Customer Service

Not long ago I needed new tires for my car. This sort of chore always seems to occur when I am busiest: short deadlines, long TO DO lists, too many meetings.

I called to find out when the new tires could be installed. They were booked up on Thursday (my first suggestion), but they could do it next Tuesday.

I asked about a 'loaner' car for the day. 'No need,' the customer service person said, 'we will do it while you wait!' Needless to say, I was delighted.

I assumed -- you see the problem already, don't you? -- I assumed that 'while you wait' meant that it would be a quick turnaround. That's where I went wrong.

Only after I had waited a hour and a half, did it occur to me that customer service had not mentioned how long I would wait. I could wait all week, and they would still be true to their statement. They were doing the work while I waited.

My mind conjured images of me sitting in the waiting room with cobwebs stretching from my head to the wall. Oh, well. Live and learn, I heard my grandmother saying.

Note to self: remember to ask the follow-up question next time.

Housecleaning

I'll confess up front that I am not a very good housecleaner.

I always start out strong, but then I tire of the repetition. I run out of time for deep-cleaning. I get distracted by other, more interesting chores.

And also, I have a fatalistic attitude about housecleaning: no matter how much I clean, it is never enough.

I've lost count of the number of times that I have diligently cleaned house for company, welcomed them into my home, and then as we sit talking see a cobweb some where in plain view. It has happened so often now that I expect to see some obvious sign of dirt when there are guests in my house.

Not long ago it happened again. I welcomed a small group of very nice people to my home. We had dinner and then moved to the living room to converse. Yep, you guessed it, a glob of fuzz was perched precariously on the ceiling fan blade. I totally lost track of the conversation as I expected the offending dirtball to dislodge and float down onto someone's face.

I wonder sometimes if the cobwebs and fuzzballs don't hide during my housecleaning and emerge stealthily when the company arrives. It sounds like a paranoid delusion, but it just might be true.

People in waiting rooms

Lately I've been in several waiting rooms, waiting. In some cases, waiting for a very long time. What to do? Well, what is everyone else doing? That's when I noticed that there are certain types of folks in waiting rooms. Have you seen these people?

• The mother wrasseling with a very active small child (and I did mean wrasseling -- not wrestling)
  
• The middle-aged woman deeply engrossed in a romance novel with a startlingly explicit cover
  
• The older man, elbows on knees, endlessly grooming his fingernails (and showering the floor with clippings)
  
• The person talking on the cell phone
  
• The young person, eyes closed, tapping the armrests, with earbuds and wires disappearing to a pocket. (Hope there is a ipod in there!)
  
• The person turning rapidly through old magazines, not stopping to read anything
  
• The person playing a game on the cell phone
  
• The person sorting through things in the wallet, creating a pile of trash in the next chair
  
• The two people talking quietly in a corner
  
• The person who paces outside the door and opens the door periodically to check status
  
• The person who is just watching everyone else.........

Plenty

Not long ago I was given a prescription by my doctor. When I got home with the medicine, I looked at the instructions on the bottle. I saw the usual dosage directions – one capsule two times each day – but I also saw additional warnings and admonitions affixed to the little plastic container.

One preprinted label advised that I should not take the capsule within two hours of taking vitamins, calcium supplements, or other specific medicines.

Hmmmm. Since I take supplements of various kinds first thing in the morning and at bedtime, I decided that I would take some of the capsules to my office and try to remember to take them mid-morning. I would take the second dose when I get home from work – which should be two hours before my bedtime. This is just a 30-day regimen, so I can do this.

The next preprinted label stumped me.

After the specificity of the number of capsules per day and the two-hour space from other substances, I was puzzled to read, “Take with plenty of water.” I don’t know about you, but to me “plenty” is a pretty loosey-goosey term.

I went to my handy American Heritage Dictionary where I read the first definition of plenty: “A full or completely adequate amount or supply.”

In my experience, plenty means different things at different times. If we are talking about one of my favorite foods, plenty might be a large amount; If we are talking about some food I barely tolerate, plenty is a pretty small serving.

Plenty of water for a bath differs greatly from plenty of water for a carwash or to water the lawn.

Even for drinking, plenty of water seems nebulous to me. If you are working hard in the hot sun, plenty of water will likely be more than if you are sitting at a desk in an air-conditioned office.

So, my conclusion is that the authorities (the pharmacist? The Food and Drug Administration? The drug manufacturer?) are leaving this part of my pill taking up to me. I get to decide just how much water with the capsule is plenty.

Which made me wonder: if I am wrong and I drink too little water, will I know? What will be the signal that I didn’t swallow plenty of water with the capsule?

Will it stick in my esophagus? Will it tear up my stomach? Will I develop serious digestive discomfort of some kind? Or will I not know until years later when the damage is discovered?

Normally, I’m a good decision-maker..... willing to rely on my own good judgment.

This time, however, I find myself going back for more water -- just to make certain I get plenty.

Farmers' Market

This morning we went to a farmers' market. I don't think the people there would necessarily call themselves farmers -- but that's really beside the point, I guess.

It was a collection of people who came to offer for sale what they had produced. Around the perimeter were mostly food stalls; in the center were mostely jewelry, ceramics, and art. At one end, you could find inflatible (what do you call them? they aren't rides or toys.........pens?) for children's play.

Many of the vegetables were organic. The beef and lamb was grassfed. The chickens were also specially raised. There were artisan breads and honey. There were tamales cooked in banana leaves. Various special teas were available, and there were specialty coffee drinks too. At each stall you could meet the person who had raised or blended or brewed it.

