Day 220 - Contrasts

While there were some similarities between Qatar and Barnados - the climate is hot, hot, hot in both places, the countries are both small, the U.S. ambassadors in both countries at the times I was there were political appointees - there were many more differences, even putting political issues aside.

Both countries were hot most of the time, but in spite of the temperature readings in Qatar far exceeding what we saw in Barbados, Barbados was much more uncomfortable because the humidity was so high. For three years, I never felt that I got dry after showering. We had air conditioning in our bedrooms, so those rooms were comfortable enough. Still, I never felt dry.

image of rusted keyby Ava Babili,
via Flickr.com

The humidity in Barbados had a greater impact on us than that feeling of never getting dry. Leather shoes and purses grew mold in the closets; everything metal, including paper clips and staples in file folders, rusted; books swelled in size as the pages mildewed; and brass lamps, pots, and furniture tarnished. Clothing and other cloth items such as table cloths and napkins also sometimes mildewed. I had heard these things happened, but I expected to escape them since we didn't expect to be in Barbados longer than three years. It happened within the first year.

Culturally, the countries were about as far apart as possible. In Doha, just as I had while living in Iran, I wore very conservative clothing, covering as much of my body as I could without adopting Arab dress styles. My sleeves were at least down to my elbows, my necklines were modestly high, often covered further with scarves, and the length of my dresses was always at least to mid-calf. While I didn't adopt Caribbean clothing styles, I had to get used to seeing a lot more skin on everyone else. In addition, clothing on display in the shop windows often included T-shirts with drawings on them more suitable for under-the-counter in an adult book and toy store.

image of censored magazine by Mink, via Flickr.com

Qatar had a Ministry of Information which may have been more accurately referred to as the Ministry of Controlling Information because this was the government office responsible for censoring news, books, and radio program content. The Ministry of Information made sure that any page in an atlas that referred to Israel was removed from the book. The Ministry also made sure that references to the Persian Gulf were edited with magic marker blotting out the word Persian. Magazines that showed too much cleavage would similarly be edited with magic marker additions to cover up what the Ministry felt shouldn't be seen. When British news papers arrived on the island with articles cut out of them, the phone lines between Qatar and England would be jammed with calls to family members there to find out what had been in that space in the unexcised versions. Books critical of the country would never be imported into the country. My favorite bit of censoring was on the English language radio station when a British woman on a cooking show explained how to make a grape tart. One of the ingredients she referred to was white liquid flavoring. Initially I thought there must be something on the market in England called white liquid flavoring. As she continued to describe the process of making the tart, it finally dawned on me that white liquid flavoring was the Qatari-code for white wine.

There was a second couple in Doha who had lived previously in the Caribbean who responded to my news of the Barbados assignment slightly more enthusiastically. They recommended I read a Herman Wouk book, Don't Stop the Carnival, before going to Barbados. While the novel is set in a fictional Caribbean island, the challenges faced by the New York City publisher main character are recognizable to any westerner on any of the Caribbean islands. And since the images conjured up in the novel are not all that positive, I hadn't expected to find a copy of the novel in Barbados. I had gotten accustomed to countries controlling reading material available within them. So I made sure I read the book before leaving for Barbados. I was surprised to find copies of the 1965 book for sale in grocery stores, book stores, hotel lobbies, and other stores that catered to tourists.

Image of cloudy skies by Mr. T in DC, via Flickr.com

The weather forecasts in both countries could reliably written weeks in advance. In Qatar that forecast would be for sunny skies and high temperatures. In Barbados, that forecast would be for cloudy skies with the temperatures in the 80s and a chance of rain. The contrast in the frequency of rain kept drawing me to the windows of the consular section for the first two months as the sound of rain hit the roof. I would end up standing at the window, staring at the rain with a big smile until someone caught my attention and reminded me there were applicants in the waiting room.

