The Perils of Customer Service
Folks, I know it’s Sunday. I usually come up with some sort of deep thought, or at least an attempt at deep thought, with regards to spirituality, religion, etc.
So, why am I talking about customer service today instead? Simple. I ran into some not-so-good service about a week ago, and I had excellent service on both Thursday and Saturday (two of the last three days), so I figured comparing and contrasting that might be interesting to talk about.
Besides, I haven’t blogged in a couple of weeks. That’s too long to go without saying anything. I get lots of questions like, “Barb, are you alive? Why aren’t you writing? What’s up with your blog? I’m used to seeing something there, and you’re falling down on the job!” (OK, only I said that last one. But the other three have been asked more often than not.)
Anyway, regarding customer service: If you don’t get good service, sometimes it’s frustrating in the moment to say something about it.
See, the bad service I got was at my local credit union. I needed something from them that they’re capable of, but it takes an extra-long time for them to do it; because of that, I had to wait while standing, with my cane, for at least twenty to twenty-five minutes. I started shaking my legs out from the hips so I would be able to walk out of there…and what bothered me most was that the young teller (he couldn’t have been much more than twenty-one, if even that) didn’t seem to realize I was having trouble. He’d seen me come in with my cane, then realized he’d need a supervisor’s help…the supervisor never saw my cane, so I can’t blame her for much of anything as she was on the phone with people trying to straighten stuff out.
(Yes, he saw me shaking my legs out, too. But he didn’t ask what I was doing, much less why I was doing it.)
Anyway, this problem eventually got sorted out, and I went on my merry way. But I wondered, the whole time, if I should’ve asked for a chair. I knew that the teller and his supervisor were trying to solve this other issue, and I felt as if I’d made it too difficult for them just by going in there.
An hour later, in great physical pain (my back acted up), I called and complained. I was able to talk with two different people who both helped me, and they reassured me that not only should I not have been treated that way, I should never feel I’m a burden to them. Customers exist because they need something; the bank or credit union knows this, and they don’t want to drive good customers away. So, reassured, I went off to nurse my bad back, etc., and resolved to speak up sooner the next time something weird happens.
Then, I had two instances of excellent customer service: you know, the type you’re lucky to run into once in a blue moon. Both of these positive experiences were at local grocery stores. I tend to have a number of high-value coupons as one of my family members is a huge coupon clipper. (We’re talking in the $5, $6, $8, and $10 off range.) These can be difficult for cashiers to handle, as most high-value coupons are over the preset limit that the store allows one person to have in an order. The more coupons, the more likely you’re either going to need a supervisor, or at bare minimum you’re going to need someone very experienced to be able to accept the coupons and get me rung up and out of there again.
Fortunately for me, at the first store, one of my favorite cashiers was acting as a type of supervisor for the younger cashier at the register. Things got done quickly, which is a plus; no one behind me in the line got upset (I can’t tell you how often it happens these days where someone does, and I always feel bad about it), and I was able to find nearly everything I needed.
At the second store, I went in for a few specific things. I had eight coupons that had to be used by 8/31 (and it was 8/31, so it was then or never). These were all for shampoos that cost around $10 to get. The coupon was for slightly less than that, and that can trip up a cashier quite easily if they’ve not seen it before. In addition to that, I grabbed some other coupon items (that weren’t expiring, but were still helpful), less difficult to process, along with a few things that weren’t coupon items to round out the order.
So, for this second positive experience, I was fortunate in getting a very experienced cashier who was about as quick with the coupons as anyone I’ve ever seen. She also was quite pleasant to speak with, which I appreciated. I smiled on the way out, and made sure to buy a couple of pieces of candy from the kids raising money for youth sports leagues (as I figured I wanted to pass that good karma around a little) on the way out.
So, what did all this tell me? Mostly, it reaffirms the value of human connection and the powers of observation. The teller did not seem to understand what limping in on a cane meant, so he didn’t make any effort to try to mitigate the problems I was having. But both cashiers understood; they saw my cane in the cart, and made sure I didn’t have to lift out the 24-pack of water (in one case) or anything else heavy. They also asked if I needed help to get to the car (I didn’t, but I thanked them for asking), and finally, they were pleasant and did everything in their power to set me at ease.
