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Madhouse city...
May. 10th, 2006 09:45 pmOne of the nasty aspects of any business is making sure there are enough people around to handle the actual day-to-day action, without having some large portion of said workforce standing idle when things slow down.
As you might expect, December is a pretty busy time for a packing/mailing shop.
February, on the other hand, is s-l-o-w. So, usually, is May.
However, today was a farblegargling madhouse, and the fact that I managed, somehow, to get through the day without telling off any customers is, I think, notable. Then again, the passive aggression that took its place probably wasn't a much better alternative.
Case in point: One of our boxholders asked me to send a fax, and my eye was drawn to the fact that he was giving out his (our) address incorrectly, which is to say the street name was wrong, the suite number was absent, and his box number was absent. The fax was apparently a set of proofs from a printer, for some business cards.
When I pointed this out and orally stated the correct address, the customer took back the proofs, scribbled something on them, and handed them to me a second time. Believe it or not, the street name was still wrong, and the suite number and his box number were still not in evidence.
I pointed this out, apologized for not speaking clearly, and gave him one of our business cards as a reference. He took back the proofs, scribbed some more, and again handed them to me.
He had crossed out our address and replaced it with his own home address.
No problem, except that (a) the new address was illegible, and (b) he had not crossed out his previous edits.
There are people in this world who, despite all efforts by others, seem intent on Not Getting It™ (whaterver "it" may be). Indeed, the more advanced specimens of the species actually come to resent attempts at help. Be that as it may, I figured I had done my best, decided to say nothing more, and sent the pages off. I even volunteered an apology for having eyeballed the information he was faxing (I generally avoid looking at what customers ask me to fax), explaining that the address caught my eye, and that I felt it my duty to point out the problem.
My apology notwithstanding, I sensed, from his closed-mouth silence and his body language, that he seemed upset with me. My assessment was supported by him flinging his payment in my direction and then turning on his heels and stalking out the door. Oh, well... I won't be surprised to see another fax from the same printer tomorrow.
* * * I got a call about 10 am asking if I could handle a 200-word quickie, with a one-hour turnaround. No problem, I said.
I shoulda stood in bed.
My attempt at the store to download the file to my laptop appeared to succeed, but didn't, the fact of which I became aware only after I set myself up at the coffee shop a few doors down from the store. As the clock ticked, I got in line to buy some wireless time at the shop, only to find it was free, but after 15 minutes of screwing around with Windows networking, I couldn't hit the shop's server to log in, so I went back to our store, sat down at the UPS computer, downloaded the file from my webmail account, and started translating like a lunatic.
Fortunately, the text was straightforward and I managed to get it back to my client on time (though with only a minute or two to spare). My reward (besides getting paid) was a second, 2,000-word job, due tomorrow at noon. I've done all but about 300 words of it since coming home, and I figure I'll leave that portion and the final review for tomorrow morning, because right now, I am really tired.
* * * Barring a repair or a need to bug out, survivalist-style, as far as it will take me, I'm declaring the Honda a non-drivable vehicle, as the oil leak in the engine has progressed to really spectacular proportions, causing the oil pressure idiot light to come on and stay that way all the time. Drew is sure he can find a replacement engine for less than what it would cost to buy another clunker. Maybe I'll take him up on his claim while I am in Kazakhstan (though when I'm going is still up in the air). Until then, it looks as if I'm going to be getting a lot of exercise riding my bike around the neighborhood.
I think I might go see what's on the tube (although I hold out no great hopes), or maybe watch the next installment of Master and Margarita.
Cheers...
As you might expect, December is a pretty busy time for a packing/mailing shop.
February, on the other hand, is s-l-o-w. So, usually, is May.
However, today was a farblegargling madhouse, and the fact that I managed, somehow, to get through the day without telling off any customers is, I think, notable. Then again, the passive aggression that took its place probably wasn't a much better alternative.
Case in point: One of our boxholders asked me to send a fax, and my eye was drawn to the fact that he was giving out his (our) address incorrectly, which is to say the street name was wrong, the suite number was absent, and his box number was absent. The fax was apparently a set of proofs from a printer, for some business cards.
When I pointed this out and orally stated the correct address, the customer took back the proofs, scribbled something on them, and handed them to me a second time. Believe it or not, the street name was still wrong, and the suite number and his box number were still not in evidence.
I pointed this out, apologized for not speaking clearly, and gave him one of our business cards as a reference. He took back the proofs, scribbed some more, and again handed them to me.
He had crossed out our address and replaced it with his own home address.
No problem, except that (a) the new address was illegible, and (b) he had not crossed out his previous edits.
There are people in this world who, despite all efforts by others, seem intent on Not Getting It™ (whaterver "it" may be). Indeed, the more advanced specimens of the species actually come to resent attempts at help. Be that as it may, I figured I had done my best, decided to say nothing more, and sent the pages off. I even volunteered an apology for having eyeballed the information he was faxing (I generally avoid looking at what customers ask me to fax), explaining that the address caught my eye, and that I felt it my duty to point out the problem.
My apology notwithstanding, I sensed, from his closed-mouth silence and his body language, that he seemed upset with me. My assessment was supported by him flinging his payment in my direction and then turning on his heels and stalking out the door. Oh, well... I won't be surprised to see another fax from the same printer tomorrow.
I shoulda stood in bed.
My attempt at the store to download the file to my laptop appeared to succeed, but didn't, the fact of which I became aware only after I set myself up at the coffee shop a few doors down from the store. As the clock ticked, I got in line to buy some wireless time at the shop, only to find it was free, but after 15 minutes of screwing around with Windows networking, I couldn't hit the shop's server to log in, so I went back to our store, sat down at the UPS computer, downloaded the file from my webmail account, and started translating like a lunatic.
Fortunately, the text was straightforward and I managed to get it back to my client on time (though with only a minute or two to spare). My reward (besides getting paid) was a second, 2,000-word job, due tomorrow at noon. I've done all but about 300 words of it since coming home, and I figure I'll leave that portion and the final review for tomorrow morning, because right now, I am really tired.
I think I might go see what's on the tube (although I hold out no great hopes), or maybe watch the next installment of Master and Margarita.
Cheers...
