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Apr. 4th, 2001 06:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alexpgpAt the end of yesterday's note, where I said that customers were coming...well, they came, and kept coming, and the stream did not let up until about 3 in the afternoon, at which time I absolutely had to return to the house and continue to struggle against the tidal wave of paper that has been allowed to accumulate.
There was also the matter of a translation that I'd been asked to edit, of a transcript of a speech, given in Russian, memorializing Vladimir Fedorovich Utkin, late academician, general designer and co-chair of the Stafford-Utkin safety commission.
Among Utkin's accomplishments was the design of the SS-18 ICBM, also known as the "Satan." The speech was syrupy, as one might expect, and conveyed a surprising note of nationalistic pride I hadn't heard since before The Fall, including approbation of Brezhnev's decision, back in the days of Gerald Ford, not to decommission a single SS-18, juxtaposed with a derisive remark aimed at more contemporary Soviet/Russian leaders, who, it might be said, gave the store away to the West.
The edit went well, and I returned the document in a timely manner, but I digress...
Getting back to the subject of business, don't get me wrong, I have nothing against customers. Normally, customers represent revenue, but it turns out that the postal aspect of the business is a fixed-income kind of deal, and a lot of customers come in only for our postal offerings. The store gets a certain amount every month as part of a contract deal, and that's that (it turns out to be about $60 per day).
I guess I simply have to figure out some way of making the store "stickier" (to borrow a web phrase) than it is right now. I'll have to find a way to induce folks who come in for a stamp to pause and want to buy something else. (If you think this approach is evil, I invite you to consider a society where there is no advertising - where there are no ads in the paper, and no Yellow Pages, and no Internet - and nothing on display on store counters. The closest I ever came to this "ideal" was Soviet Russia back before The Fall, and it was a pretty sober - and sobering - place. Again, though, I digress...)
During my absence in February, nobody bothered (or knew how) to close out the credit card terminal on a periodic basis, so the charges that were made in February basically "evaporated." That means that the authorization we received to charge, say, Joe Smith's card $25 for shipping his parcel to his aunt Minnie was never exercised within the 30 days allowed for that purpose.
My presence probably would not have helped much, as I did not know how to close the terminal, either, but I may have been more aware of the lack of income hitting the checking account and may have caught the problem before it became serious.
The solution, as discussed with the credit card service provider, is for me to re-enter the charges (after all, the customer got what he or she paid for; we, however, did not get paid). I did some of those last night after closing the store and while Lee was over at the City Market next door getting some fried chicken. It seemed like a promising activity to perform while waiting for the acting class to start down at the book café.
The bad news turned out to be that, of about 12 charges, one was declined and two cards had expired, for an overall loss so far of about $50; the good news is that the remaining charges I keyed in - and all this has to be done by hand - went through, allowing me to recover just over $200. It feels like a kind of gambling, with me punching in a bunch of numbers on the credit card terminal, and then waiting to see if the charge is authorized. I'll have to continue with this exercise tonight, I guess.
The acting class was fabulous. I learned (and relearned) a lot of things.
Zach started the festivities by having us all engage in a relaxation exercise while standing. The standing part is important, says Zach, because anybody can learn to relax while lying down. The eventual goal, he says, is to be able to get to this state quickly. In such a state, where you feel warm and comfortable, and supremely calm, anything is possible.
He described the actor's relaxed state as that of not allowing your environment to shape you; of being in a position where you don't care what others think, or about future consequences of your actions: you are just you, all primed and ready to go. There are all sorts of ways to misinterpret what he was getting at, but I was reminded of my first "real" job interview (the ones previous had been staged, I'm sure, to verify that I was a real person, didn't drool, was toilet-trained, and could show up on time to work). I was so convinced that I could not get the job I was applying for (at the request of a family member), I made no pretense of trying to impress my interviewer with some made-up facade. I was honest, though. And I got the job.