Another contrast for me personally was the difference in the amount of work and the scope of responsibilities. In Doha, I was the administrative officer with responsibilities that at a larger embassy would have been handled by at least five different officers - Admin, General Services, Financial Management, Personnel, and Security. In Barbados I was one of six consular officers, the Consul General, the Deputy Consul General, and four Vice Consuls, all of whom had equal responsibilities for handling non-immigrant visa applicants. And since the Deputy insisted that we be available at our interview windows from the moment we opened the doors, in spite of the fact that we wouldn't see the first applicant with a completed application in hand for at least thirty minutes, I spent time reading the Foreign Affairs Manual while I waited. Because I had to look like I was working.

Finally, in Qatar, knowing someone's family name usually conveyed a lot of information about the person because of the importance of tribe and clan in the middle east. I had thought knowing the last name of someone in Barbados would similarly convey information because the population was so small. But there really weren't many family names on the island, a likely consequence of Barbados' history of slavery where the family name of the owner was often passed to slaves. As a result, knowing someone's last name offered no clues since the cream of society and the inmates of the prison might share the same last name.

I had a lot to learn.

Day 219 - Residents and Tourists

map of Barbados

At 166 square miles, Barbados is even smaller than Qatar's 4,468 square miles. And its population, 274,200 is less than one-sixth of Qatar's 1.9 million people. The population of Barbados is so small that chances are good that only three degrees of separation exist between any two people on the island. And when the chances are that great that every resident knows someone who knows every other resident, it is easy to understand why they conclude that everyone they don't know must be a tourist.

That's the world of Barbados - everyone is either a Bajan or a tourist. Those of us who lived on the island because our work took us there were always being mistaken for being tourists. And that meant every time we walked down the street, Bajan taxi drivers would stop us to ask if we needed a ride, even if they watched as we got out of the car we had just parked on the same street.

image of tourists by Holidayextras,
via Flickr.com

Once we moved into our house up on the hill overlooking the St. Lawrence Gap along the south coast, we considered ourselves residents. But when we walked into a grocery store, the greeter would welcome us to the store and then ask us how we were enjoying our vacation in Barbados. I should have caught on and just said we were enjoying it very much, thank you, because when I replied that we lived here, the greeter's smile would disappear and she would walk away.  We frequented a pizza restaurant near our house where we ordered our pizza from the same guy every time. It took him six months to realize that he had seen us before at which point he remarked that we must be on a very long vacation. When we told him we lived there, his smile disappeared although he didn't walk away from us.

Within our first week of moving into the house, we met a couple from the British High Commission whose son was in the same class as our son. They invited us to join them at a birthday party the following weekend, to observe the 40th birthday of two members of the High Commission staff. We were pleased to go to the party where we met a number of couples, each one of which had at least one unhappy member.  The party also served as a farewell party for a couple who were leaving Barbados after completing a four-year-tour with the High Commission. That couple kept making the rounds telling each of us to give it some time, assuring us that we would eventually come to enjoy ourselves in Barbados like they did.

image of open air market in Barbados by David Berkowitz,
via Flickr.com

One of the first things we learned about being considered tourists was that tourists were always charged more than residents. First there was the ambiguity about the currency in use. Barbados also uses dollars, but one U.S. dollar was the equivalent of two Barbados dollars. And since U.S. dollars were accepted everywhere, some Bajans took advantage of this by simply stating the price in dollars, leaving it up to the person paying to figure out whether the price was in U.S. or Bajan dollars. The more unscrupulous among them, if handed Bajan dollars, would then clarify that they meant the price was U.S. dollars. Many westerners on the island sent their Bajan maids to shop for them in order not to be overcharged for produce or seafood in the open air markets. And then there was the simple fact that when someone the vendor didn't know walked up to the stall to ask the price, the price stated would be twice what a local known to the vendor would be told.

At counters where people lined up to get service, such as in a pharmacy, the staff behind the counters seemed to give preference to Bajan customers, the people they knew, making the tourists wait to one side. This disregard for the order that customers arrived annoyed most westerners, probably including some tourists, although the tourists would be gone soon so there was little reason to be concerned about annoying them.

