I'm not a big fan of New Year's Eve and its shenanigans so tonight will be quiet, just as I like it best. In our household there will be a couple of glasses of wine early in the evening, and I think we might have fondue because dipping things in cheese is not a bad way to spend any night. JP will try to stay awake but will ultimately go to bed by 11pm and I'll fall asleep on the couch around the same time but I always wake up minutes before midnight, in time to watch the ball fall in Times Square.
Then I'll take Luna (dog) outside and we'll wrap up in a blanket and listen to the sounds of the New Year. I don't know why I always do that but I do it every year. That strange New Year's melancholy will hit me and I'll think about the past year and the coming one. I'll hear fireworks in the distance and some woo-hoo's shouted out by nearby revelers. But mostly I'll hear silence...night noise. It's that new year quiet that I like the best.
I am also not a big fan of New Year's resolutions although I do like the concept of a fresh new slate from which to start new things. I've noticed that my usual contempt for social media has been steadily building even stronger for ever quite a while and I've decided that now is the perfect time to spend less time on it following people who have not tried to be a real part of my real life despite my attempts and invitations. I'll still follow the myriad of internet people who inspire me on a regular basis and I actually really enjoy following small businesses, so that's going to be my new thing. I'm excited for this.
I have too many stories about people I know well - relations and long-time friendships - that have been reduced to semi-annual text messages and/or the nanosecond click of the like button.
It leaves me empty and sad.
I'm staunchly old fashioned. I like many, many things before¹. Before what? Before cell phones and text messages. Before social media. Before the god-awful selfie fanaticism/narcissism. Before relationships became technologically driven and reliant. Before the world went crazy. I won't elaborate beyond that; you get the idea.
I'm going into this new year not longing anymore for real connection with people who'd rather click a like or send button instead of hearing the inflection in each others' voices or good conversation over coffee or wine or coming together at the dining room table and sharing food and laughter. Are we all really so busy that taking a drive to meet someone who likes/loves/cares about you is too much trouble? Are you really okay with pretending it's fulfilling to find something funny to post somewhere so you can feel happy when some people who otherwise don't bother with you 'like' it?
I can't and won't even try to wrap myself around that anymore and I don't want to settle for it anymore.
I believe in not accepting mediocrity but I'm going to amp that up for 2019.
I deserve quality relationships...and so do you.
I'm going into this new year nourishing my real relationships and cultivating new ones with like-minded people. People who have time for me. REAL time.
I'm putting my own spin on things in 2019: Out with the new (ways), in with the old (ways).
Here's to a deeper, more authentic and genuine new year.
¹It is perfectly okay if you don't agree with me. We were not put on this earth to agree with every single person (which is a really good example of the way people used to think before).
I was pretty surprised to see that but then I realized it made sense considering how angst-y I get during holidays. The holiday season really is a miserable time for me. I actually had started to make a video about why I can't deal with holidays...but even that overwhelmed me - like everything else does during December so the video is sitting in fragments on one of my computers, incomplete.
Now that Christmas is behind us (phew!), I can think and write about it with freaking out. So the Cliffs Notes version of the causes of my holiday aversion are as follows:
1. Anosmia. Ever since I lost my sense of smell 10 years ago, nothing has been the same.
Not being able to smell is like I am cut off from the real world; like my world is black & white and everyone else's is in color. Not being able to smell robs you of the ability to recall memory or create new memories based on smell. I can't smell holidays anymore and everywhere I look are the reminders of what is now out of reach for me. It's very painful. Maybe one day I'll put something together about the real effects of losing the sense of smell. A lot of people think it's not a big deal and they always say that's the one they'd choose if they had to lose a sense. But losing the ability to smell is a profound loss on so many complex levels; the tremendous loss is one that can't even be imagined unless you've experienced it. Trust me.
2. Family. The holidays bring families together, right? That's the big message but not the case in our "family"¹. Nothing can do that. Holidays are a constant reminder of that sad fact.
Our official business license came in the mail yesterday.
We are legit!
There are a million plans happening - some for the immediate future and others for down the road some.
(And wouldn't you know all of this is happening right when I am in some of the worst pain I've ever dealt with + needing to create a bunch of new Land O' Make Believe art in time for the holiday season in Berlin (Maryland)? When it rains, it pours, right? But aside from the pain part, we will take every single drop this thrilling new endeavor drops on our crazy heads.)