In the course of the evening, I was able to perform Polonius' monologue in Act I, Scene 3, where he gives advice to his son Laertes ("This above all: to thine own self be true..."). In the few moments before reciting the lines, Zach came over and gave me a few words of direction, and they clarified the whole character of Polonius for me. I'll have to think about this some more, but for now, I'll just note that Polonius has ceased to be a buffoon in my eyes, thanks to Zach's direction.
Later in the evening, I jumped up to do an improvisation. There are, apparently, a number of rules associated with this exercise, and my partner and I broke the one that forbids playing to the audience. As this was my first experience doing an improv, I figure having broken only one rule was better than might otherwise be expected.
I left Lee in the shop when I went off to the class, and I fully expected her to be there when it finished (an Internet connection is an Internet connection, no?). I was wrong. She had gone home. There, she (or someone else) was using the single phone line, probably to connect to the Internet.
The night seemed...pleasantly cool. I'd never walked home from the shop, and since it was not possible for me to call home (busy signals over the course of 5 minutes, which smelled like an Internet session to me), I decided to walk. It was a pleasant walk. Somewhere between a quarter and half a mile into the walk, my cell rang and Lee was on the other end. She had been on the Internet (surprise!) and had lost track of time (surprise!). I told her to sit tight for about 20 minutes and then to come down along the road to pick me up, as I was walking home.
Once I left the relatively busy Highway 160, things got relatively quiet. In between the highway noise, I should have heard absolutely nothing, but as I suffer from a mild tinnitus that masks high frequencies by providing a "built-in" tone 24 hours a day, 7 days per week, I can never really experience total silence (the last time I did so was a winter night in early 1992). But it was good to be striding down the road, under a nearly half moon, even if the pleasant coolness was starting to become unpleasant.
After a few more minutes, a spark of light caught my eye, and I knew that it was Lee leaving the house to come pick me up. I tried to remember just where it was that she picked me up, so I can measure the distance on the car's odometer later today. I'm thinking it was about a mile and a half or so.
I went to sleep almost immediately upon getting home.
And now, I'm up and really need to plan the day.
Cheers...
There was also the matter of a translation that I'd been asked to edit, of a transcript of a speech, given in Russian, memorializing Vladimir Fedorovich Utkin, late academician, general designer and co-chair of the Stafford-Utkin safety commission.
Among Utkin's accomplishments was the design of the SS-18 ICBM, also known as the "Satan." The speech was syrupy, as one might expect, and conveyed a surprising note of nationalistic pride I hadn't heard since before The Fall, including approbation of Brezhnev's decision, back in the days of Gerald Ford, not to decommission a single SS-18, juxtaposed with a derisive remark aimed at more contemporary Soviet/Russian leaders, who, it might be said, gave the store away to the West.
The edit went well, and I returned the document in a timely manner, but I digress...
Getting back to the subject of business, don't get me wrong, I have nothing against customers. Normally, customers represent revenue, but it turns out that the postal aspect of the business is a fixed-income kind of deal, and a lot of customers come in only for our postal offerings. The store gets a certain amount every month as part of a contract deal, and that's that (it turns out to be about $60 per day).
I guess I simply have to figure out some way of making the store "stickier" (to borrow a web phrase) than it is right now. I'll have to find a way to induce folks who come in for a stamp to pause and want to buy something else. (If you think this approach is evil, I invite you to consider a society where there is no advertising - where there are no ads in the paper, and no Yellow Pages, and no Internet - and nothing on display on store counters. The closest I ever came to this "ideal" was Soviet Russia back before The Fall, and it was a pretty sober - and sobering - place. Again, though, I digress...)
During my absence in February, nobody bothered (or knew how) to close out the credit card terminal on a periodic basis, so the charges that were made in February basically "evaporated." That means that the authorization we received to charge, say, Joe Smith's card $25 for shipping his parcel to his aunt Minnie was never exercised within the 30 days allowed for that purpose.