What was the most difficult for me to get used to in Barbados was the directness of Bajans when they spoke to strangers. In addition to taxi drivers approaching us to ask if we wanted a ride and the panhandlers who approached us to ask for a handout, people did not hesitate to walk up to a stranger to tell the stranger what to do to fix a problem. "Fix your slip," or "Tie your shoelaces," were common pieces of advice passed from Bajan to someone else, ever annoying westerners who were more accustomed to strangers pointing out that a problem exists, as in "Your slip is showing" or "Your shoelaces are untied," instead of being told what to do about it.

One day in the consular section, as I interviewed Bajan visa applicants, a young woman walked up to my interview window with a button on her blouse unbuttoned. It gave me great pleasure to tell her what to do to fix the problem. "Button your blouse," I said, knowing that she thought I was being polite while I knew I was exercising my annoyance with this Bajan pattern by being as impolite as I knew I could get away with.

Day 218 - Arriving in Barbados

Barbados beach

When I learned I was being assigned to Barbados, I contacted one of the diplomats I knew at the British embassy in Doha who had previously served in Barbados to get tips. I was surprised that the reaction of the diplomat and his wife was more apologetic than enthusiastic. They said they had enjoyed their time in Barbados, although it wasn't the most beautiful of the Caribbean islands. I had expected congratulations and best wishes. Everyone else asked how I managed to get so lucky. But from the first people I talked with who had been there, I got lukewarm apologies.

I should have paid more attention to that lack of enthusiasm.

My flight landed at Grantley Adams International Airport in the early evening, but since Barbados is so far south, the sun had already set, an introduction to what I had to get accustomed to - 12 hours of daylight and 12 hours of night every day of the year. The husband of my sponsor picked me up, delivered me to the hotel that would be my home until I found a place to live, and told me his wife, my sponsor, would pick me up in the morning to bring me to the office. The hotel was a typical tourist destination with the reception desk outside in the entrance drive where all newcomers were welcomed with a tropical cocktail. My room was a suite with a large bedroom, rattan furniture in the living area, and a kitchenette against the interior wall of the living area. A pair of glass patio doors leading to the balcony overlooking the pool was on the opposite wall from the kitchenette. Who would have thought I would have reason to complain about this set up? But I did. And I wasn't the only one.

Barbados was a living quarters allowance post, not a post that provided leased, furnished housing. That meant that we were authorized a full shipment of 18,000 pounds to post. A post offering leased, furnished housing, in contrast, authorized the shipment of only 7,200 pounds, assuming the difference between 7,200 and 18,000 would be placed into storage. But the furniture most people in the United States have in their homes is not always suitable for use in Barbados. Heavy, upholstered sofas and chairs were uncomfortable indoors and unsuitable to use in the outdoor living spaces that often adjoined Bridgetown homes. That made finding a home suitable for the furniture we had shipped difficult. In addition, there were two hurdles that everyone had to get over before a lease could be signed - the size limits and the security requirements.

one of the rattan chairs we purchased

The size limit had been in place for many years, but recent inspections at overseas posts had pointed out the general lack of adherence to the limits and that had raised the attention of Congress to what was often described as the lavish lifestyle of diplomats. There were three sets of limits - one comparable to the average size of homes that government employees in the United States would live in, based on the size of family and income level, one smaller than that standard, and one larger than that standard. Which set of limits applied depending on what was available in the country. In the middle east, for example, where houses are often much larger than in the U.S., the larger standard applied. In Europe, where residences are typically much smaller, the smaller standard applied. In Barbados, the U.S. standard applied. In my case, the size limit was further complicated because I was single, but Alex and Simon were joining me. The embassy couldn't consider my family size to be three until Alex and I were able to get married. So I had to find a place small enough to fit the size limits of a house for one but that was big enough for three.

The security requirements were more challenging. Homes in Barbados do not have air conditioning in their living spaces. Instead, Bajans open their windows to allow the breezes to flow through. But open windows cause heartburn for security officials. Their solution was to require that the windows have bars placed on them to prevent someone from climbing in through a window. Landlords were expected to put those bars in at their own cost. Most Bajan landlords thought putting bars on their windows detracted from the value of their homes so they wouldn't agree to put them in. And since the embassy wasn't leasing the homes, employees were, there was no guarantee that the next tenant the landlord offered the house to would agree to keep the bars in.