It was all much more personal than the grocery store. You could ask questions and get answers. And there seemed to be so much pride in what they were offering.

Often they didn't have a huge amount of their wares. When they sold out, they just stood around visiting with people.

And the shoppers were different too. Many had their dogs with them. They looked relaxed and often carried a cup or tea or coffee as they strolled along, enjoying the market.

Oh, and I forgot to mention that there was a singer with a guitar performing in an area between the fresh lavendar and the homemade dog biscuits. His genial sound floated throughout the market, adding a soundtrack to the morning.

It was an altogether delightful experience. My regular grocery store will never feel the same now. And I got great tomatoes.

Waiting rooms

In my experience, waiting rooms have always had a sort of sterile commonality about them. They have usually been characterized by too many chairs packed uncomfortably close and tattered magazines. I have combated these discomforts by trying to select my seat strategically and carrying my own reading material.

Doctors’ waiting rooms have pluses and minuses. Generally, they are clean and air conditioned, and the chairs are pretty comfortable. Usually there are enough chairs to allow patients to sit in every other chair so that some personal space is possible. Sometimes there is a television in the corner. Occasionally, coffee or a water fountain is available. The downside is that there are sick people all around you, often coughing on you, generally making it scary to touch any surfaces.

Waiting rooms in automotive services facilities are quite different. Often there are only a minimum number of seats, the area is sometimes un-airconditioned, and often it is dirty, as though late at night the grime from the shop creeps into the customer area. Whether I’m waiting to have tires put on the car or waiting for an oil change or whatever, I find that these kinds of waiting rooms make me pace around – partly because there aren’t enough chairs and partly because I suspect that I will end up with grease and grime on my clothes if I try to sit.

Up until today, my favorite waiting rooms were at airports. There the waiting room is not an afterthought; it’s part of the overall plan. While other waiting rooms are usually close quarters, the airport waiting areas are expansive. They are usually clean, have lots of windows, and the many seats are usually fairly comfortable. Additionally, there are plenty of nearby restrooms and shops for browsing or purchasing snacks or reading material. All in all, not a bad place to be, to my way of thinking.

Today, however, I have experienced the ultimate in waiting rooms.

A few years ago, I splurged and got an upscale car. The regular maintenance is provided by the dealership at no additional cost -- you make an appointment, they change the oil or whatever, wash the car, and you drive away. They call you by name. They (through the miracle of a good data base) know you and know your car. Very nice.

The last time I brought my car in, the waiting room was a fairly standard affair – although they did have a cappachino machine and crispy cream donuts. But the seats were close together and limited in number. At the time, they apologized and told me that they were building a new customer area. I had forgotten that when I took my car in this morning.

Once the obligatory paperwork was done, the nice man led me to the customer area. He showed me the plush leather seating and flat screen CNN news area, and then he showed me the internet kiosks available for my use. Next came the options of a peaceful seating area around a gorgeous aquarium. Next was the complimentary coffee bar with an on-duty barrista, the beautifully tiled restrooms, a shopping area, a snack bar with complimentary cold water and sodas, and a series of small office areas where I could work. Oh, and how could I forget: there was a small theater where classic movies played.

Honestly -- and I never thought I would say this -- it was a pleasure to spend time in this customer waiting area! Rather than chafe at how long the service took, I found myself sorry when it was time to leave. (I had used one of the small office areas and had accomplished more work than I would have at my office!) Clearly, this company understands the good will associated with making customers comfortable.

Of course, I reflected ruefully, the cost of my upscale car was certainly paying for all this luxury. But still, all that comfort was a nice surprise this morning and made me reflect on the many improvements that could be made to most waiting rooms in this world. It really wouldn’t be necessary to go over the top like this dealership did – just a little attention to those untended waiting rooms would certainly pay great dividends!

Choices

My grocery store has choices.

We live in a world of choices now. We Americans like choices. Choices are a part of our independence, our right of self-assertion, our exercise of control over our surroundings.

Burger King picked up on this assumed inalienable right decades ago with the "Have it your way" campaign. The jingle was "Hold the pickles. Hold the lettuce. Special orders don't upset us!"

Since that time, our choices have multiplied to an alarming level. Have you looked at the number of cereals in the breakfast aisle or the number of salad dressings a few rows over? Or even within a single brand -- have you seen how many different kinds of Coke beckon on the soft drink aisle?

It's choice-overload. How do you ever decide?

And now it has spread to the front door -- where you must decide what kind of cart you want.

You can choose the traditional grocery cart. It is large and can accommodate many items or very large or heavy items. Not long ago that was the only option. It was either that cart or do without -- carry your purchases in your arms.

Now, instead of the standard cart, you can have a handbasket if you want to get just a few items. Also, a while back, my store added kiddie carts so that the little ones could feel the thrill of driving a race car attached to the front of mom's grocery vehicle. Cute. And of course there is the motorized cart for folks with limited mobility. Thoughtful.

My favorite cart, however, is the newest model. It's a compact cart, a cute little thing that can turn on a dime. I love it. Just big enough for a few things -- a few hundred dollars worth (but better than the handbasket which gets too heavy fast; one gallon of milk and a carton of orange juice will cause the handles to cut into your palm!)

And I've noticed that these sporty little carts are very popular. The other day in the store a nice looking businessman zipped past me to get the last of the little carts for himself. In fact, several times lately there have been none available when I arrive -- they have all been scarfed up by shoppers who arrived earlier.

My concern now is that the store will start to charge for the joy of driving this popular new cart. Then I'll be faced with yet another choice!