But Maybe They Really Should Match — by Dan Lynn

By Dan Lynn

My first job out of college was at Marine Midland Bank, in the World Trade Center in New York City. My mom was so proud. "My son is a banker," she'd tell people.

And I looked the part. Nice suit. Fancy briefcase. An hour-and-a-half train ride into the city each way, every day. I felt like a real banker.

The job itself was… less glamorous. Every morning I'd go down to the computer room and pick up several large boxes of old-school computer printouts — the kind with the perforated edges on every page. Back at my desk, I'd tear the reports apart along the perforations, which showered little bits of paper all over my nice banker suit. Then came the real work: I'd copy a long column of numbers onto a sheet of paper, add them up by hand, copy another column, add those up — and check that the two totals matched. That was the job. A manual check that two numbers matched.

On my very first day, they didn't match.

The guy training me, Louie V, waved it off. "Don't worry," he said. "I've been doing this for several months and they've never matched. Just sign the final tally and file the report in the cabinet."

Day two: same thing. The numbers didn't match. But this time, when Louie V wasn't around, I mentioned it to my boss. He immediately understood the significance.

It turned out this was an important liability-tracking system for the bank. Those numbers were supposed to match — that was the entire point of the report. Verifying the match was the job. And for at least a few months, mismatches had been signed off and filed away in a cabinet, day after day.

It was my second day of professional life, and I'd just learned something that carried me through the next forty years: I could be better at business than a lot of people around me — not by being smarter, but simply by caring about what I was doing.

(Louie V, for the record, was a very nice, funny guy. There are a lot of hilarious stories about him, but I won't get into them here. However, one funny thing he did was keep a spare suit coat at the office so he could drape it over the back of his chair and leave early — everyone would think he was still in the building.)

So what's the lesson? I think there are two.

First: question everything that doesn't feel right. Don't just do the task — understand what you're doing and why. The moment you understand the "why," a mismatch stops being a nuisance and starts being an alarm. Louie V knew the numbers didn't match. He never asked why it mattered.

Second: the bar is lower than you think. You don't need to be a genius to stand out. Work hard, care about what you're doing, and speak up when something's off — and you'll be ahead of more of your colleagues than you'd ever guess. It was true on my second day, and it's been true ever since.