Our house in Barbados, view from the front

In addition, many homes in Barbados have open air living spaces that cannot be closed off. One couple lived in a house that was completely open in the center - the bedrooms, kitchen, and bathrooms were enclosed rooms that surrounded the open living and dining area. They overcame the security requirements by pointing out that unless someone got through the front door or through one of the windows, they wouldn't be able to get into the open central area unless they pulled up with a 12-foot ladder in order to scale the walls and climb over the roof. Or if they were airlifted in by helicopter.

Those hurdles meant that most of us stayed in hotels for much longer than expected. The walls in that hotel suite got close very quickly. We got up just as the sun was getting up, but then we went to work. Most days, I headed home while the sun was still up, but by the time I got to the hotel, it had set. Twelve hours of darkness in a tropical island paradise where others were cavorting around the bars down by the pool wasn't my idea of paradise.

Those hotel rooms also had no air conditioning. They had ceiling fans, but still the patio doors and windows had to be open, allowing all the noise from the cavorting into the room along with the cool breezes. There was a TV in the room, but the only stations were ones from the U.S. There was nothing in the hotel to help us get to know the island we were now living in. The hotels were like all-inclusive resorts where those staying never left. But instead of dressing in tank tops and shorts or swim suits with a beach towel as a coverup in order to head for the pool in the morning, I had to dress in a suit or a dress with nylons and shoes and carry a briefcase to head for the drive beyond the reception desk to catch a taxi to go downtown.

Our house, view from the back

We were lucky in one regard. After having three different houses measured and inspected by the security officer, we were able to move into our house, the first to pass both hurdles, only six weeks after I arrived in Barbados - on New Year's Eve of 1987. But the only furniture we had that evening was plastic outdoor lounge chairs with cushions, a rattan sofa and two rattan chairs and the dining room table we had bought two days before. My shipment wouldn't be delivered for at least a week. Until then, we slept on the outdoor lounge chair cushions. We were only able to unpack the clothes that we hung in the closets.

Our tropical paradise adventure had begun.

Day 217 - Keeping Secrets

Image of a secretary by Vin Crosbie, via Flickr.com

I learned the origin of the term secretary from Gloria - one who keeps secrets. Gloria did so much more than keep records, file documents, record minutes, and manage correspondence, the tasks I had previously associated with secretaries.

Gloria was unflappable. I received a phone call one day from a person who called to say that she would be unable to attend the reception at the ambassador's residence. Getting those invited to RSVP was a challenge, complicated further by various accents and invitation lists that weren't always alphabetized. In this case, it sounded like the caller's name was Jaxson, someone who was not on the ambassador's list of favorite people. She had been one of those enthusiastic about the idea of an American School opening in Doha until she understood the students might include non-Americans and naturalized Americans, like the ambassador.

I scanned the list of invitees to see if the ambassador had changed his mind about including Jaxson and her husband, but their names were not on the copy of the list I had. I wasn't too worried about not catching the name because we didn't rely on the numbers of those who confirmed they would attend. But I was curious, so I went up to Gloria's office, told her about the call, and asked if she had an additional list of those invited. The ambassador heard me say that I thought the person who called with her regret was Jaxson. He walked to Gloria's desk and told her to call Jaxson to tell her that she had not been invited to the event. He wanted there to be no misunderstanding. He didn't leave Gloria's desk until she had completed the call.

Gloria was unflappable.

Gloria had a series of colorful phrases that kept conversation lively. Alex's nationality and personality made him one of her prime targets. Gloria's usual characterization of him was that he wasn't wrapped too tight. That expression conjured up a lot of images for me, from Alex in a straight jacket to Alex in a caftan that needs a belt. Others Gloria described as not being the sharpest knife in the drawer or having an elevator that didn't make it to the top floor or being a few cards short of a full deck.