My presence probably would not have helped much, as I did not know how to close the terminal, either, but I may have been more aware of the lack of income hitting the checking account and may have caught the problem before it became serious.
The solution, as discussed with the credit card service provider, is for me to re-enter the charges (after all, the customer got what he or she paid for; we, however, did not get paid). I did some of those last night after closing the store and while Lee was over at the City Market next door getting some fried chicken. It seemed like a promising activity to perform while waiting for the acting class to start down at the book café.
The bad news turned out to be that, of about 12 charges, one was declined and two cards had expired, for an overall loss so far of about $50; the good news is that the remaining charges I keyed in - and all this has to be done by hand - went through, allowing me to recover just over $200. It feels like a kind of gambling, with me punching in a bunch of numbers on the credit card terminal, and then waiting to see if the charge is authorized. I'll have to continue with this exercise tonight, I guess.
The acting class was fabulous. I learned (and relearned) a lot of things.
Zach started the festivities by having us all engage in a relaxation exercise while standing. The standing part is important, says Zach, because anybody can learn to relax while lying down. The eventual goal, he says, is to be able to get to this state quickly. In such a state, where you feel warm and comfortable, and supremely calm, anything is possible.
He described the actor's relaxed state as that of not allowing your environment to shape you; of being in a position where you don't care what others think, or about future consequences of your actions: you are just you, all primed and ready to go. There are all sorts of ways to misinterpret what he was getting at, but I was reminded of my first "real" job interview (the ones previous had been staged, I'm sure, to verify that I was a real person, didn't drool, was toilet-trained, and could show up on time to work). I was so convinced that I could not get the job I was applying for (at the request of a family member), I made no pretense of trying to impress my interviewer with some made-up facade. I was honest, though. And I got the job.
In the course of the evening, I was able to perform Polonius' monologue in Act I, Scene 3, where he gives advice to his son Laertes ("This above all: to thine own self be true..."). In the few moments before reciting the lines, Zach came over and gave me a few words of direction, and they clarified the whole character of Polonius for me. I'll have to think about this some more, but for now, I'll just note that Polonius has ceased to be a buffoon in my eyes, thanks to Zach's direction.
Later in the evening, I jumped up to do an improvisation. There are, apparently, a number of rules associated with this exercise, and my partner and I broke the one that forbids playing to the audience. As this was my first experience doing an improv, I figure having broken only one rule was better than might otherwise be expected.
I left Lee in the shop when I went off to the class, and I fully expected her to be there when it finished (an Internet connection is an Internet connection, no?). I was wrong. She had gone home. There, she (or someone else) was using the single phone line, probably to connect to the Internet.
The night seemed...pleasantly cool. I'd never walked home from the shop, and since it was not possible for me to call home (busy signals over the course of 5 minutes, which smelled like an Internet session to me), I decided to walk. It was a pleasant walk. Somewhere between a quarter and half a mile into the walk, my cell rang and Lee was on the other end. She had been on the Internet (surprise!) and had lost track of time (surprise!). I told her to sit tight for about 20 minutes and then to come down along the road to pick me up, as I was walking home.
Once I left the relatively busy Highway 160, things got relatively quiet. In between the highway noise, I should have heard absolutely nothing, but as I suffer from a mild tinnitus that masks high frequencies by providing a "built-in" tone 24 hours a day, 7 days per week, I can never really experience total silence (the last time I did so was a winter night in early 1992). But it was good to be striding down the road, under a nearly half moon, even if the pleasant coolness was starting to become unpleasant.
After a few more minutes, a spark of light caught my eye, and I knew that it was Lee leaving the house to come pick me up. I tried to remember just where it was that she picked me up, so I can measure the distance on the car's odometer later today. I'm thinking it was about a mile and a half or so.
I went to sleep almost immediately upon getting home.
And now, I'm up and really need to plan the day.
Cheers...