JP is doing all the business end of things and I'm doing all the creative stuff and then we come together - usually with wine - to discuss and plan and argue and laugh.
Poor Girl Mercantile will initially be online.
We want to take our time and build things - literally and figuratively - before we take the brick and mortar step.
Yes, there will be an actual store! The where and when of that is a bit of a mystery right now but in the meantime we are having too much fun with all of it.
Here's what I already know:
The stuff I sell at Poor Girl Mercantile will be priced so that near everyone can afford it.
Last week we were in a shop that sold throw blankets for $350. Nothing all that special about them except that the shop was in a high fallutin' neighborhood and the people there could likely afford to throw their money away on $350 blankets.
Poor Girl Mercantile will never charge ridiculous prices.
I've never done that with my artwork - and I could have - but never did, never will.
Being able to attain a thing that makes your heart happy should not be only for those in a certain socio-economic circumstance.
The worst thing in the whole wide world is being on the outside looking in, wishing.
So once again, the website will need a complete overhaul.
And a new online shop will need to be developed.
Poor Girl Mercantile will be all about the handmade - probably about 75% of our stuff.
It will feature my own artwork, my signs, my textile-based handicrafts...BUT it will also feature the work of other creative people and we'll be on the hunt for those that create quality, beautiful, affordable handmade items and who agree wholeheartedly with our philosophy.
If you're one of them or know someone who is, please have them contact me via email at poorgirlmercantile@gmail.com. There will eventually be a section on the website with more information but for now you can just email me and I'll give you the basics.
I have never in my entire life done a single thing in an orthodox fashion and that will not change with Poor Girl Mercantile...aside from attaining the business license, that is. We do abide by the law!
Above and beyond that we'll be flying by the seat of our pants, making stuff up along the way, and doing what I have always done that has brought me a lifetime of adventure: throwing it at the wall and seeing what sticks.
I wanted to explain a little bit about where the "Poor Girl" name came from.
I'll start with misfortune.
Whenever something bad happens to a person, someone inevitably will say or think or insinuate "that poor girl" (or woman/girl/child/man/boy/person/etc)".
As someone who has had more than her fair share of misfortune (which you will likely eventually hear about as this blog journal progresses 😏), that phrase has been used about me more times than I'd like to admit. It has always made me very uncomfortable as pity is not something I aspire to attain; also, I am vehemently opposed to being a victim of anything or anyone.
You see, it seems to me that every single bad thing that's ever happened to me has taught me a valuable lesson that I never would have learned if I hadn't gone through the bad thing.
This past Saturday we hit the road, off on yet another adventure.
I had recently come across the Facebook page for St. Peter's Bakery (St. Peter's Village/Elberson, PA) and it looked absolutely lovely so I knew we had to get there.
Also, for the record, I do not pass up the chance to visit bakeries.
“Is
not this a true autumn day? Just the still melancholy that I love - that makes
life and nature harmonise. The birds are consulting about their migrations, the
trees are putting on the hectic or the pallid hues of decay, and begin to strew
the ground, that one's very footsteps may not disturb the repose of earth and
air, while they give us a scent that is a perfect anodyne to the restless
spirit. Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I
would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns."
[Letter
to Miss Lewis,
Oct. 1, 1841]” ― George
Eliot
Silence, for one (especially after a snow). Bird's wings. Laughing - anyone's, really. Wind through tall grasses. Church bells. Rain, thunder. Waves, crashing and otherwise.
There are probably a thousand more.
I'll have to remember to pay attention to listen for them.
Write because you want to communicate with yourself.
Write because you want to communicate with someone else.
Write because life is weird and tragic and amazing.
Write because talking is difficult.
Write because it polishes the heart.
Write because you can. Write because you can’t.
Write because there is a blackbird outside of my window right now and oh my god isn’t that the best start to the day?
Write because you’re trying to figure yourself out.
Write because you might not ever figure yourself out. Write because there still aren’t enough love poems in the world.
Last evening we sat on the porch, drinking wine, talking,
mostly about the previous night's trip in to Philadelphia to see the premiere of the new Andrew Wyeth documentary at the Kimmel Center.