Image of chocolate mousse by abakedcreation, via Flickr.com

Gloria and I also spent a lot of time checking out restaurants in Doha. Because liquor was not served, the final bill was never outrageous, but the food was, in the best possible way. During Ramadan, the big three hotels, the Sheraton, the Ramada, and the Gulf, all served buffets at sundown, for iftar or breaking of the fast. During the rest of the year, the big three served Friday morning breakfast buffets. Gloria and I used our many opportunities at these meals in search of the best chocolate mousse. Hard as we tried, we just couldn't agree on which one was best. So what else could we do but keep up the search.

Gloria stayed on in Doha nearly five years after I left. I don't think she ever stopped searching.

Day 216 - Dressing for Dinner

Image of Bahraini flag by Frans Zwart, via Flickr.com

There were many levels of competition between Qatar and Bahrain in addition to the claim by both to Hawar and adjacent islands off the west coast of Qatar. Evidence of how seriously Qatar took that claim was the insistence by the Qatari Customs authorities that a shipment of T-shirts with the outline of Qatar on the front must have the islands added in magic marker before the Hash House Harriers were allowed to take possession. The competition spilled over into many other areas, such as the competition between the U.S. ambassador in Bahrain and the U.S. ambassador in Qatar. Since our embassy in Bahrain was much larger, the ambassador in Qatar was seen as lagging behind. His ambition to establish an American school and a church may have been sparked by the fact that Bahrain already boasted both institutions. His initial ambition that our local guard force be staffed by Gurkhas was another attempt to keep up.

Image of Qatari flag by Mohd Althani, via Flickr.com

History is a useful reference to explain the competition. For nearly 100 years, Bahrain's ruling family controlled Qatar as well as land on the peninsula stretching from modern day Kuwait to the south of Qatar. Other empires including Persian, Ottoman, and British ruled large portions of the Arabian peninsula as well as both Bahrain and Qatar. Both countries gained independence from the United Kingdom in 1971, Bahrain on August 15 and Qatar on September 3.

Qatar and Bahrain are separated by just a few miles of water. Their flags are the same except for the shade of the red and the number of saw teeth that connect the white with the red. Qatar is a larger land mass, but Bahrain has a larger population. There is evidence that both countries were inhabited as far back as 7,500 years, but only on Bahrain can ruins more than 100 years old be seen today.

Dressed for dinner

Many of our friends in Qatar eventually found their way to Bahrain for work, among them Pete and Lorraine and their children. Once they had settled into their new house, they invited us to join them and a few of their friends for dinner. They told us to bring formal clothing as we would be dressing for dinner.

The occasion for the dinner was that it was the same evening as a formal dinner at the Bahrain Equestrian Club. Pete and Lorraine decided the lack of an invitation to that exclusive formal event shouldn't prevent them from appropriately marking the occasion through hosting a smaller scale event in their home.

Alex and I flew to Bahrain for the weekend, bringing tux and formal gown with us for Thursday evening. Lorraine had arranged for the meal to be prepared in her kitchen and served at the table in the style of Downton Abbey dinners.

The only thing missing were the valet and upstairs maid to help us change.

Day 215 - Project Management Lessons

Image of blueprint by Mirandala, via Flickr.com

I had six months of training before heading to Doha. During that time, I contacted a number of offices to get familiar with issues I would have to deal with once I got there. One of those issues was a planned Public Access Control or PAC project. The project would be completed by a construction company, contracted by the Bureau of Diplomatic Security (DS). The primary project manager, therefore, was someone in that bureau, a security professional, not a construction professional.

During the six months I was getting familiar with the project, I met with three separate DS staff members assigned to the project as responsibility was shifted often. The project had already been delayed beyond the original completion date. The security equipment which included a vehicle barrier and gate to improve the ability of the guards to keep vehicles out of the compound had been delivered more than a year before. The rest of the project involved hardening the wall between the space where the consular staff worked and the waiting room.

