Drive Thru Service

It was one of those weeks. You know, the kind, that only half way through it, getting struck by lightning was clearly in the forecast. At every turn, people were letting me down, ticking me off, trying what little patience I possess.

And then I met Mark.

Working in sales for so many years has not conditioned me to keep my cool when a company messes up when serving me. However, it has conditioned me to recognize that great customer service shines brightest when there's been a mistake. Mark was a pleasant reminder of the latter.

Between running around to school, football, cub scouts, camping trips and Halloween Parades, not to mention my real job, I had let the "CHANGE ENGINE OIL SOON" light on my car blink for two weeks. When I couldn't stand it anymore, I finally got around to dropping my car off at the dealership, Gerry Lane Enterprises. After all, part of why I bought my soccer-mom SUV from them is because they do free oil changes for life - that's great service from the get go.

Right on time, Mark from the service department called at 3:30 to let me know my car was ready to be picked up. I told him I'd be by after work and he said he would leave my keys at the front sales desk.

At 4:30 Mark called back. "Do you happen to have your extra set of car keys with you now?" he asked. No, I answered, they were at my house.

"Are you able to run by and get them before you come and pick up your vehicle?" he pursued. As I quickly did the math in my head, I told him there was no way for my husband to pick up my son from football, pick me up at work, go to my house and get the keys and make it to the dealership by 7pm, when they close for the night.

Turns out that one of the service technicians who worked on my car inadvertently left work with my car keys in his pocket. Worse, he was now in New Orleans in a training class.

Mark was not my friend any more. I was unhappy, and not very subtle about being so. This sucked. I had to have my car back. I had to be able to get Hunter to school and myself to work in the morning. How dare their mistake make my life anymore hectic this week? Why me Lord?

Mark stayed cool. He immediately came up with a plan B. Long story short, I was able to go straight from work to the dealership, pick up my car and go have a nice peaceful dinner with my boys. and, as I stated in the beginning, he put a positive spin on the rest of my week.

Here's what Mark did right to turn me into one of his biggest fans:

• He COMMUNICATED both the error and the solution. Mark didn't wait until I got to the dealership and make the sales manager on duty deal with me. He called me the minute he noticed my keys missing. And when he told me what we were up against, he also gave me more than one solution so I could choose the most convenient for me. He was determined to make this right.
• He REMAINED COOL under pressure. He knew they'd made a mistake. And by the tone of my voice when he informed me of it, he knew I was hot. But Mark wasn't going to let my displeasure keep him from his goal - fixing the problem and keeping me a happy Gerry Lane customer.
• He TOOK RESPONSIBILITY for his team's actions. Mark wasn't the one that headed to New Orleans with my keys. He probably wasn't the one who actually changed the oil in my car. Nor was he the person I turned my keys over to when I checked it in to begin with. What Mark did so gracefully was not pass the buck. In fact, I don't even know the name of the tech who had my keys. This was Mark's department, his responsibility, his customer and he was going to take full ownership of both the error and its answer.

Mark isn't a partner in Gerry Lane Enterprises. He doesn't own stock in the dealership to my knowledge. But it's clear to me, that every Gerry Lane Service Center customer is Mark's customer. He is not only a true professional, but he's a walking billboard of great service for his company.

So while it took a mix up and my losing my temper, just a little, to meet and appreciate Mark, I'm glad I did. His excellence is another reminder that HOW we serve our clients and customers matters. And when faced with an unhappy one, how we answer for our mistakes matters as much or more than all of the times we simply work to their expectations.

Baton Rouge Halloween Parade 10-27-12

Click here to view these pictures larger

The truth about the trombone

Hunter was REALLY excited about playing in his school band for the first time. Even when given a choice of art, choir or band, he chose band. He even made it clear that if he had to, he would give up football to be in the band.

Even better, he announced, he knew exactly what instrument God built him to play. The flute.

We encouraged Hunter to continue to try all of the instruments and at least come up with a Plan B. So grudgingly he did and chose the drums.

Until band instrument assignment/rental night.

David and Hunter came home from what was supposed to be a happy manly bonding adventure looking both confused and unhappy. What had gone wrong? Where was the final choice that would mean many sleepless nights in the Howard house?

Somehow, Hunter's Plan B had been shifted to Plan C, he would be playing the trombone.

The trombone? Where did that come from?

"I don't know, I was terrible at the trombone in auditions. I couldn't even make a sound on it. I want to quit band."

I immediately did what any over-involved mom would do. I called a conference with the band teacher. I was bound and determined to find out where this villainous trombone had come from and why was it destroying my son's love of band.

Long story short, turns out Hunter was SUPER in his trombone audition. Better than the flute, or even the drums, Hunter SHINED in two separate auditions on the trombone. Go figure, my kid's a trombone prodigy!

Just kidding, but really, he had done really well on the trombone, earning two separate Super evaluations.

So why had he told me such a completely different story about his trombone auditions and assignment and why did he hate the trombone so much he wanted to quit band?