Coupla things...
I adore Andrew Wyeth.
There is no other artist that I would say that about.
His art takes me to places deep into my soul and I know how freakin' artsy and corny and pretentious that sounds - the exact things I hate when it comes to art - but in the case of me and Andrew Wyeth, it's true. I won't explain further than that because what it really is...is magic. And (1) magic can't be explained, and (2) magic loses its magic when you attempt to explain it. Magic is mystery, after all. We'll leave it at that.
The heat and humidity just won't let up, making nothing enjoyable.
We've spent more time this summer inside than being outside, for real.
In fact we're pretty sure that we spend more time outside in previous winters than we have this summer. Because of my persnickety lungs, I literally cannot breathe in humidity so I have to be indoors once the humidity outside kicks up...and I think there's been maybe two days this summer when it wasn't excessively humid. The grill sits unused along with the gazebo and the lounge chairs and even the motorcycles. It's too hot and humid to ride. We're not beach people and I am fully the opposite of a sun worshipper so those activities are out. We are actually looking forward to fall and winter so that we can spend time outside. We'll be the weirdos barbecuing in January.
The only thing left to do when it's too unpleasant outside is to hit the road and wander around the backroads in the comfort of an air-conditioned vehicle.
Our new house is actually not anywhere near new; it's about 80 years old.
It sat empty for the better part of a year before we bought and moved into it two months ago.
Empty old houses draw creepy things and I don't mean the shady characters who want to steal the copper pipes and appliances.
I know we had a creepy thing because of my dog Luna. Luna eats premium dog food that comes from the refrigerated case in stores that are not at all convenient to get to and require a special road trip. This gets old.
So I bought some not-so-premium-but-not-cheap-either dry dog food when I was at WalMart.
We put some in a bowl and she surprisingly really liked it.
The next morning we were in the kitchen when I noticed that the bowl that contained the dry food was empty.
"Why is that bowl empty?" I asked JP.
He answered that Luna must have really liked the food and ate it all.
"Impossible," I said, "Luna was upstairs with us all night."
We both looked at each other for a long OMG moment and then JP noticed that what was left in the bottom of the bowl was not crumbs but - wait for it - mouse poop.
Mouse Poop.
When I calmed down and stopped hyperventilating, I reasoned that it is an old house, it did sit empty for awhile, and that these things can't be helped.
And then I immediately drove to Home Depot and bought 10 mouse traps and two large packages of some kind of little boxes filled with mouse poison disguised to look like tempting food.
JP was then instructed to "put these things &#*$& everywhere!!!!" place the traps strategically where he thought the mouse (singular, not plural) might be coming and going.
Because, of course, there was just one mouse who periodically scooted inside to see if there was anything good to eat and then went back outside once his/her food expedition was complete.
Within a day or two, we caught the culprit out in the garage, where we surmised he/she squeezed under the door the leads from the garage into the butler pantry, which is next to the kitchen where the dog food was.
JP, who tends to overshare, let me know unnecessarily that "man, that was a big one!"
Yes, because it recently ate a whole lot of dry dog food.
We kept the traps baited just in case. Weeks passed with no action and no signs whatsoever that we had more visitors so we were/are happy that, because there is a God, we didn't have a big problem.
Life was good.
And then the other day while working upstairs in my office, Luna and I heard a loud "SNAP!" downstairs.
Of course, JP was at work which meant that I had to do the investigating and so Luna and I tiptoed down the stairs (yes, dogs can tiptoe) which is when I contemplated checking the traps and then contemplated not checking the traps and decided on the latter.
Then Luna and I drove to DQ for the 5 Buck Lunch Special because whenever I get stressy I get hungry but was too skeeved to stay home...and did you really think I was going to make lunch in a kitchen that may or may not contain a mouse corpse?!
Anyway, did you know DQ has the best chicken fingers ever? They do. Plus they give your dog a Pup Cup for free which is a little cup of vanilla ice cream with a dog bone treat in it. Yay, DQ!
Alas, after hiding out at DQ for awhile, we had to return home and wait out the afternoon for JP to come home and check the traps.
Unfortunately he confirmed that, yes, the snap! we heard was in fact the sound of the death blow to another mouse.
