Scripted thought, stooges and brass monkeys

I did a blog about the wonders of Customer Relations Management since technology was applied and it became a science. Spoke too soon.

I have several credit cards with a bank. They mounted a campaign to compel customers to “go green” by switching from printed/mailed statements to on-line, saving the trees, etc. In reality, of course, the real green would be the money they saved on postage, printing and lettershop.

I resisted because I probably wouldn’t remember to pay if I didn’t find those statements in my mailbox. They countered with the accounts could be set up to email reminders before the due dates. Okay, I’ll play.

Months later, and unrelated, they sent me a replacement for one of the cards. The explanation was nonspecific, so I assume they had a security breach. Whatever.

Subsequently, I received notice of a late charge on that account. I hadn’t received a reminder, which I was now used to getting. I went online to check the account settings. When they issued the new card, they hadn’t set it up for the reminders. If the original card was set up that way, wouldn’t one assume the replacement should be?

I went to their web site to find the customer service number. I was diverted to a number of FAQ lists, but finally drilled down to the point where they reluctantly coughed up the phone number. That ran me through the customary gauntlet until I could reach a live person.

I explained the problem and requested the refund of the late fee. She said that they were very sorry, but refunding late fees was impossible.

Incorrect. It’s possible. You’re just unwilling to do it. I said that it was their error that caused the late payment, so they were responsible.

She countered that I was responsible whether or not I received a reminder. I understand that, but beg to differ. Our agreement was that I would switch to electronic statements because they said they would send reminders. I upheld my end of the contract. They didn’t.

She didn’t see the point, or didn’t try to. She reverted to the policy that refunds were impossible. Fine. Let me talk to your supervisor. She refused, saying that the supervisor was governed by the same policies as her.

Okay, let’s try this. You can issue the refund, keep my accounts on electronic and have a satisfied customer, maintaining your profit on me. Or, you can stonewall, in which case I will switch all my accounts back to mail statements (at your expense) and move my other financial products to the other banks I use, decreasing your profits from this customer by much more than the late fee. And, before you answer, I’ll give you a lifeline just like they do on television. You can consult with someone who might know if the bank prefers to make or lose money.

She went with the first option. Whatever the investment is in all that high tech CRM, I’m guessing they’re not getting a return on it. Not my problem.

I also blogged, tongue-in-cheek, about the Larry Fine museum starting upstairs from a restaurant and evolving to a shrine of Three Stooges memorabilia. This week, I was notified that I was being inducted into a hall-of-fame and invited to lunch to provide personal data.

I’m usually not big on such things, but this one was coming from venerable peers, lending it more meaning. And, there was the free lunch.

So, we plowed through the relevant details. They concluded by telling me how exciting this is and not just for me. My children could visit it and bring their children. Which raises the question…

“Uh, where is this place?”

“Upstairs.”

“Upstairs? I don’t understand.”

They pointed to the ceiling of the restaurant. “Our offices are up there.” I thought about Larry Fine and it must’ve showed. “But, we are negotiating for space for it on the riverfront.”

That’s okay. Poetic justice.

This supports a previous blog more than contradicts. I wrote about people using “Catch-22” without knowing it comes from a novel. Yesterday, a friend employed the metaphor, “cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey.”

“Do you know what that means?”

“Yeah. Pretty freakin’ cold.” Hard to argue with that.

In the days of sailing men o’ war, balls were stacked in a pyramid beside the cannons to prevent them from rolling around the deck. The layer quantities were 16, 9, 4 and 1. Obviously, if the bottom layer wasn’t contained, the pile would be unstable. So, a metal plate was affixed to the deck with dimples for the 16 balls.

Iron didn’t work out, since the balls would rust to it. So, brass was used for the plate. When it got exceedingly cold, the dimples were less pronounced and the balls rolled off. The term for such a plate was “monkey.”

If you’re still with me, you might want to review your life plan. :^)

Ralph had this right

A company is about to celebrate a milestone anniversary and the CEO called to invite me as an honored guest. That was somewhat understandable. I started the company and he was one of my first hires.

But, that was a long time ago and many of the original employees were gone. The company has changed ownership several times. I don’t see what we have in common anymore.

Hi, I started the company. Uh huh. Glad to meet you. Say, where’s the bar? Doesn’t sound like a good time. Pass.