Compare that with the young teller for just one more moment. The teller, once things were reasonably straightened out, did not meet my eyes (and had earlier, so as far as I know was not neurodiverse) and didn’t apologize for the length of time I had to stand. He completed the transaction and acted as if I were Br’er Rabbit after being thrown in the tar pit, and obviously couldn’t wait to see the back of me.
I didn’t like this, and I didn’t appreciate it for several reasons. (As I’ve said.)
But both cashiers acted the way they should. They were polite, they made conversation, they didn’t act as if what I was doing in bringing coupons (that can really mess up a cashier if they don’t know what they’re doing) was an imposition, they met my eyes, they smiled…all in all, I felt much better about shopping than I’d expected.
So, that’s the perils of customer service. You can run into someone who doesn’t know what to do when the customer throws him an inadvertent curveball, and that person (the teller, in this instance) does not give even adequate customer service thereby. But you also can run into highly accomplished people who know their jobs, who are good at putting people at ease, who don’t blame the customer for bringing coupons even if they’re high-value (and thus can make it harder for the poor cashier to do their job), and who get you in and out of the store with a minimum of muss or fuss.
I wish all customer service people were as good as those cashiers or the two people I spoke with by phone at my credit union after the bad experience I’d had there. But it’s a mixed bag, and you never do know exactly what you’re going to get.
Anyway, what sorts of customer service have you dealt with lately? Good, bad, or indifferent, tell me about it in the comments! (That is, providing you’re still reading. I know I’ve been intermittent lately…ah, well.)
The IOC Is Wrong. Jordan Chiles Deserves Her Medal
Folks, I am livid.
I watched the Summer Olympics, as many did, keeping a close eye on the gymnastics competition. (They now want to call it “artistic gymnastics” as opposed to the rhythmic gymnasts who use ribbons and balls and such. I think we can tell which is which, but whatever.) The American gymnasts were excellent. Simone Biles was her usual self, competing with Rebeca Andrade (pronounced “An-dra-jee”) of Brazil, and Suni Lee, Jade Carey, and Jordan Chiles all had excellent Olympic performances as well. (I don’t mean to slight the other gymnast, Hezly Rivera. She won an Olympic gold team medal and did her best.)
So, what made me livid? How about this: In the final competition, which was the floor exercise, the judges from the International Olympic Committee screwed up. They messed up the scores to the point that Jordan Chiles’s coach had to appeal to get a point put back. (A tenth of a point, actually.) Ms. Chiles won the bronze medal, got her medal, Simone Biles got the silver, and Rebeca Andrade got the gold.
So far, so good.
The Romanian gymnasts (they were in fourth and fifth) were very unhappy. The judges didn’t score them right either. One of them was said to have a foot out of bounds when she hadn’t gone out of bounds. The other had just had her medal taken away, by her view, and also felt some of how she’d been scored was wrong.
My solution would’ve been to give all three medals, as the judges obviously screwed up.
Instead, the IOC’s decision is to try to strip Jordan Chiles of her medal. I don’t approve of that at all.
Pat McEnroe, former tennis pro and brother of John, has said the judges are the real problem here. I agree. They did not do the right thing. They messed up. Yet Jordan Chiles and the two Romanian gymnasts have to pay the price for the judges’ inaccuracy and stupidity.
That’s what makes me livid.
There are a lot of things that upset me. One of my good friends’ homes burned down recently; I need to write a blog about that, one longer than this one if possible. (I will mention her GiveSendGo info: https://www.givesendgo.com/GD2AK) If you can help my friend Betsy and her family, please do…ultimately that matters a ton more than any sport.
But the reason I said this today, about Ms. Chiles, the IOC, and everything else, is because it angers me when bad things happen to good people. We expect sports to be as unbiased as possible. We don’t expect the IOC to have their thumb on the scale and do wrong things to athletes who went to the Olympics, did their best, and now are told to return medals (or whatever else).
So, that’s why I wrote this blog about Jordan Chiles. She is an inspiration to many, did her level best, was awarded the medal, and deserves to keep her medal.