Immediately I wanted to run out and buy a few cats but then I remembered that I am allergic to them so I scrapped that plan even though I did briefly consider buying them anyway along with a lifetime (their lifetime) supply of Claritin or Benadryl. But then I remembered how much I hated dealing with the litter box from Mystic, the cat I had for twenty years, back when I wasn't allergic to cats¹.
Still, I was less panicked than I thought I would be, recognizing again that these are just old house kinks that need to be managed.
It's not like we have mice running all over the place, y'all. God, what do you think we are, heathens? I have a butler pantry with all kinds of foodstuffs on the shelves and none of it has been touched. We just have occasional mice visitors, that's all.
Still, I became afraid of the basement even though Mouse #1 was in the garage. Basements just seem like a place a mouse would like to hang out.
Actually, I've been afraid of the basement since we moved in because it has this really treacherous staircase. Like, when you open the door to the basement you are immediately in danger of falling into the basement because of the treacherous design of the stairs. I can't describe it very well and I am not going down there to take a picture because I don't really even open the door at this point.
And guess what?
Our laundry machines are in the basement. Which means, of course, that JP has to do the laundry because I'm not going down there anytime soon even though it's not even a creepy basement and is actually a pretty nice basement as far as basements go.
But he's okay with being the laundry-doer. In fact, he said and I quote, "don't you worry about the laundry, I will take care of it. I don't want you going down and getting scared or falling down the stairs. You mean too much to me and I love you more than life itself and I will do your laundry forever." Or he said something similar to that.
So last night I asked him to throw a small load in for me. I had to ask him twice because the TV was on and men don't hear their wives very well when the television is on, but he did eventually put the load in for me and then a little while later I had to remind him that it was probably done and if he could put it in the dryer, which he did, during a commercial.
Which brings us to today.
Normal morning, kiss kiss and he's off to work.
And then I realized what he didn't do.
That's right. He did not take my clothes out of the dryer.
They are down there right now and I am writing this to you in my nightgown and it is 10:00 am.
Here is the text I sent him this morning when I realized what he had done. Or had not done.
Do you know where my good bra is? The one that holds my boobs in place pretty good so they don't bounce around and make me and those around me uncomfortable? I will tell you where that bra is. It is in the basement in the dryer. Which means I have to descend the Staircase Of Terror into The Abyss Of Rodents to retrieve it. You said you would do my laundry. You lied.
He responded: LOL - already starting.
LOL? I fail to see the humor in this.
Later, when he's home from work and looking for me and for dinner, I will send him a text from the parking lot of DQ that says, simply, LOL.
Just kidding, I won't do that. Because I'll still be in nightgown and I can't drive to DQ in my nightgown because I might be low but I'm not that low + my car is now illegal to drive (see previous post).
But you know what he did do last night instead of remembering to bring up my laundry?
He went out late at night to get my fix for me.
Fix = Skinny Pop popcorn because I cannot survive without it and I realized very late that I had none left.
He really is such a good man.
I'll let him slide on the laundry thing this time.
¹ Did you know that menopausal women sometimes develop weird allergies that they never had ever in their whole lives prior to advent of their hormones dying off? It's true, look it up.
I had the displeasure of dealing with the Divison Of Motor Vehicles again today.
I've actually been dealing with them for almost two weeks now in an attempt to get my car registered and get answers to a ridiculous policy they have.
I can't even give you all the details because my head will explode if I have to think about this in any depth at this point since it's been consuming me for weeks. The short story is that the DMV wants my title in order to register the car. But the car is financed and the finance company is all like unless the car is paid in full we will release the title to anyone including the DMV when Hell freezes over. The finance company believes they are right; why would they release the title before the car is paid off? Unfortunately for me, the DMV does not think they're right. Also unfortunate for me, the DMV could not care less that the finance company won't release the title; it is no skin off their bureaucratic nose.
I am very much not fond of the DMV at this point, which is kind of like saying I am very much not fond of root canals at this point because there is not a lot of difference between the DMV and painful dental procedures. I had a very humiliating and bizarre experience there during my initial trip there to try and get this car registered. On the day that I first went in to the agency to get the registration, the employee I dealt with explained their policy of needing the title from the lien holder and sent me on my way. When I got home with all my paperwork, I realized that I did not have my registration from the state that I recently moved from (NJ).