“Okay,” he groaned, “I was saving this for a surprise. I want to present you with an award.”

“I got that when I sold the company. Besides, it’s on my kayaking night.”

“I don’t think you understand. We’re talking about an honor.”

“I don’t think you understand. We’re talking about kayaking.”

Ralph Perk was ridiculed when he was mayor of Cleveland and turned down an invitation to the White House because it was on his bowling night. I got it. Who wants to go through a lot of pretense with strangers when you can be doing something with your friends that you enjoy? Life’s too short for that. I have no connection with most of the people at the company.

On the other hand, today I got a post-op shoulder checkup to clear me for swimming and kayaking, which I’ve been doing anyway, and extend my physical therapy prescription. Instead, the doc cancelled my PT, saying I had progressed beyond the goals.

Say what? I’m not going to see my buds at the PT center anymore? Now those are people I have a bond with.

Last of its breed

“It looks like the last kayak you had.”

“It’s different.”

“How?”

“Different rudder system, better paddle clearance, faster, tippier…”

“You spent more money for tippier?”

“No, that’s a byproduct of the other things.”

“So, the other things are worth that much?”

“Almost.”

“Almost. What’s the rest?”

Like many enthusiasts, when I’ve been involved in some sports or hobbies, I’ve had to impulse to start a business and produce the ultimate piece of equipment. However, I recognize the potential pitfalls.

In the heat of the quest, you can lose sight of good business sense. The Holy Grail becomes all that matters. My philosophy has been to go into business to build something you can be proud of and/or make money, and leave the rest to the dreamers.

Designs at the extremes have small niche markets. If there are few people who are capable of using the product or are inclined to pay the premium, it’s hard to sustain a business.

Everyone has their own models and some have made that leap. Most crash and burn well short of the goal. Some claw their way to the pinnacle and grind out that perfect device, only to quickly tumble down the other side. And, a few make it work. Unfortunately, they often cash out with a big company or investment bankers and the product regresses to a commodity.

So, the trick becomes timing. You wait and watch to discern when the product has peaked so you can grab one up before everything starts to roll downhill. It’s not always obvious. When things start getting tough on the business side, corners are cut. If you wait too long, you get a watered down version. If you time it right, you get the last and best of the breed.

You don’t have all the information and could misjudge the cycle. But, in this case, it seemed pretty clear.

I bought a used kayak from a guy who had raced it hard. The price was right. I wasn’t willing to plop down big bucks on a design that could prove too much to handle.

It worked out well. The boat was a generation or two old and I got the fever for the latest edition. The makers are world class racers and took their best shot with this one. Like a thoroughbred, it’s fast and a bit temperamental. It could wait, though.

Or, could it? My older boat was made in South Africa and the quality was so-so. They had since moved production to China and the construction was markedly better. But they got crosswise with the manufacturer and it got ugly fast.

The maker held their tooling hostage and started selling the boats under their own label in markets outside of the U.S. Patents? Contracts? Good luck with that.

I’ve done business over there and it’s not a softball league. The kayak boys might work something out, but they weren’t going to come out of that one whole. In which case, they would probably either have to cut corners or tank.

“So, what’s the rest? Why shell out those kind of bucks for a few differences?”

“Because it could be the last of its breed.”

We are family

At the aforementioned funeral, I was in the “reception line.” I’m not family, but the closest thing to it.

Everyone entered, signed in and made their way up the line, which was four of us. They introduced themselves, usually with an explanation of their connection to the deceased.

I was struck by how many in attendance had worked with him, especially since he had been retired over ten years. And, he worked for an extremely large company. The department, however, seemed more like family.

Every day gives us a new perspective on life and this was far from an exception. I was a little different when I returned to work this week.

I met with my associate director to catch up with things. Among those were requests for assistance from employees. We are like family, so they feel free to ask.

My associate director usually gets the requests for pay advances, extra time off or whatever they need when they’re jammed up. She comes to me and makes the case. I’m ultimately responsible for the survival of the operation, along with compliance with the law, policies, etc. She plays the mom and I’m the dad, if you can abide a dated analogy.

My heart wasn’t in the role this week. I approved everything.

One way or another, we’ll find a way to make up the gaps. That’s what families do.

