Posted on March 15, 2014 under Storytelling with one comment

 

It was the trip home from hell.

He has finished three very trying weeks at a work site north of Fort Mac.  For twenty one days in a row, he had worked twelve hour shifts.  The polar vortex was ever present, with temperatures dipping into the minus forty degree range.  He was working outdoors where he could watch with fascination as his breath crystallized in front of him.  He missed his wife and children.  And on top of all this, his boss was a first rate arsehole.

The first leg of his trip to Edmonton was uneventful, a blessing, as he was fatigued from the gruelling work schedule.  The trip from Edmonton to Toronto was delayed, which wasn’t unusual in the winter.

He finally boarded the flight and settled in for a well-deserved sleep on the three hour flight.  He had chosen an aisle seat so that he could stretch out his legs.  The passenger in the middle seat was friendly, even jovial.  They struck up a casual conversation which turned into three hours of complete aggravation.  His fellow passenger wouldn’t shut up.  And even when he put on his black eye mask (a subtle clue that sleep was desired), the man beside him continued to natter on to the passenger in the window seat.

I will spare you the details of the next thirty six hours he spent at Pearson, waiting out a couple of storms.  He arrived at the airport in Halifax at 5:00 a.m. and was brought to the Park ‘N Fly to retrieve his vehicle.  It was covered in three inches of ice.  Nearly delirious with fatigue he chipped away and, large double-double in hand, he was finally homeward bound.

He knew his wife would be on the go this Saturday morning with three children under the age of eight.  The seven year old had hockey, the five year old had creative dance and the three year old blessedly had no structured activity.  He called before leaving the airport and was surprised when no answer was forthcoming.

Even though the drill was well rehearsed, being left alone with three young children never got any easier with the passage of time.  Thankfully her mother would be around for the first three days which gave her some precious time for herself.  The grandchildren worshipped their Nana, and so did she when she got these brief bouts of respite.

The first snowstorm presented no major obstacles.  She managed to shovel herself out and find a sitter on short notice when she heard of the school cancellation on the radio.  Two days later, she got to do this all over again.  Well into the third week of her husband’s absence, her exasperation was beginning to show.  She was tired of shovelling, tired of making child care arrangements and tired of work.

She was nearly at the point of despair when she received the calls from her husband, as delay piled on delay.  But finally, she got the call that his flight was leaving Pearson.

This was around the same time that the youngest developed an inner ear infection.  The remedy came after a five hour visit to the outpatients department. Talk about being out of patience.  She stopped at the pharmacy to fill the prescription and headed home to put the others to bed.

It took a while for the antibiotics to kick in and, as a result, the baby was up most of the night.  She had forgotten to replace the phone in the charger before going to bed, and by early morning it was dead.

He pulled into the driveway, grabbed his duffle bag and approached the front door.  Near exhaustion, he could almost feel the warmth of the comforter on the bed, embracing him.

She heard the car in the driveway.  She approached the front door with the youngest in her arms. Near exhaustion, she could almost feel the warmth of the comforter on the bed, embracing her.

He opened the front door.  His wife was there holding the baby at eye level. “Take this child”.

It had all the makings of a Mexican standoff.  It was an accident waiting to happen.  He was witnessing a head on collision.  And then the phone rang.

It was her mother and she was passing through town and had some time to spare before she went on to the city.  Would it be alright if she dropped in?

The children had rarely seen their parents cry.  They had never shown emotion before when Nana came to visit.  She made her grand entrance as the children’s parents headed upstairs to get some desperately needed sleep.  As they curled up under an electric blanket, they could hear the sweet sounds of a soft lullaby coming from the living room.

 

Posted on March 13, 2014 under Thursday Tidbits with 3 comments

Confusion Square 2014

From the sound of things, I am certainly not the only shopper in the world who has received poor customer service…or none at all. This is not a knock on Nova Scotia but it is. Sort of.  I am heading to Florida tomorrow and while I can’t predict the weather, there is something I know with certainty. I will receive excellent service wherever I go. Florida knows where their bread is buttered and they have the client service piece nearly perfected. Now, they’re not perfect and you will encounter the odd clerk who is disinterested ( See  “Shell Lacking” in the archives on my webpage – November 23/13 ) but that is the exception to the rule.

Our community and our Province have so much going for them but I think there is a general malaise when it comes to customer service. Some ( very few ) excel while a great majority wallow in mediocrity and a small number are pathetic. I recently took a course on Social Media. I got to meet a number of business people in the community who are trying to improve their skill set. I believe the government should offer mandatory courses in client service for small businesses.  OK.  Enough of that.  Not quite a Rick Mercer “rant”, but close.

