Digame, querida, "How are the kids doing at school?"

Nancy showed up at my office door one day and asked for a job. I hired her. She was bright, had a winning Puerto Rican smile and moved right in. The office was tiny with each of four people occupying a corner of the room space,  so that activities and phone conversations were within earshot of each other, and Nancy's conversational exuberance a bit louder than the rest of us. 

This meant that I could monitor sales conversations without trying--but what I heard was trying. Most of the time from Nancy's corner I heard discussions about how the kids are doing in school, the state of Carmencita's allergies and Juan's automobile accident, sometimes in English and sometimes in Spanish. My concern about pay for performance mounted daily until we ran the monthly sales figures and I discovered to my amazement that Nancy's numbers were better than anyone else's, including my own.