The last word

I’m speaking at a funeral tomorrow. The family said the deceased would’ve wanted me to. Funerals are for the living, and I’m happy to do it for them.

They asked me if I had done this before. Hard to cover this many decades without it. But, this did evoke memories of the first time.

Almost as soon as I hit the first age to end in “teen,” I was enrolled in DeMolay. The essence of the organization is to teach values to adolescent males and maybe keep them off the streets and out of trouble. The latter had the most appeal to my parents.

There was a good deal of ritual involved, which meant memorizing long passages and extensive public speaking. No problem. But, it did make me the go-to guy for the adult advisers.

So, it came as no surprise when one summer evening Mr. Rutter called and asked if I could memorize another ritual. Sure, which one? The funeral talk.

That rocked me. Who died?

I didn’t recognize the name. He had signed up before me, attended his initiation and never set foot in the hall again. But, his parents requested this for reasons known only to them.

He had been working under his car and it slipped the jack. That’s all she wrote.

“Gee, I don’t know.”

“C’mon, you won’t be alone. I’ll have two other guys there. You just have to speak. It’ll mean a lot to his parents.”

“Okay. When is it?”

“Tomorrow at 11:00.”

“You gotta be kidding.” He wasn’t.

The text was a little over three book pages. The greater problem, in my mind, was wearing my only suit (wool) and a starched shirt. Not a lot of air conditioning back then. I’d have preferred a medieval torture device.

I showed up, as did Tim and Steve, my wingmen. The funeral director gave us an idea of what, when and where. Where was a problem. It was an open casket and we were to stand right behind it, facing the attendees. That was totally unanticipated. We were ushered to the first row of folding chairs.

The program started. I was barely aware as I ran through the lines in my head. Tim had to elbow me when we were called upon.

I assumed my station in the middle, flanked by the boys. The rim of the coffin was chest high and it was difficult to maintain eye contact with the audience.

It was a little rough at first, but I hit my stride. Thought I was home free until Tim started hiccupping. Then, his hand flew up to his mouth. Uh oh.

The bright side was that he managed to turn his head before showing us what he had for breakfast. Otherwise, I’m guessing a considerable delay before moving to the cemetery. There seemed to be little to say after that. “Amen.”

I’ve spoken at services since then without incident. And, I’ve learned to ask questions. So I know that tomorrow, I will be speaking from the altar.

Choosing a team

“This was my first trip with the group and I was a bit hesitant at first as most of my experiences traveling with large groups have not been so pleasant. This was a great group of people. All looking to have a good time, nobody getting hung up on the changes in plans, the rain, the wind, or even the snow on the trip back.”

This is a comment posted by a participant on a message board concerning a kayak trip I led recently to the southeast. It resonated with me because I think most of us came away with the same buoyant feeling for the same reason.

It’s not so much what he noted as what he didn’t. He didn’t say we got to paddle with dolphins, gators and a host of other intriguing wildlife. He omitted the wondrous sunrises and sunsets over the ocean and surrounding islands. He didn’t even express the excitement of plying the waves on the open sea.

What stuck with him, and the rest of us, was the uplifting feeling of being surrounded by positive and upbeat people for a week. I thought it was just me but almost everyone on the trip sent me similar thoughts. No one wallowed in adverse weather, last-minute changes in plans or any other issues.

I did receive a complaint, but unrelated to this trip. Another contingent of our club was on a whitewater trip elsewhere. I had already heard about the incident, as head of the club, and halfway expected the contact. He’s the type who takes no lesson from consistently being in the negative minority.

Not everything on that trip went as planned, but that’s the nature of these things. Nonetheless, the group sat around a campfire and joyfully rehashed what they were enjoying about it. Until this one person stood up and held forth about all the gripes he had with it.

A silence fell over the group. Then the trip leader looked him in the eye and said, “Maybe you came for the wrong reasons. We’re here to enjoy each other’s company.”

Driving back from my trip, I was thinking how, if I was to start a company or other enterprise, I’d look at this club for staffing. Things hardly ever go as planned. Whether it turns out right at the end of the day is a function of the people with you.

There are those who are mired in the negative and complaining about things and those who make things come out right. Choose your team wisely and you’ll do just fine.