The IOC is wrong, wrong, wrong, a thousand times wrong, and should be going after the judges who mis-scored the event rather than trying to get back a medal Ms. Chiles rightfully earned.
Got Past My Wedding Anniversary…Still Alive
Folks, I know that’s an odd title. But if you’ve read my blog for a while, you know that it’s incredibly difficult for me to handle each year’s observance of my wedding to Michael (to/with/for, however you want to say it). Every anniversary is another year without him. Every anniversary points out that I’m older than he was when he died, and that just seems wrong.
This year, I felt I should stay quiet until it was over. I felt raw inside. (I didn’t stay quiet with my good female friends and I did tell two male friends also. But I said nothing to my family, nothing openly, not here at my blog nor on X/Twitter, nor on my Facebook page.) I didn’t want to have to discuss anything until I got past this anniversary.
Now I’m past it (by about eight days). I’m still alive. Michael’s birthday (not that he’d have celebrated it) comes up later this month. My own birthday, which in some ways is very hard to celebrate (see above), is in August.
I’m doing what I can to look forward. I’ve restarted my version of Peter Welmsley’s novel. I’ll take some of what Michael had, surely, but a lot of it I’m writing on my own. My Peter has a different name, a different place of origin (though Michael really didn’t say in any of his stories, I’ve decided Peter was brought up on Lemuria and that his parents were ambassadors from Heligoland, which was the “first landing place” that started the Atlantean Union after the diaspora from Earth), is going to have a different love interest (some of the same characteristics, mind you, but not all), and the ship he’s on is going to do different things. I’ve made a point of space pirates being a problem in the stories I’ve written and/or thought of since Michael’s untimely death, and it seems to me to make sense to write about that.
Michael’s premise, mind you, in all of his SFnal stories was to show the quiet heroes and heroines who do the needful, without fanfare, without expecting anything except to live their lives and go after it again the next day. Peter W. is still a quiet hero, and he doesn’t really see himself heroically at all (if you’ve read “To Survive the Maelstrom,” you know that, and you know why). He’s not particularly comfortable with being alive when his best male friend and his fiancee are dead, and while his love interest (the one I’m writing) makes some sense for him, it’s not going to be an easy courtship. (Then again, the best things in life take a Hell of a lot of work.)
So, I’ve restarted work on that. I’m also 53,000 words into the “secret” project, which is in a fantasy setting (I can say that much). Plus, my co-written story with Gail Sanders, “Into the Night,” is available in the Tales of the E-4 Mafia anthology from Henchman Press. (It’s available in paperback now, too. Check it out!)
It’s good to be active as a writer, even if my progress is a ton slower than I’d prefer. I feel better when I write. I also believe more firmly in myself when I’m creative, as I’ve suffered a few blows in the past few years that were hard to get past. (Dad’s death last year is just the start of it, I’m afraid.)
Of course, I’m editing as well. Nothing new about that. I do my best to help my clients, as always, in every way I can.
My view of life is pretty simple, in short. Anything worth doing is worth doing well. But if you aren’t able to do it well, but can still do it, you can keep going and keep doing it. You can fix whatever isn’t right once you have your story on the page; you can learn more about the manuscripts you edit every day you have them, if you’re pondering this, that, or the other from a developmental standpoint. (Do I worry about grammatical things sometimes? Sure. But I worry most about the flow of the story and whether or not it makes sense. Great grammar won’t work if there’s no characterization, no definable plot, or no real reason to be reading along, in my not-so-humble opinion.)
So. I’m alive. Doing my best. Some days are better than others. Some are worse. But I’m doing my level best, and that’s going to have to be enough.
How are you all doing? Tell me in the comments…providing I’m not just shouting into the void again (and hoping it will shout back).
Paying Tribute to Willie Mays (dead at 93) #mlb #heroes #SFGiants
Tonight, baseball legend Willie Mays, who played most his career with first the New York Giants, then the San Francisco Giants after they moved coasts, has died at age 93.