(So in other words, car was/is registered in NJ. I moved to another state and needed to register the car in the new state. I was not allowed to do that without the title so the NJ registration is all I have that will allow me to keep driving the vehicle for the time being. I know, so confusing.)
So I get back home and realize that I must have left the NJ registration at the DMV. I drive back. I ask the people at the reception counter if anyone handed it in. Amazingly, someone did. Except I did not leave it at the counter after all; somehow it must have fallen out of my car in the parking lot along with whatever else was in the glove compartment including some old expired insurance cards and some kind soul had handed it in to them. The lady at the reception desk (Lady#1 of 2) gives me the NJ registration but then starts literally badgering me about why I would still have expired insurance cards in my possession as she is holding them in her hand waving them around for emphasis. I explain that I simply must have forgotten to take them out when I put the newer ones in. She then turns to the other lady and asks her if she has ever heard of someone keeping old insurance cards in their car. Lady #2 says no, she's never heard of anyone - ANYONE! - doing that... and then Lady #2 starts cackling...I mean, real deal cackling laughing as if someone leaving old insurance cards in their car was the funniest thing she ever heard. Then Lady #1 starts laughing, too, really loudly, as she keeps repeating "why would she keep expired insurance cards in her car?!" to Lady #2 even though I was standing right there.
I wish so hard that I was exaggerating. I am not embellishing that story one bit whatsoever. They were laughing like this:
Now I am not one to stand there being humiliated by anyone ever - EVER! - trust me on that. But guess what? These two ladies - and I am so using that term loosely - are protected by a state trooper who stands guard at their reception desk so that when these two ladies humiliate people you have zero recourse and are forced to stand there being bullied and laughed at because you'd have to be a special kind of stupid to ask "what's your #*$!% problem?" to two people anywhere who are being guarded by a state trooper.
I promise you will not come out on the victorious end of that interaction.
So I got to be bullied, humiliated, embarrassed, victimized and wildly frustrated at the DMV that day.
And when I got out to my car you know what I did?
I cried. I really did. It is not my proudest moment to admit that the DMV people made me cry.
Now wouldn't you know that the very next day I received an email asking me to take a survey about my recent visit to the DMV.
It was my turn to laugh maniacally.
Then today I used the DMV's chat option to get clarification about a form relating to this mess, and the chat person was awful. She kept typing "just go into the agency that is most convenient for you".
When I explained that I'd already done that part, I just need to know if I was using the correct form, she would again type "just go into the agency that is most convenient for you".
Over and over again, "just go into the agency that is most convenient for you" as I am typing my "But what if...". And then, her dismissal of me: "Is there anything else I can help you with today, Sharon?"
I closed out of the chat without saying goodbye and up popped a survey asking me to rate the representative and the service I'd received via chat.
As you can imagine, I was delighted to take that survey.¹
My husband is in the automotive industry, specifically service. The salaries of people who work in the service side of the automotive industry rely heavily on their commissions, a large portion of which derives from the "grade" they receive from - you guessed it - customer surveys.
The survey "grading" is such a stringent policy that if they receive anything less than what would be a 90%, they FAIL and will not get paid their commission on the service bill for that customer. And if they receive one too many "failing" surveys, well then their job becomes jeopardized.
Understand this "logic": In school, anything from a 70 - 100 is a passing grade. In automotive world, if you don't get an A (ninety or above), you have failed.
I have heard stories of customers who have given poor surveys because there has not been coffee in the waiting area. Or the bathroom was out of toilet paper.
Also, do you think people who bring their cars in for service are happy? I know of no one who is like, "Yes! My radiator seems to be leaking! Can't wait to bring it in for service at the dealership!" or "WooHoo! I need a complete brake job!"
They are already annoyed when they get there. You can stand on your head and do everything right and be a clone for Mr. Rogers, but they are going to sink you for something when that survey comes in because they are back at home, stewing, after plunking down a bunch of money on a repair. No one says, "Oh, thank God I had to put out $1,000 for a new transmission." Right, wrong, or indifferent, in their mind it was the service department that put them in this predicament. The bastards. And now they're getting irked even more by receiving a request for a survey.
Irked, by the way, is such a pertinent word when it comes to these surveys we are being inundated with.
