I'm nosy by nature. As my friends will confirm — and often complain about — I can't resist cracking things open. Cabinets, drawers and refrigerators are my passion. Especially refrigerators. Where some people see just a hamper full of veggies, I imagine an entire cultural landscape. Or at least a decent dinner.

But as a journalist, it's my job to poke around all sorts of places, and when necessary, ring an alarm. It's my joy to share faint whiffs of bull, especially when someone has tried to douse them with perfume. My profession gives me an excuse for my over-invasiveness. But I've also developed the knack of snuffling out stinkers without having to dig down too deeply — either violating privacy or (heaven forbid!) the law. And what I've learned might also be useful to you, whether you're checking out a place to work, a potential business partner or anything else. There are just two simple rules:

Rule One: A good organization, whether it's public or private, treats its least financially valuable people with the utmost respect. (Come to think of it, there was this ancient Jewish carpenter who also counseled a similar approach, saying that the most vulnerable should be treated the best, no?) To this end, my grandfather — an accountant who dealt with the occasional unsavory character — would seek out the guy who supplied the sawdust that a business spread on the floor. Sawdust, you see, was cheap and easy to get, so its seller would be most ripe for abuse.

Today, finding the lowest guy on an organization's chart is pretty simple. As you walk in the door, he or she is generally the first person you see: the receptionist.

It's a receptionist's job to be friendly, so don't let any fawning fool you. But you can tell a lot about a place by how people treat them. And especially by how much they know. The low guy on an outfit's totem pole — if he's not crapped on — will occasionally glance up and, in doing so, treat himself to a most revealing view of an organization. Despite the relative paucity of his paycheck, if the bottom guy is a KOA (Knower Of All), it's a positive sign; it's an even better indication of an outfit's well-being when a KOA isn't afraid to share. And why shouldn't he?

Rule Two: Good places never need lots of locks. It's mostly bad outfits that are riddled with secrets. So a close-mouthed, timorous KOA betokens a place in distress, which for me means it's time to dig a little deeper. For nonprofits, publicly traded corporations or government organizations, further inquiry ought to be simple. It's a matter a public record, and, in my long experience, the best places will instantly lay their cards on the table.

Every citizen is entitled to the public records of a public institution, and good ones don't blink when you ask. When I checked out Farm Aid for a recent column ["Farm Aid, City Benefits," July 13, 2006], the executive director pulled out both its tax forms and an audit even before my request. They passed my sniff test.

But troubled places just clam up and fester.

When I tried, a couple years ago, to get basic info from the Philadelphia College of Physician's Mutter Museum — a public institution — you'd have thought I was brandishing a battering ram. It was an agony. Sure enough, within a year, their new executive director had quit, and the place continues to flounder.

Likewise, Mayor Street's administration is a sink of foulness, where KOAs get no respect, and lips are sealed in fear. Unlike previous administrations, every request for information for any department has to pass through a single, overworked press secretary. It's a log-jam by design, which sometimes means having to apply a foot to their gonads just to get their attention. Ugh, what's that stench?

Another nasty example: Comcast has a national reputation for undermining its front-line workers, and the company is incredibly tight-lipped. Trust me, a real stinker.

In contrast, if you want some info from Michael Nutter, I've found helpful people that you've got to ask just once. An excellent sign.

Good places love their least powerful members; bad places abuse them.

Good outfits are full of light; bad places are black holes of fear.

Two simple rules, easily applied, to ferret out the stinkers.

Snuff said.

(bruce@schimmel.com)