Mays was a true original and one of the greatest men to ever play any variety of major league baseball. (I don’t know if everyone knows this, but many of the Negro Leagues now have major league status. It’s long overdue.) He played in the Negro Leagues for a little while, then played for the Giants for the vast majority of his career. Despite needing to take a few years out for military service in the United States Army, Mays amassed an impressive career.
Mays had 660 home runs, 3293 hits, a .301 batting average, 1909 runs batted in, 339 stolen bases, and 2068 runs scored. (Stats were pulled up via baseball-reference.com.) He also was a tremendously gifted center fielder, partly because he had such speed and partly because he had a very strong arm, winning twelve Gold Gloves for his defensive excellence.
The Encyclopedia Brittanica has a few pages about Willie Mays, saying that many people recognize Mays as the greatest all-around player in the history of Major League Baseball. The Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, NY, also has a page recognizing the greatness of Mays’s career. Mays was also given the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 2015 for his contributions to the United States as a whole and major league baseball in particular.
So, many people knew him and many people admired him. For example, my late husband Michael told me he’d met Mays, along with several other Giants greats over the years, because the Giants were one of the first teams to be known for their philanthropic efforts. Mays was a “special ambassador” for the Giants from 1986 to his death, and was well known in San Francisco due to his sunny and exuberant personality as well as his various duties with the Giants over the years, and I assume that’s how and why Michael would’ve met Mays. (He also met Barry Bonds, and said Bonds was far more gracious in person than Bonds had ever been given credit for. YMMV, of course.)
I never met Willie Mays, but I admired him. He was a brilliant player, a kind-hearted man by all accounts, loved baseball, and loved his life. He gave of his time often, especially if it would help children in any way, with much of that philanthropy being done quietly and with no fanfare. Mays was one of the first African-American superstar players to enter MLB after the pioneering efforts of Jackie Robinson (NL and MLB-wide) and Larry Doby (AL), and he always conducted himself with grace and class.
In short, Willie Mays was my type of guy. I mourn his death but am grateful for his well-lived life and for everything he accomplished in baseball.
Father’s Day Blues
Folks, this will be the first Father’s Day without my father. I am not looking forward to this whatsoever.
Granted, I’m fortunate that my father lived as long as he did. There were things he didn’t get to see, that he wanted to see again, such as watching the Milwaukee Brewers make it back to the World Series (they’ve only been there once), and eventually winning a WS. I know he wanted to see at least one of my books succeed and thrive, too…
The thing is, he did get to see a lot of excellent things. He got to see both of the Milwaukee Bucks championships on TV. (He liked watching better on TV. When he went to the arena, he didn’t enjoy it as much.) He got to see Brett Favre and the Packers win a Super Bowl, then a few years later Aaron Rodgers and the Packers win another Super Bowl. He got to see a lot of good college basketball, a lot of good WNBA basketball (Dad loved the WNBA; he thought they played better as a team than most NBA clubs), and he enjoyed watching Brewers games on Sundays (when Telemundo has a free broadcast providing it’s a home game) while listening every other day on the Brewers Radio Network.
He also got to see me at my best, worst, and everything in between. (I would dare to say that my sibs probably feel the same way.) Just as I saw him (and so did my sibs) in the same ways.
I also know that as long as I live, some of him remains in this world. (Same for my sibs.)
It’s not the same, though. And as it’s the first Father’s Day observance without him, I definitely am feeling the worse for wear.
Those of you whose fathers are alive, please hug them and make much of them. Life is so damned short. You don’t know how much time you two may have left to be together, so don’t waste whatever is left.
Also, play a game of cribbage, smear, or, I suppose, Scrabble in my father’s honor. (Those were his three favorite games.) If your father likes ’em, too, give yourself double bonus points.
Think you know Peter Welmsley? Think again…#milSF rules! Time for a #MFRWHooks Bloghop!
Folks, it’s been a while since I participated in the Marketing for Romance Writers BookHooks Bloghop. The main reasons for not doing so have been due to family illnesses, not to mention my father’s passing last year. But as I have a new story out, co-written with Gail Sanders as I’ve said before, in the Tales of the E4 Mafia military SF anthology, it seems prudent to actually write a blog post and take part this time.