The other day I drove to the bank and made a deposit at the drive thru window.
By the time I got home minutes later, there was already an email in my Inbox asking me to take a survey on my "experience" making a deposit that day. I kid you not.
I wrote the most elaborate story about my deposit "experience". I wish I'd saved it. I went on and on about how wonderful the pavement in their parking lot was - so smooth! no potholes!...how well-designed the drive thru lanes were because somehow they figured out the correct width that allowed my car to fit easily in them and how great it was that they were red and green lights to tell me which lanes were open - saving me from the inconvenience of pulling into the wrong lane...the mind-blowing technology they have that allows me to place my banking into a tube that shoots into a chute and then shoots back out to me with a receipt for a completed transaction...magic!
In other words, I answered their obnoxious survey obnoxiously.
You gotta fight fire with fire, y'all.
More creepy than anything was the survey I got via email about my recent visit to Target.
It's true, I had been at Target. I bought some chocolate candy (Justin's organic peanut butter cups - go get some now, trust me!), some garbage bags, and dog food. I paid with a debit card, very straightforward. No coupons, no stupid cell phone apps, etc.
I still don't know how Target knew I was at Target that day...which is more ammunition for my decision to start cutting back on my technology use drastically very soon because the paranoid me thinks they knew I was there because my cell phone has some way of tracking me and told them. But I'll save that story for another day.
The big question is why are we getting surveyed for everything nowadays?
The even bigger question is why does anyone think that surveys have any value or merit whatsoever?
They are designed to fail. A good example of that are my examples above.
We are powerless in so many ways these days against technology, bureaucracy, et al. Take away someone's power and you know what that makes them? Angry. Frustrated. Sitting in their car crying at the DMV.
Read the comments section of virtually anything anywhere for proof that the world is filled with a population of pissed off people whose only chance to feel any control over their lives is when they don their Keyboard Warrior cape and sit down at their computers. (and sometimes write blogs - just sayin')
In case you haven't noticed, people in the comments section of almost everything (not this blog, though) are really big jerk offs.
Do the people who send out automotive surveys really think that they are going to come across fair-minded people? Are they seriously thinking there are people out there who are thinking to themselves "but, by golly, they sure treated me nicely today and answered all of my questions thoroughly and I definitely felt valued and I will surely recommend them to all my friends" as they try to figure out how they're going to pay their mortgage after that massive service repair bill? Do they think these people are thinking that they should give a glowing review to the dealership who can't even be bothered to make sure the coffee machine has fresh coffee, for God's sake (because making sure there is fresh coffee for customers is wayyyy more important than making sure their car gets fixed properly by the right technician, of course)? Especially considering the reputation car dealerships have to begin with?
And then they punish the service personnel via their salary because of the pissed off Keyboard Warriors who can't pay their mortgage this month because they had to shell out a thousand bucks to fix their transmission so that they can get to work and who now have to work overtime to make up the money they just laid out at the dealership!
So now, coming full circle, you've also got a bunch of disgruntled, under-valued, low morale employees who can't pay their own rent or mortgage this month because they didn't grovel hard enough and "failed" a survey and who now subsequently won't be giving 100% at work because even though they try to do their best for their customers in constant situations they have no control over, they still might get screwed because their customers are mad because their transmission blew and THERE IS NO DAMN COFFEE IN THE WAITING AREA!
Photograph of a happy survey taker
Do the DMV survey people think I'm going to be, like, it's okay that I've been to the DMV six times in two weeks in an attempt to get my car registered so that it can be driven legally in this state? Let me just take this survey to let them know how they're doing. Those two ladies didn't mean to ridicule me, right?
I'd lay down a bet that out of 100 people who responded to a survey, maybe 1 or 2 saw any kind of real action aimed at resolution to their problem as a result. Are you thinking that the DMV is going to contact me after they read my survey response to ask how they can help fix my registration problem? Yeah, okay. I'll hold my breath waiting for that to happen. So the survey people want you to take their surveys but toward what end? There is no incentive to take them. Except for the employee forced to grovel and plead with you to give them good marks "because my job depends on it".
Frankly, I don't feel like I want to give my business to any business who thinks so little of their own employees that they are willing to punish them monetarily or dismiss them because of something as random as a survey taken by a customer who might simply be having a bad day and in need of a punching bag. Or a cup of coffee.