Turns out that Hunter was suffering from a case of poor self evaluation. You know what I'm talking about. It's like when you check yourself in the mirror before you leave in the morning, admiring how nice you look today, only to get to work and have someone point out the huge zit on your forehead you never noticed.

Hunter had done to himself what so many of us do, unintentionally, to shortcut our own success and happiness - he had misjudged his own talent and performance.

Thank God for the truer insight often given others into our purpose, abilities and performance. If Ms. Smith hadn't had the discernment to hear Hunter's trombone potential, he would have happily blundered along on the drums, never knowing he was built for better on another instrument.

When we explained to Hunter how Super he had done on the trombone and that we all really thought he should play it, he was THRILLED! He wanted to know if we could go buy his trombone right at that moment! Tragedy averted! Band was back on the new adventures list.

What a wonderful way to accept constructive criticism!


If only I had the humility and openness to hear those God put to speak into my life with such trust and enthusiasm. How much sooner or more easily would I have grown to where I am if rather than wrestling with the "They don't know me" and "Who do they think they are" moments of life, I had embraced them.

What if, when those with more wisdom or insight than I pointed out the drums I shouldn't be playing while directing me to the trombone I would excel at, I would be THRILLED to find deeper understanding of my real purpose and power.

I never age in my mirror. I don't see the toll the years have taken on my face. It makes perfect sense when people tell me "You haven't aged a day since high school!". But my brain really knows better than to believe my mirror or such platitudes.

So I resolve to make growing up easier on my self from here forward, to be at least as wise and brave as my 10-year-old and excitedly embrace good guidance towards my life's true and best purpose.

How about you? Do you have a moment when you realized your brain had tricked you into believing something not quite true about yourself that was holding you back? Please share!

Zombie Slackers

One of our favorite fall activities is Baton Rouge' family friendly Halloween Parade. My dear friend Kelley Stein created this fun event to help celebrate her favorite holiday and raise money and awareness for some important causes in our community. You can learn more about her group and the parade here http://1031consortium.com/

Getting ready for the parade lets our family's inner artists run wild. We line our fences with float sized vinyl sheets and paint our themed float decorations for Cub Scouts Pack 205's float. Late each night, by the light of a projector, we, and occasionally some friends, get our Picasso on.

Last year's float was Where the Wild Things Are themed. We were pretty proud of our pièce de résistance. Of course, we also set the bar pretty high for ourselves in future years.

This week, we began designing, sketching and painting our float wrap. In fact, in one night, we were able to sketch, in white chalk on black vinyl, the entire design of one side of the float. All we had to do was paint in the colors.

That was before it rained overnight and washed our hard work away. Turns out chalk sketches on vinyl don't hold up in the rain.

And while David and Hunter were distraught at having to start completely over, I was not.

1. The only part of the design I worked on, and liked, I had taken the time to prime. I had done my homework, realized I only wanted to have to paint my design once, and so I took every precaution to make sure it STUCK. So even my sketched outline was still there after the rain, because I had properly prepared the surface.

2. I wasn't thrilled with David and Hunter's edited version of my original idea. My zombies were on a mission, encouraging viewers to vote in the upcoming elections. Their zombies were just zombies for zombies sake. They were without a purpose. No wonder they got washed away.

Now I'm not sure if the do-over will mean that Hunter and David's zombies will get with my program. And I'm not saying that God sent a cleansing rain to wipe clean these zombie slackers. However, I do think their washing away illustrates two really important life lessons.

1. Preparation pays off.
My purposeful zombie, properly sketched on well primed vinyl, withstood what nature had to throw at it. It took me longer to get my dutiful zombie up, but I will spend less time on him in the long run because I started with a plan to create a lasting image.

So whether it's a project or presentation at work, or parade float vinyl, our best and most fruitful work depends on our preparation, our priming of our canvas.

Incidentally, had David been better focused on his preparation, he would have covered his chalk sketches for the night, because we encountered this exact same problem last year. How quickly we forget!

2. All the preparation in the world won't get you far without Purpose.
I know it's a bit of a stretch, but if Hunter and David's zombie's had known what they were made for, maybe they would have fought harder to stick around. While their creators were lacking in the preparation department, the zombies themselves were easily washed away without a purpose for being, a raison d'être.

If you ever want a great lesson in the power of both preparation and purpose paying off with big results, watch children trick or treating.

Ask a 10 year old the importance of the size of the trick or treating bag, bucket or pumpkin. Hunter won't even go out without a container big enough for 3 pounds of candy and treats. He anticipates the big haul, so he makes sure he has the right equipment to handle it.

Ask a kid the best neighborhoods to trick or treat in. They can tell you. And they will give their parents directions to make sure they're getting the most out of their trick or treating time. No wasting time on blocks where no one's home - they've got limited time and mean to make good use of it.

And on Halloween night, as you sit in your driveway welcoming the little beggars, or as you follow your own herd of them through the streets, you will have no doubt in your mind that kids can be both purposeful and passionate about work when they see the Reese's at the end of the trail.

Speaking of Reese's, what candy do you always make sure to steal, I mean requisition, out of your kids' haul each year?