Mind you, I have tried to help the other members of Marketing for Romance Writers (MFRW.org) whenever possible. Because I know how good this (absolutely free) organization is, and how helpful it is for writers, I wanted to make sure my fellow writers in the Tales of the E4 Mafia anthology knew about it.
So, before I get into my bit about Peter Welmsley (introduced in my and my late husband Michael B. Caffrey’s novella “To Survive the Maelstrom,” available on Kindle Unlimited), I wanted to say this about Marketing for Romance Writers: It’s for all writers. You do not, absolutely do not, need to have romance in your stories to be part of this wonderful group. All you have to do is decide you want to be part of it, and join. (There is an Io Group and a Facebook Group. You can be part of either or both, as I understand it. For whatever it’s worth, I am.)
So, let’s get to the #BookHooks part forthwith, shall we?
As I said, #milSF rules. It’s fun both to write and to read, and because Michael left behind the huge, sprawling Atlantean Union universe for me to play around in, I have been able to write some stories that Michael never conceived of (or at best, never got a chance to write for himself).
For example, I have been working on a novella about Ryann Creston, the XO of the HMS Wendigo, presumed dead like so many others due to a violent attack by pirates. Peter, who is a Sergeant-Major by that time (highest-ranking enlisted Marine on the Wendigo), must take command of the ship and fly it out of there, saving whoever is left from the pirates. He nearly loses his life, and does lose the love of his life, Lydia, one of the ship’s nurses. But the more I write about the young Ryann Creston (she’s fourteen in my work-in-progress novella), the more I realize she must’ve found a way to get to an escape pod. She just hasn’t found a way to report in yet, that’s all. (This doesn’t at all mean she’s not injured. But dead? Not likely, not from this young lady.)
Anyway, Ryann will have her day, and soon…but right now I want to talk more about Master Sergeant Peter Welmsley, on TDY to the HMS Hyperion, helping another Master Sergeant keep the young Marines busy as the Naval contingent charts stellar nebulae. Note that Peter is younger in this story; he hasn’t yet met, much less lost, Lydia; he is far more relaxed, far less haunted, and altogether was just a joy to write about.
He’s not the main character in “Into the Night.” The main character is a guy named Marcus MacGruder. He’s a member of the E4 Mafia…at least, he’s a member in training, as he’s a Lance Corporal. And he knows a guy who knows another guy…that resourcefulness, not to mention willingness to help troubled shipmates (or at least one troubled shipmate, only partly because he desperately wants to date her), is why Peter picked Marcus to take part in an important mission that’s not as it seems…
So, “Into the Night” starts with a legal inquiry. MacGruder was found in an area of an orbital habitat he shouldn’t have been, all because he was trying to find a guy Peter wanted him to find. For three days, he and his legal counsel have been doing their best to bamboozle everyone as to what he’d been doing there; all he’ll say is he’d wanted to find a nice, clean sex worker, as they’d spent eighteen months on the rim charting nebulae and he needed some sexual relief.
(If you’ve ever known young military members, male or female, you will understand this right off, even though as far as I know, none have been out doing what these folks were doing on the Hyperion…yet.)
So, why did Peter want MacGruder to find this man? What purpose did it serve? Who is this other guy, and why does he matter…and also, who’s the shipmate in serious trouble and how can this mysterious other guy help her?
…have I hooked you yet? (I sincerely hope so!)
And mine is just one of eleven different stories in the Tales from the E4 Mafia anthology. Think about it. There are eleven stories, all about various aspects of the (possibly mythical) brotherhood of E4s everywhere called the E4 Mafia.
Before I go, I want to say two more things. First, here’s another Tweet from my writer and friend Kayelle Allen that you can use if you wish to talk about the Tales from the E4 Mafia antho (and do, do talk about it! Tell everyone you know. Please?):
Mastered a niche and adopted the best wisdom out there: Work smarter, not harder. If you need to bend a few rules? Well, that’s just effective leadership 😏🚀 #SciFi #MilSF #Military
Second, please check out the other authors taking part in this blog hop. There are all sorts of different writers doing different, valuable things out there, and the best way to check out these writers is to go to this page.
So, let’s get to getting, or at least get to hopping!