The first lesson I learned from this project is that I never wanted to work in an office responsible for building projects because no one ever saw the projects through from beginning to end. Instead, one person saw the beginning, another or more saw the middle, and yet another saw the end. And that seemed to mean that none of them really took responsibility for the whole project.

Those at the beginning of the project only worked on the plans through about the 35% level. This was too early to be sure that all the details were included. Then as the project moved forward into the middle stage, more details were added, but occasionally requests for changes would be rejected because it as already too late to include them. But since the project was still far from completion, most of those involved wouldn't press the issue since they wouldn't have to live with the result. Instead of insisting that the plans be reviewed and changed, the involved gave in. And that meant that when the project reached the final stages, it really was too late to make changes. In our case, the equipment was already on site. We were stuck with what was in the plans.

By the time I arrived in Doha, the DS project manager had changed yet again. Within a couple of months, that project manager scheduled a visit to inventory and inspect the equipment that was on site. He was the first of many visitors who seemed not to understand that our work week was Saturday through Wednesday, not Monday through Friday. He scheduled his arrival, along with representatives of the construction company that would complete the project, for Wednesday evening, Gulf Friday, and his departure for Saturday morning. I reminded him that would mean he would only be in Doha for the weekend. He thought that would be fine since he wouldn't then be disrupting us during our work week. It didn't matter to him that I would have no weekend. More than once I asked him if he would need anything special available during his visit. Each time he said he didn't need anything special. He would be able to do everything once he arrived.

Image of forklift by galeria_stefbu, via Flickr.com

On the Thursday morning when I picked up the project manager and the three people he traveled with, brought them to the embassy, and showed them where the equipment was stored just outside the back door of the building - we did not have a warehouse - the project manager's first question was "Where is the forklift?" I invited him to join me in my office so that we could discuss it without the others. When we reached my office and I closed the door, I reminded him, perhaps a little louder than needed, that I had asked him repeatedly if he would need anything to be on site for his visit and that he would be here on a weekend, yet he had never mentioned the need for a forklift. His response - he just assumed we would have a forklift. He hadn't thought it was necessary.

I called Mahmoud, one of the local employees, to ask him to come in to see if there was any way we could get a forklift and driver for the day. Mahmoud succeeded.

By the time the project was ready to start, the first project manager I had met in Washington had again inherited the project. And there were delays. Instead of beginning in the winter when the weather was pleasant, the start slipped into the middle of summer, the hottest time of the year. This was the source for my second lesson - project schedules should be set to begin at the worst possible time because if the schedule slipped, it would slip into a better time. And if the schedule didn't slip for other reasons, the project manager could then make a last minute change for the better time. Of course, this lesson would never be followed. Anyone who proposed such a schedule would be ridiculed. But time and time again I saw projects scheduled for the best of possible times slip into the worst of times.

When the contractor staff arrived, they told us the contract spelled out we would provide escorts so they could work 12 hours a day, 7 days a week. But we did not have Marine Guards to be present during the work. That meant that we members of the staff had to be on site all those hours. Only a small number of the staff were entitled to get paid overtime, so the extra hours were divided up among them - Arnold, Gloria, and Jeff. Within a month, however, only Arnold was still in Doha. And that meant he worked 84 hours a week. The lesson I learned from this is that I should never have accepted those conditions. I should have insisted the Department send additional staff as escorts. Over time, the Department also learned that lesson. At my next small embassy, Chișinau, Moldova, the Department provided Cleared American Guards or CAGs when that embassy building had to be refurbished.

Image of fanby db0yd13, via Flickr.com

When I was becoming acquainted with the PAC project before arriving in Doha, I was annoyed by the constant rotation of project managers who all seemed to be learning about the project at the same time I was. But when the project was completed, we discovered the real pitfalls of rotating project managers. The consular waiting room, for example, was outside the reach of the building's air conditioning. That's what happened when the wall separating it from the office was hardened - there was no ventilation shaft through the hardened wall. The waiting room was like a sauna. And when we decided we would have to provide fans in the room to move the air around, we discovered there were also no outlets within the waiting room. Those were the little details no one noticed on the early blueprints. The best we could do was to open the windows, leave the door open, and then run an extension cord through the gap at the bottom of the ballistic teller window to plug in one fan in the waiting room. The same extension cord was used to plug in the vacuum cleaner at the end of the day when the waiting room was cleaned.

