May I help you? Are you finding everything you need? It looks like the tag was marked wrong, but I can go ahead and honor the lower price anyway. Statements like these are what attract people to a business. Most national chains have very specific guidelines for customer service, but those guidelines are not always sufficient to compensate for every arrogant teenager who dons their cap. If a business really could anticipate what every teenage employee was going to do, they could start a new business selling their secret.
Last night my wife and I stopped by a widely recognized nationally branded coffee shop that for some reason thinks the terms small, medium, and large are inadequate, so they coined new phrases that mean exactly the same thing, but confuse those of us who don’t drink coffee.
In an effort to keep our marriage strong, we go out on a date once a week. In an effort to keep our dates cheap, we use gift cards that we have collected for various reasons whenever possible.
Last night happened to be a gift card night, so we ended up at a coffee shop and ordered some kind of tall venti hot chocolate. (Whatever that means.) As we sat down in one of the overtly trendy lounge chairs I noticed that, with the exception of one other couple, we were the only customers in the store. The drive-thru line was even quiet, so in my head, I envisioned excellent customer service. Then came the bearded high school barista. Shortly after we were nestled into the enveloping cushions of the overtly trendy lounge chairs, our order was ready. Given the sparse clientele, I assumed that the bearded high school wonder would either bring us our drinks, or at the very least, say something like, “Sir, your drinks are ready.”
Apparently, company protocol trumped common sense for the moment and I heard someone call out something about a grande venti hot chocolate or something along those lines. Whatever it was that he said, it was clear that he was describing the drink he was setting on the counter at the opposite end of the store from where we were sitting. After placing the hot beverage on the counter and shouting out its name, he walked back toward the counter area next to us and began to wipe off some imaginary coffee drips from some sort of silvery looking apparatus.
“I think that must be ours way down there,” I said to my wife.
“Must be,” she said looking around to see who else could have ordered something with a concocted name that involves a vent. After the long walk right past the helpful barista, to retrieve our drinks, we once again settled in for some quality time together. After I had sipped my drink down to about a tall status, I glanced out the window and saw a car drive up and park in the closest spot to the door.
Must be a customer, I thought to myself. As she walked through the door, I expected to see her step up to the counter and order some sort of exotic coffee-type beverage with a shot of grape soda, but she had other plans. Stepping behind the counter, she squealed and giggled as she hugged each of the three male baristas before donning a green apron and acting like she was going to do some kind of work. “Did that employee just take the closest parking spot to to the front door? I asked myself in disbelief.
Now granted, I’ve never worked in a coffee shop, but shouldn’t common sense dictate that employees not park in the best spot? That should be saved for the paying customers. Maybe the reason so many of their ubiquitous stores are closing has nothing to do with the economy and everything to do with a lack of common sense among giddy, self-absorbed teenagers who do their bosses a disservice by showing up to work each day.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
My Wife
I have an amazing wife. Despite my best efforts, it is easy for me to take her accomplishments for granted. Fortunately I am frequently reminded of just how well she compliments me. She fills in the gaps that I leave in my wake while juggling a mountain of responsibilities.
As a junior in college, it became abundantly clear to me that this woman who had trickled into my life was worth vigorously pursuing. I had always known that a checkbook should be balanced, and bank statements were a handy tool for doing so, but I had never actually combined the statements with the balancing act. Instead, each month I carefully filed my statements, in their sealed envelopes, intending to one day make sure all my numbers jived. After dating my future wife for several months, she discovered my file cabinet and shook her head. “Why don’t I come over this weekend and straighten out your records for you,” she suggested. There was no harm in that, so the following Saturday, I pulled my truck out of the garage and spent a couple of hours getting it cleaned up while she crunched numbers.
“I found a few mistakes,” she said once she was done.
“Uh-Oh,” I thought.
“You have about $500 more in your account than you thought,” she said.
That’s it, I thought to myself. This one is a keeper. And instantly I had the first $500 saved up to buy her a ring.
A year later when we got married, we determined that she would stay home and raise any kids we may someday have. We both agreed that this would provide a loving and nurturing environment for our children that would easily surpass the level of care and consistency available through commercial means.
Now eleven years and four kids later I couldn’t be prouder of the commitment my wife has to our kids. In addition to providing a loving and nurturing environment each day, she fills the role of a home-school teacher whose students far out-perform their public school counterparts.