Yay, surveys!
You want to know what would work a million times better than surveys? Focus groups, or whatever you want to call them. Imagine if once a month a company pulled in 10 customers - 5 who were happy customers and 5 who were not, for instance - sat them down, fed them a free sandwich or pizza and some cookies, and asked them face-to-face the How Are We Doing? questions. Now you've got a group of people who - wait for it! - are actually feeling valued and, equally important, heard.
That's a big word right there...heard. Well, valued is pretty huge, too. You think those people aren't going to tell their friends and family about that? You'd be wrong.
The same thing should be done for employees.
When I was a senior editor of a whole bunch of trade reference books used worldwide, I had a lot of people who reported to me. Every single Monday morning I brought in donuts and coffee from Dunkin' Donuts and we had our weekly and very informal Free-For-All meeting. My employees were told that nothing they said in those meetings would be held against them. It was like Corporate Festivus. I allowed them to tell me what they felt I was doing wrong or what they thought could be changed or done differently or even if I had recently pissed them off, with no fear of recrimination. I was not a Too Big For My Own Britches kind of boss. In fact, getting humbled was, and is, one of my most favorite things. Take me down a peg or two and I'm a much more grounded and well-rounded human.
Those employees of mine would still tell you that those meetings made them feel like they really were part of the proverbial team, that their opinions really did matter, that they were being sincerely listened to and that they weren't working for a tyrant or corporate lemming. I made changes based on what they told me if what they told me made sense regardless of what "the rule book" said. They saw real action, not lip service. My own bosses were sometimes skeptical of my methodologies, many of which were unorthodox; until they saw the results I got, consistently, from my very loyal staff.
Loyalty. Imagine that.
Here's a link to an article on The New York Times that explores survey inundation:
¹ I actually wasn't horrible in my survey response. I only stated that she could was not pleasant to deal with and didn't seem to know what I was talking about.
Everywhere I look every single day I see people giving their attention to things that upset them over and over again, day in and day out...and I cannot for the life of me figure this out.
"I am angry about _____ and I'm going to keep reading and writing and talking about it!"
Why? What changes?
There are just so very many things wonderful things to focus on in your short time here.
I wish more people took the time to refocus on that.
You don't have to be all Pollyanna and lemons/lemonade about things but, damn, go take a walk or a drive or tell your kid or any kid or some stranger what's great about being alive.
"I am angry about _____ but I'm not going to throw away this minute or this day or this life intentionally pissing myself off."
It happened again the other day - two times in one week.
The first time was when I was checking out at a popular craft store that offers 40% off coupons.
While on the checkout line I remembered about their coupons and so I took my phone out, clicked on Google and typed in the name of the store + coupons.
This led me down a rabbit hole on their website - me, furiously clicking on things that said things like "click here for coupons" even though that just led to more "now click here" instructions...all while ambling in the line closer and closer to the checkout register.
Finally time was up and I was at the checkout, sans coupon, but still in full click-on-this-now mode. The girl at the register - seeing me maneuvering my cart, handbag, items I was wishing to purchase, and cellphone - monotonely told me that I had to download their app in order to get the damn coupon.
Contrary to the opinions of some people related to me, I am not a jerk. I do not yell at people for things that are not their fault. So I did not go off on the poor girl at the register who probably says "you have to download our app" 5,000 times a day.
That is not to say that I wasn't annoyed. Very annoyed.
Certainly I am grateful for coupons. I very much like to save money. What I am not grateful for is being made to jump through hoops to get a coupon. So I decided right there on that checkout line to not only remain calm and cool, but to download their damn app...while holding up the line and everyone in it. The store could have made it easier all around (imagine that) by offering me a coupon in exchange for, let's say, my email address and then sending me an email encouraging me to download their app. But that would be too easy. Instead, they chose to make me do that at the point-of-sale and so I would do as they wished...while inconveniencing every person in line behind me. There's some good business sense.
Meanwhile the girl at the register just kind of stood there awkwardly, likely mouthing sorry to the people in line behind me, as the little hourglass on my phone spun and spun while downloading their damn app.
Fast forward a couple of days.
