be trusted with personal information. Whether your mom has cancer, wife left you, your kids are suspended from school, or you’re late on the rent, these aren’t the people to share your most vulnerable moments with for two reasons; 1. They don’t have the power to do anything about them, and 2. They are more likely to report this things up the chain of command to use against you should it ever become convenient as a manipulation tactic. I know this oversimplifies things for the truly empathic, and supportive managers out there, but for the sake of generalities, let’s leave those 8 people out of this and err on the side of caution.Use your lunch hour as an opportunity to network with people within different departments to grow your customer base. Every employee has internal and external customers, and it will behoove you to learn how to cater to them. If you’re in sales, take someone in Dev Ops, Professional Services, R&D, or Customer Experience to lunch. You’ll learn all the horrible things sales people do that make their job a living hell, so you won’t perpetuate that. You’ll also forge some great individual relationships for emergencies when you need to phone a friend.Stay away from the office complainer. Every office has at least one, and he/she is a cancer on your outlook and productivity. Regardless of how valid their complaints are about the quality of the snacks, the scheduled All Hands meetings, the increased co-pays on the new insurance for annual enrollment, the way management is trying to screw us with the new Comp Plan, etc., the best thing to do is to keep your exposure to this individual AT. A. MINIMUM.Become a Subject Matter Expert in at least one or more topics within your department. This makes you indispensable among your peers and management, because they don’t want to(or can’t do) do the job of training the whole staff or answering all their questions.Volunteer to headline new products or services, and you’ll become more visible with leadership and ahead of the curve when those products/services become mandatory.Make your career decisions for the people who will attend your funeral one day; not the people in that office. Days, or even hours after your death, someone will be posting a requisition for your position, and your duties will fall on the shoulders of another. Make sure you spend your strategic decisions improving the quality of time with the people who will be crying at your funeral. This puts a whole lot of unnecessary office bullshit into perspective.If you’re in the US, talk to your colleagues about your salary. Corporations benefit from dwindling unions and individual, rather than collective bargaining by negotiating salary and compensation on an individual basis. Men, this is our opportunity to gain solidarity with women who work equally to ensure that they’re paid equally. White folks, this is an opportunity to ensure Black folks, Hispanics, and Natives are paid equally. This isn’t a zero-sum equation; corporations make enough money to pay us all equally. They have the luxury of not doing so. Hold their feet to the fire, or have them risk losing the war of retention.Be kind. Especially to the people who least deserve it. 9 times out of 10, they’re fighting prodigious personal battles, and the only place they can funnel their energy is at work. Be gentle, but don’t be a doormat either.Bring your authentic self to work. I’ve seen introverts, extroverts, flashy dressers, frumpy dressers, those gifted with supreme elocution, and those with the longest, strongest Southern drawl succeed in business, which proves one thing. Success doesn’t care how you show up; just that you show up. I wish you the best of luck on your journey!

Oh my, yes. While trying to stand out from the crowd, I accidentally (and erroneously) convinced an entire department that I was a conservative racist.A bit of context:In my senior year of college, I was facing the prospect of impending unemployment after graduation. I’d been rejected by all the grad programs to which I’d applied, and didn't have any job leads lined up since I’d been so sure I’d get into MIT. As the Spring wound down and Summer loomed large, I started casting around for a position — any position — that would pay the bills.Then, serendipitously, I saw that my alma mater was ...