As I sit writing a quick note to some awesome folks who are being honored by Sales & Marketing Executives here in Baton Rouge, I am struck with why I haven't blogged before.

Writing is something I've always loved to do. However, it's always been very personal. From hand written notes of thanks or congratulations, to dozens of journals full of scribbled observations and moments, writing has always been a very private affair for me.

Facebook isn't writing, it's notifying, sharing. Twitter, even less so. And yet, how quickly social media, even for an intimate writer like me, has changed what writing is.

When was the last time you sent a handwritten birthday card? Compare that to the last time you made a Happy Birthday Facebook post. Guiltily, I admit the latter was yesterday and the handwritten variety, well, it's been a hectic few months.

While this blog is a meatier narrative than my timeline, it still shortcuts the real beauty of a hand written note, the handwritten part.

In his new book, The Missing Ink, Philip Hensher laments our departure from hand writing far more eloquently than I ever could.

"We have surrendered our handwriting for something more mechanical, less distinctively human, less telling about ourselves and less present in our moments of the highest happiness and the deepest emotion. Ink runs in our veins, and shows the world what we are like. The shaping of thought and written language by a pen, moved by a hand to register marks of ink on paper, has for centuries, millennia, been regarded as key to our existence as human beings."

Surrendered? Ouch. That's convicting. You should read more of his book, he makes the art and act of writing sexy, intimate, familiar and intense. He has reminded me why I LOVE WRITING.

In fact, eerily, I have said for years that I love my work in print advertising so much because I have ink and paper in my veins.

If you need anymore proof that your handwritten notes, even short ones, will mean more to others than any facebooked Happy Birthday, then ask a Baton Rouge advertising professional if they remember Ralph Sims.

Ralph was arguably one of the last great gentlemen of our industry. He was beautiful, and strong and courageous and kind. And he wrote the most amazing handwritten letters.

I fell in love with Ralph while serving on the board of directors of AAF Baton Rouge in 2006. I called Ralph to ask him to email me a brief write up of why he had been active in our club for more than 40 years.

Ralph replied that he could not email the statement I asked for. He didn't have a computer. Fine, easy enough, I asked that he fax it to me. Once again, he politely declined my request. He didn't have a fax machine. He requested that I come by his house the next day to pick up his statement. Really? Drive over and pick up his statement?

Long story short, the beautiful hand written letter he handed me, on his personal stationary, sits in my desk to this day, long after Ralph himself has left us.

Boom! There it is. This amazing man's words, and spirit, will live on long after an email would have been archived or deleted, a fax would have been thrown away. Ralph's grace is the perfect example of why writing should always be, well, writing.

I've already broken my first thought on how this blogging thing will turn out - yesterday I thought I'd only blog once every four years. I wouldn't dare search for the technology that would let my blog be handwritten, that would be pure torture.

Instead, I will promise to send at least one handwritten note for every post I make here. That should slow me down some, and hopefully stymie the draining of my soul into the keyboard used to compose these musings.

And you? Can you be seduced with an embossed or gilded or brightly colored note card to write someone? I hope so. And I'd love to hear who you wrote and why.

Inspiration?

I used to think there were geniuses out there in the world. You know the brilliant first guy who really believed we could fly. Or the first woman who imagined she could vote. You know - the Steve Jobs of the world.

As I grew, I worked really hard to have my epiphany, to come to my one world changing idea or creation, the one everyone would remember me for. Surely I was meant to have at least one moment of pure genius in my life.

Then I decided I had lots of original thoughts, just not ones big enough to set the world on fire. Surely my perspective on or use of some obscure craft product was original. I had to be the only one in the world who could make gift wrap out of left over toilet paper roles, right?

Now? Now I've glommed onto the completely unoriginal excuse to reinvent, reappropriate and reinterpret everything around me and take credit for it that goes, "There's nothing new in the world, just a new way to use/present/purpose the same old stuff." It's distasteful even to type it, but it sure takes all that spark of genius pressure off of me.

This post is the direct result of that kind of inspiration, not of the divine nature, but of the contextual type.

Four years ago, I had the itch to blog, to put down all the bizarre and, occassionally original or so I thought, things rolling around in my head. And, like so many hobbies I've loved, I created my blog... and never wrote a single post.

Not a single post.

Until today. Today a dear friend emailed me a link to her blog post. And after reading it, I was in tears. The story she told, I knew. And I certainly had already come to the point of her post on my own years ago. But her words, her perspective on a story I'd heard and never been brought to tears by before, moved me. I shared her story, not because her thought was original in all of the world, but because it was beautiful.

http://conniemcleod.wordpress.com/2012/10/06/soul-mates-and-angels/

So, the grammar is terrible - I'll get around to fixing that. The only thing I am sure of is the title of this thing, whatever it's going to be, is still appropriate. And after reading Connie's post, and wiping my tears and snotty nose, the only thing that felt right was to give her credit for inspiring me to write something down. To be inspired by her inspiration.

I'm not committing to consistency, or even grammatical correctness. I don't know if I'll be inspired to write a single nother word after today. But hey, who couldn't love a blog you only had to commit to reading once every four years?