I can cope with a smack in the face, or at least I should be able to after the number I have had. This one was just run-of-the-mill for me.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
I don't even like to talk about it. I hated being a number and not merely because I was a very small one. I let them bellow at me for just as long as it took me to find enough pluck to bellow back at them.
I've had my run in with trouble. Fortunately, you know, one slap on the hand is usually the last time for me... I learned my lesson.
In doing what I'm doing, you have to be sensitive to the fact that you're not dealing with numbers, you're dealing with people. And I will continue to be sensitive to that.
You can ask anybody in the room. My numbers are the worst in here but I'm still a jerk to everybody, yelling at everybody, getting them going. Once I get it back, then I'll be even worse to the guys.
I think my numbers speak for themselves.
I hate that number. I hate the number four. I just wanna, like, cut it in half and kill it. I hate it. I've been fourth so many times.
I once joked in a book that there are three things you can't do in life. You can't beat the phone company, you can't make a waiter see you until he is ready to see you, and you can't go home again. Since the spring of 1995, I have been quietly, even gamely, reassessing point number three.
When angry count to ten before you speak. If very angry, count to one hundred.
It's true that I have always been very comfortable with numbers.
The three-thousand hitting thing was the first time I let individual pressure get to me. I was uptight about it. When I saw the hit going through, I had a sigh of relief more than anything.