This Saturday I will be posting the story “Head on Collision” which reflects on the challenges of so many families who have a spouse working in Alberta and doing the commute. It’s hard on everyone and when you get a tired worker coming home from 21 days straight of 12 hour days, running headlong into the other spouse who has managed the house and several children for 21 days ( 24 hours a day ), the results can be disastrous. Spoiler alert: the story has a happy ending.

I am still basking in the glow from the 48 hour music fest on the weekend. In case you missed my post on Monday, I put a list of my 10 favorite albums of all times on Facebook. There was a chain of comments that went on relentlessly for the better part of two days. I ended up writing a story called “The Songs We Sang.” Coming soon.

One of the early paragraphs talks about my university days and mentions the student strike in 1971. The epicentre of strike activities was an area called “Confusion Square”, a former parking lot area adjacent to Xavier Hall and across the street from Morrison Hall. The main issue in the strike was co-ed housing which would be laughable today. But back then, it was a very big deal. Big enough to shut down the university before the end of the year. We got to do “take home exams.” I know several people who wrote those exams at the Triangle Tavern ( now Piper’s Pub ). I asked for and received some interesting photos from that time period.

Every song brings back a memory. The soundtrack of our lives.

I was thrilled to receive an e-mail from a high school friend and former teaching colleague. I think I’ve only seen him once in the last 35 years. He heard about my book and tracked me down. We taught in the same school in Fairview ,Alberta. I had an instant flashback to a particular Good Friday in that staunchly Catholic community when a bunch of us decided to have a party. It was bad enough to be partying at all on such a solemn occasion. But it gets much worse. It was an outdoor party and (ouch) the house was located directly behind the church. It was sunny and warm. It was during the Good Friday service.  Fill in the blanks!

I will be checking in from Florida. My son and I are going to attend the Arnold Palmer Bay Hill golf tournament next week in Orlando… as spectators, of course!  I am sure there will be a story or two.

Have a great weekend.

Posted on March 11, 2014 under Storytelling with 2 comments

 

 

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be invisible for just one day?  What if you could carry on your daily routine without any of life’s little hassles?  Like dealing with other human beings.  You could dress in gaudy clothes and even get away without shaving or putting on makeup.  You could be the proverbial “fly on the wall” and watch others struggle through their day while you revel in anonymity.

Guess what?  I can tell you what it’s like and so can you because we’re all consumers and, at some point in our lives, we’ve been snubbed, ignored and treated like we weren’t even there.

A friend of mine was at a watering hole in Halifax a few days ago.  After sitting patiently for a considerable amount of time, she nearly had to lasso and hogtie a member of the wait staff to get a cold beverage.  Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned … or a thirsty woman wanting a beer.

I am conscious of client service as I work in the service industry.  While we’re not perfect, our office has a human being who answers the phone.  Clients entering the office are greeted with a smile and a coffee.  If we are running behind schedule, which doesn’t happen frequently, there are comfortable chairs and plenty of reading material.  And oldies playing on the radio station.  None of this would be considered a “wow” experience.

But not every business sees it this way.

There is one business in this province that I flat out refuse to ever patronize again.  When there’s a lineup (often) and when there is only one staff person on duty (often), there is no recognition of other customers waiting in line.  And there are no chairs, no reading material, no music, no water or coffee to distract you from the passage of time.  They might as well post a sign that says “Please stand and rot while I ignore you”.   A welcome mat would certainly register well-founded cynicism from any customer.

Equally disturbing for a non-shopper like me is going into a store where it is obvious, even to the parakeet in the cage, that I am looking for help.  Sometimes I wonder if I radiate an offensive smell or emit a piercing sound only detected by sales clerks.  I am not sexist but, please, why are some of the female clerks I encounter much more interested in their boyfriend that they’re talking to, or their cell phones or their fingernails?

Big box stores are absolutely the worst places for non-shoppers.  They obviously count on knowledgeable consumers who know where every one of their 450,000 items is situated.  I usually go in, wait to be ignored, get overwhelmed by selection and underwhelmed by customer service, and then leave.

Grocery stores are my favorite places to shop.  There are always helpful staff members meandering around the store, and they usually will march you right to the aisle and pull the product off the shelf for you.

You don’t even have to leave the house to be ignored.  My wife answered the phone one night and it was the local office of a federal political party, shilling for their candidate.  The caller asked for me.  When my wife politely replied that I was not at home, she was thanked and the call was ended.  Needless to say the party missed out on a chance to speak with the real political junkie in the house … and they missed out on her vote, too.

It’s time for the “invisible minority” to speak up.

That’s if anyone is listening.