The house is usually clean, but not perfect. While I can appreciate a perfect house, I struggle with what that means in the life of a child. My wife has found perfection, however, in striking a balance between maintaining cleanliness and order, while also allowing our kids to creatively express themselves through hours of building, arranging, and playing with simple toys.
While I am inherently a neat person, I have come to appreciate the days I walk in the door and find the couch cushions arranged on the living room floor with blankets draped across chairs and stuffed animals grazing on the carpet. Those are the days when our kids had the chance to be kids and mom got the chance to tend to some of her other motherly duties.
Sure, there are times she gets frustrated. After reading countless blogs written by self-proclaimed perfect mothers who hide their imperfections behind their keyboards, my wife threatened to start a blog about real moms. “Today I sobbed in my cereal while one of the kids pooped on the floor,” she laughed as she contemplated the text of her hypothetical blog.
Regardless of whether it has been a good day or a bad day, my wife makes it a point to learn from her experiences. After years of evaluating herself as a mom, talking to other moms, reading countless books, articles, and perfect-mom blogs, she has come to one logical conclusion. The only ideas worth trying are the ideas that fit within the mold God used to create her. To try and function outside of that mold would be to deny who she is. And it is that mold that I love.
My wife stays at home and raises our kids. She has a master’s degree and the ability to obtain a great job, but her current occupation is something only she can do. No one could love our kids like she does. No one could care for them like she does. No one could meet their needs the way only their mom can. Other working parents wonder why we would give up so much to have her stay home. I wonder how they can give up so much.
As a junior in college, it became abundantly clear to me that this woman who had trickled into my life was worth vigorously pursuing. I had always known that a checkbook should be balanced, and bank statements were a handy tool for doing so, but I had never actually combined the statements with the balancing act. Instead, each month I carefully filed my statements, in their sealed envelopes, intending to one day make sure all my numbers jived. After dating my future wife for several months, she discovered my file cabinet and shook her head. “Why don’t I come over this weekend and straighten out your records for you,” she suggested. There was no harm in that, so the following Saturday, I pulled my truck out of the garage and spent a couple of hours getting it cleaned up while she crunched numbers.
“I found a few mistakes,” she said once she was done.
“Uh-Oh,” I thought.
“You have about $500 more in your account than you thought,” she said.
That’s it, I thought to myself. This one is a keeper. And instantly I had the first $500 saved up to buy her a ring.
A year later when we got married, we determined that she would stay home and raise any kids we may someday have. We both agreed that this would provide a loving and nurturing environment for our children that would easily surpass the level of care and consistency available through commercial means.
Now eleven years and four kids later I couldn’t be prouder of the commitment my wife has to our kids. In addition to providing a loving and nurturing environment each day, she fills the role of a home-school teacher whose students far out-perform their public school counterparts.
The house is usually clean, but not perfect. While I can appreciate a perfect house, I struggle with what that means in the life of a child. My wife has found perfection, however, in striking a balance between maintaining cleanliness and order, while also allowing our kids to creatively express themselves through hours of building, arranging, and playing with simple toys.
While I am inherently a neat person, I have come to appreciate the days I walk in the door and find the couch cushions arranged on the living room floor with blankets draped across chairs and stuffed animals grazing on the carpet. Those are the days when our kids had the chance to be kids and mom got the chance to tend to some of her other motherly duties.
Sure, there are times she gets frustrated. After reading countless blogs written by self-proclaimed perfect mothers who hide their imperfections behind their keyboards, my wife threatened to start a blog about real moms. “Today I sobbed in my cereal while one of the kids pooped on the floor,” she laughed as she contemplated the text of her hypothetical blog.
Regardless of whether it has been a good day or a bad day, my wife makes it a point to learn from her experiences. After years of evaluating herself as a mom, talking to other moms, reading countless books, articles, and perfect-mom blogs, she has come to one logical conclusion. The only ideas worth trying are the ideas that fit within the mold God used to create her. To try and function outside of that mold would be to deny who she is. And it is that mold that I love.
My wife stays at home and raises our kids. She has a master’s degree and the ability to obtain a great job, but her current occupation is something only she can do. No one could love our kids like she does. No one could care for them like she does. No one could meet their needs the way only their mom can. Other working parents wonder why we would give up so much to have her stay home. I wonder how they can give up so much.
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