My dad passed away shortly after my 17th birthday. Cancer. What else, right?My mom was very distraught, of course. So my grandmother and I were tasked with gathering and sorting his possessions so my mom could go through them later, after she’d had some time to grieve and collect herself.Usual stuff. Nothing unexpected. The kind of things any typical 53 year old guy might have.The real shock came when I started going through our PC’s files. I didn’t even know they’d existed until I stumbled upon them about 2 weeks after we’d finished sorting his possessions.A simple file hidden within my dad’s personal files—past tax info, some stuff he was gathering from a genealogy site, and one other thing.A manuscript.All his life, my dad was a voracious reader. You might not expect a tough old veteran street cop to be the literary type, but he read at least a book per week—each week, always, as long as I’d been alive and probably long before then. His favorite authors were Stephen King, Agatha Christie, Isaac Asimov, Ray Bradbury, A. Conan Doyle, and the guys I call Sci-Fi’s Big Three Initials: H.G. Wells, H.P. Lovecraft, and J.G. Ballard.I’ve long since read every one of the books in my dad’s personal library—about 1,200 in all, I think, and I’ve learned that you can discover much about a person’s quirks, desires, dreams, interests, and even fears by reading his or her favorite books. It’s one way of understanding and better knowing someone who’s passed away. Maybe the best way.But back to the manuscript.See, my dad disliked being a cop. He always said he’d never really wanted to do it. He took a shoe clerk job after high school graduation, and apparently this Al Bundy-esque position wasn’t too satisfying, because he took the police exam after one year of fitting kids for PF Flyers and women for dressy pumps.He loved telling us kids, “Do anything, but never be a cop. You’re too smart for it.”I guess with retirement drawing near, he wanted more out of life than chasing a little white ball around a Florida golf course or puttering around a flower garden.First I saw the title page. The manuscript was entitled: “A Life on Both Sides of the Law”.Now, my dad had never set foot inside a college classroom. He’d never taken writing courses. I’d never heard him express any desire to become an author. Had never seen him write as much as a haiku in all my life. So honestly, I didn’t expect much from this amateur manuscript.It took me about two months to gather the courage to get past the title page. Here I was, confronted with my dad’s ghost. His personal life. His voice. His style. It was frightening—truly frightening. Like hearing him speak from beyond the grave through this secret document that nobody knew about.Finally, one Friday evening after coming home from my exhausting and draining job of delivering prescriptions to the terminally ill, I settled down with a cold six-pack of Heineken and my bong, determined to pore over my dad’s book. Committed to completing it, no matter how bad or shaky or boring it might be.I’ve no idea how long he’d worked on this manuscript, but it was about 350 double-spaced pages, typed in Courier script, neatly paginated and organized. He had the formatting down cold. I had to give him that much.So I began. I read, and I read. Then I read some more. I spent about 5 hours in our basement, lights off, in front of that glowing white screen that made my eyes ache. I read my dad’s book.And it was flippin’ amazing.I couldn’t believe its quality. Raw. Unedited. Untouched by professional hands. Yet written so gracefully, so masterfully, with such attention and subtlety and style. Brief, punchy dialogue devoid of tiresome cliches. Incredible foreshadowing. A love story subplot that broke all the expected norms and tied into the main plot so neatly, like the story couldn’t hold up without it—and it couldn’t. No blustery speeches. No clunky adverbial phrases. Few adjectives. And a twist ending even I didn’t see coming—and I’ve been reading since the age of 3.I’m not saying his book was some miracle—far from it. Of course it needed touching up, reworking, and the benefits of the editorial process. All early drafts do. But for him to write such a manuscript with little or no academic training was just astounding.I learned more about my dad’s inner life and secret self in those hours than I’d ever imagined existed. More than 17 years had even come close to teaching me. I laughed aloud. I cried like a lost child. I was utterly rapt by those words—by this tantalizing tale about a narcotics detective who’s torn between duty to his badge, responsibility to his family, his secret love for a fellow officer who’s dealing with her own life drama and alcoholism, and a steadily growing heroin addiction.In retrospect, it’s kind of similar to Breaking Bad. Not so much the plot, but the style and tone of the story is nearly identical—and this manuscript was written in 1997.Its genuine humanity, odd wit, engaging dialogue, and shocking realism painted a picture of a man who existed miles deeper than his crass, strong-silent-type personality. A vulnerable man. An angry man. A deeply passionate man. A man filled with