But we were so much safer than before the project.

Day 214 - Foursquare and Other Computer Games

image of Foursquare Log In screen
by brennanMKE, via Flickr.com 

I joined Foursquare exactly two years and a day ago. I know that because Foursquare told me when I checked into one of my locations yesterday. I know why I joined Foursquare. And I have had two years to think about whether it made sense.

I joined Fousquare because of a story told by Dux Raymond Sy, a SharePoint enthusiast and frequent speaker at SharePoint conferences. He told his story two years ago at a SharePoint conference in Virginia. Dux speaks all over the world and he had recently returned from speaking at a conference in Sri Lanka. After that conference, he traveled with a friend to India where they rented a car to see some of the sights. Along the way, they had a flat tire. Dux checked in with Foresquare to indicate he was stuck along a road, pinpointing the location with the GPS locator that is part of the app. Within 20 minutes, a car pulled up and a guy jumped out and walked up to greet Dux and offered to help. Dux recognized the guy as someone he had met at the conference in Sri Lanka, so he asked how the guy knew he was there and that he needed help. The guy responded that he had seen Dux's Foursquare check-in on Twitter.

It was a short story that illustrated the impact of social media at a very personal level. So I joined Foursquare to see what it might mean for me.

I haven't had any dramatic results yet. I haven't run into anyone at the same location as my check-ins. But I have continued using Foursquare, although with some long stretches of inactivity, in part because it is a lot like an online game, although not one that can consume all of my spare time.

Image of Foursquare badges
   by dpstyles™, via Flickr.com 

Foursquare gives me points for each check-in. The number of points depend on many factors, most of which I hadn't yet figured out. I know I get more points when I check into a location for the first time. So there is incentive to keep using the app over time. I know I get points when I am the first one of my friends to check into a location, and since most of my Foursquare friends are in places far from where I am, I get those points often. I know that if I check into different locations of certain categories I will get not only points, but badges. And eventually I even learned there are levels of badges.

Foursquare compares my score with the scores of my friends, always showing at least two of my friends along with my score, usually the friend who is ahead of me and the friend who is behind me. That adds just a hint of competition to the game.

The number of points go way down when checking in at the same location later, but Foursquare offers a different incentive for frequent stops - according to a formula I haven't yet figured out, I have become mayor of a number of locations I check into frequently, an honor I also haven't quite figured out what to do with.

All of these points and badges and mayoralties remind me of computer games - especially exploration and adventure games. I enjoy the continuous learning involved, even though most of what I am learning is nothing more than what the Foursquare rules are and they may seem to have little to do with what goes on in the world.

I have discovered some businesses have developed strategies for engaging with Foursquare customers. Some businesses, such as Target, offer special deals to those who check in. Some businesses, such as the Minneapolis/St. Paul Airport, offer gifts to the mayor when he/she checks in. Some businesses, such as Nordstroms, send messages to customers who check in, thanking them for stopping by. The latter I think is a very effective strategy since Foursquare posts are reposted also to Twitter and Facebook which means the businesses engages with a broader audience than just the one customer. When was the last time a business thanked you publically for stopping by - not even first checking to see if you bought something there?

At one point, I decided I wasn't sure I wanted my check-ins to be shared on Facebook, so I decided I would only check-in if I had a tip to leave about the location. The tips are where the real power of engagement lies. Businesses can see right away if a potential customer is displeased by something, and the smart ones reach out right away to turn the displeasure around. There is no more powerful advocate than a customer whose mind was changed to a more positive viewpoint by actions taken by the business. But I am happy enough just sharing when something delights me.

But right now I use Foursquare as a game. When Alex the extrovert wants to go out and I would really rather stay home, I use Foursquare as incentive to please Alex by jumping up out of my comfortable seat as I shout, "Where are we going first?"