Now we are in line at a grocery store known for its organic food and high prices. (I don't care that it's ridiculously overpriced there. If you have ever had the macaroni & cheese from their hot bar you will understand what I was doing there.) Everything was going fine at checkout until the man at the register saw that I was going to pay with the credit card associated with that store in order to get 10% back on my bill. He then asked if I had their app because if I did have their app then I would save a bunch of additional money on today's purchase + a bunch of other perks that I can't remember right now.
Like I said, I like saving money a lot. I do not like spending money so if I can save some when I have to spend some, then I'm all for it. Plus I got flustered because there was confusion about whether I had to have the app to get the original 10% back that I thought I was going to get for simply using that credit card.
In short, I caved.
Once again, out came the phone. Once again, I was holding up the line.
I turned to the woman behind me with the little toddler boy and said I was sorry and that if it didn't download quickly I wouldn't hold her up.
She sort of smiled, tersely, avoiding eye contact with me and then said to her 2-year-old who had no idea what she was talking about, "Timmy, Mommy is really sorry but we're going to have to be in this line longer than I thought and so I need you to be patient while we wait, okay? Mommy isn't sure how long this is going to take and I know you need to eat and you're tired and want to go home to play and spend time with Daddy and, again, Mommy is really sorry that we have to wait in this line so long but it isn't Mommy's fault, okay?" It was obvious she said all of this for my benefit, not Timmy's because Timmy was happily staring off into space.
Well, you know what? Sharon needed to eat (the macaroni & cheese I was trying to pay for) and Sharon was tired and wanted to go home, too, and all Sharon wanted to do was pay for Sharon's stuff and go and not have to jump through hoops of confusion while listening to some lady talk passive-aggressively in the third person to her 2-year-old.
I put my phone away, told the guy at the register to just ring me up, and paid with the credit card even though I never use credit cards to pay for things like groceries. And I'm sure I won't be getting that 10% back that I thought I was going to get for using that credit card.
What all of this is is bad customer service. It is the equivalent of "PRICE CHECK ON AISLE 2"
Business Common Sense 101 will tell you this: Don't intentionally annoy your customers. It will also tell you that if you want to retain customers and make/keep them loyal, then make their life easier, not harder.
But I am not fooling myself with this diatribe.
Some people will get what I'm saying here, but I fear that most won't. I'm not naive; I could profess that I will not give my business to stores who make me jump through hoops but it would just fall on deaf ears¹. For every me who is tired of it, there are 10,000 not me's who are not. I know, because I see them all every day, faces plastered to phones, missing life as it happens all around them, probably downloading all kinds of apps. We're too far gone into technology; obsessed with it and letting it literally take over our lives. No news there, right?
I have always been very vocal about how I am not a cell phone person. I carry one so that I can call someone if I need to (need is the keyword); so I can send and receive necessary messages when a phone call can't be made, and sometimes - yes - silly ones just for fun; and take the occasional picture. I do not check my phone on a regular basis, for real. A lot of the time I do not know the location of my cell phone and/or where I last left it. I believe that at least one person has stopped talking to me because I missed a text message or didn't respond when they wanted me to. It is not a joke that relationships this very minute and being made or unmade because of a cell phone which is just mind-blowing (and really sad) to me.
Just the other day I got a text message (of course) from an old friend wanting to catch up. When I saw her message it wasn't a good time for me so I texted back that I would make contact later in the day. Normally I would call to talk but I was really busy that day and not in the mood for a long phone call so I uncharacteristically bit the bullet and decided to try texting to catch up instead of calling. She and I exchanged a few texts over the course of maybe 20 minutes and then...nothing. We were filling each other in on what was new and I sent back a text to her text and then she just stopped texting. Was the conversation over? Did something happen to her mid-text? No goodbye, talk to you soon, let's get together? So then I was stuck in this strange dilemma of not knowing what to do. Do I text again - what happend, are you all right? Probably she was all right; maybe she just got busy? I didn't know if it was okay to walk away from my phone and carry on with my business which is a dilemma the 30 gazillion of you who are attached to your phones never find yourselves in. It's just all so weird and unnatural to me.
Because I am old-fashioned. Because I am cell phone awkward. And I like it that way.
It's unlikely that will be changing in the foreseeable future.
¹ I will, however, identify stores that are less likely to make me jump through hoops and shop at them before the others.