secret desires, lost hopes, and dreams for a better life.And I was one of the characters. So were my older brother and little sister. But in this world, my name was Roger instead of Rob.It’s bizarre reading about yourself—and about how your parent sees you, brings you to life, and knows things that you didn’t realize he knew.That’s how I found out my dad knew I was secretly visiting porn sites when he wasn’t around—it was in the book, including a few types of porn I was into. It’s also how I discovered that he knew about my encounter with a hooker on my 16th birthday—I guess my brother had ratted me out at some point. Yet my dad had never said a word about it, but in his book, I read how those things had made him feel.Like he couldn’t talk to me, because he didn’t know how to address it. Because he was a tough veteran street cop, yet he didn’t know how to approach the subject of sexuality with his teenage son—and it pained him and made him feel like a failure of a father.So many things like that. Crumbs of a life. Odds and ends of one man’s long, difficult, winding road through this world. The hidden cracks in a statue that’s stood strong and proud for centuries.I planned on printing it out and submitting it for publication in my dad’s memory. I figured it deserved a try. Even if it never signNowed store shelves, at least I could feel content that I’d honored his memory that way. And if it were published, his name could be honored posthumously. Like John Kennedy Toole, the author of A Confederacy of Dunces.Then I got kind of busy preparing college applications, and I started seeing a very sexually active girl. To be honest, it slipped my mind, and life happened. Things got busy kind of quickly, and the manuscript got back-burnered for a few months.I went away to college in August, and my mom was nice enough to buy me a new laptop for the occasion. I was thrilled. Stoked. Laptops were kind of a big deal in 1998.When I came home during the last week of September, I was surprised to discover that my mom had made some changes to the house since I’d moved into the dorm. The living room had been painted. She’d bought a new Laz-E-Boy recliner for herself, as well as a new dishwasher.And she’d donated our old PC to Goodwill.Her reasoning: I had a brand-new computer, and because she didn’t use the old one, she’d given it away.And my dad’s manuscript had gone with it. Locked up secretly inside that file nobody knew about besides me.You know the expression “I could have kicked myself”? Mere words can’t describe the overwhelming sense of loss, sadness, anger, and anguish I felt. In a way, it was like losing him all over again—such grief. The grief of gaining one kernel of him back again, just to lose it anew.The last little shred of my dad ripped away forever.Why didn’t I just print the damn thing right away? Why didn’t I make 10 photocopies of it? Why didn’t I email the file to myself? Why didn’t I? Why didn’t I?I have no suitable answer. No solution. No balm to soothe the pain of my loss.I’ll never forgive myself for that.And it wasn’t my mom’s fault. She had no idea. And she never will—I never told her about it, because I wanted it to be a surprise. I couldn’t tell her now. I can’t stand knowing she’d share the pain of loss and anguish all over again. Her husband’s great work of art lost for all time—and she never even got to hear his voice one last time?Too much for her to bear. Too much for me.So instead, I share this with the Quora community I like so much.It’s not a very happy story. And it’s not 1/10th of the tale my incredibly talented father created—probably much of which he’d written while he knew he was dying.I can imagine him down in that lonely basement, typing away, typing away. Clicking away the last hours of his life, struggling like Ulysses S. Grant to complete his memoirs before death took him like a thief. Fighting to complete it. And complete it he did—all the way to The End.And I lost it.I lost my father’s voice. By human weakness for pleasure and the juvenile certainty that things aren’t likely to change, I treated his life’s work like a cheap trinket.I threw away my father’s soul.And nobody, not me or anyone, will ever see it again. Not my mom. Not my family. Not his friends. Not the reading public who probably would have enjoyed it, and knew this stranger though his beautiful, gritty, cutting prose.It was in my hands. I held it in these hands—these very same hands typing right now, speaking this sad story to you.I threw away this beautiful thing.Like garbage.Like something worthless, I threw it away.I’m sorry.I’m so sorry.Love,Rob.

Initialing a page is the same as signing it. It may be used to hold you accountable for bsignNow of contract. If a document has blanks there is no reason for anybody to sign it.Sometimes people may ask you to sign for them to fill in later. Don’t. It doesn’t take that long to fill in.I repeat: if a document has blanks—or if the terms or amounts are not clearly stated (there is no need for obscure words or wording)—you should not sign or initial it.If in doubt, always ask them to clarify, in writing and in the same contract. Your copy should have this included.