I Hereby Resolve…

Well, it’s a fresh year.  A new start.  A chance to set new goals and  push to reach them.  Here are some of the things I’ve set my sights on:

1.  Running the Country Music Half Marathon in April.  I’ve talked my husband, Scooter into doing this one with me, so that will be fun.  But I have so fallen off the running wagon since mid-autumn, and getting back into shape to do 13.1 will require a lot of weekly mileage between now and then.  So pray for my neighbors, who will be forced to  witness a great deal of my pale, pastey self giggling around the nieghborhood…

2.  Getting my act together financially.  I handle all of our household bill paying, and I want to be more organized, and thereby get more out of every dollar.  I want to crack the code of grocery couponing. (There was a spirited local online debate a few days ago about where one could get the best deals on groceries:  trusty old Super Walmart, or the soon-to-be opened Publix, which doubles some coupons and has good sales PLUS store coupons…it’s like a Chinese riddle.)

I stumbled upon a really useful little tool in Target recently.  A meal planning and grocery shopping worksheet designed by financial guru Jean Chatzky (cute little brunette you see on the Today Show).  It’ comes in a pad that’s magnetic and can live on the fridge.  Here it is:

I used this for the first time last week, and it was pretty nice to know, within a few bucks, exactly what I’d spent before I got to the check-out.  And having that budget number square on the page in front of you keeps you honest.  You get close to that number, and you start choosing between wants and needs in a hurry.  What do I need most?  The roast for Wednesday’s dinner or the fancy cheese for my sandwiches?  Life’s about choices, folks.

I wish I could give you an easy  online resource for this, but I can’t find it ANYWHERE online.  So look at Target near the home/office supplies.

3.  Training my children to take more responsibility for our home, and with their own money.  With Bubba almost 10 and Sissy pushing 7, I think we’re to a place where they need to learn that financial gain is a direct product of hard work.  So we’re considering putting them on what Dave Ramsey calls a “comission” system.  They still have some jobs that they’re responsible for just because Momma and Daddy said so, and because we’re a family and everyone should pitch in.  But some extra chores are money-makers.  I also want to put them in the position of receiving a small amount of money on a regular basis so that they can begin to practice the golden trifecta of stewardship:  Give, then Save, then Spend.  I found this little 3-way bank that I’m considering for them.  It’s a way for them to take what they’ve earned and immediately commit it to one of those three purposes:

They can place their tithe, their savings, and their fun money in the separate compartments, and can even take it apart if they just want to grab one to take to the church, the bank, or Toys R Us.  There are lots of options out there that you can read about here.  This particular one is call the Moonjar Moneybox.  And, of course, for a little bit of nothing you could make your own system out of milk cartons or jelly jars.  I’m just not sure I’m that crafty…

So there you have it–my three big areas where I’m zeroing in on areas where I, personally, and we as a family can improve.  I don’t know if I’d even call them “resolutions” in the traditional sense, but they are my attempt at seeing the New Year as a perfect place to stop, to reflect, and to be intentional about how I live going forward.  Wish me luck, and endurance, and patience.

I’m curious…what are YOU working on?

Merry Christmas from Our Home to Yours…

Make a Smilebox greeting

When Will I Learn?

Bird dogs...love 'em.

When will I learn that I see through a glass darkly?  That now I only know in part?  That man (that includes me) judges by the outward appearance, but God sees the heart?

If I ever understood these things, I had temporarily forgotten them on Thursday. 

I spent the morning covering a luxury quail hunting plantation in southwest Georgia for a regional lifestyle magazine.  It was a story that I wanted to do.  I love the outdoors, and wingshooting is perhaps the most refined and nuanced of shooting sports.  I’d seen coverage of these marvelously appointed lodges with thousands of acres of carefully managed woodland, and kennels full of the best-trained hunting dogs money can buy.  I’d go for it just for the dogs, truth be known.

But somewhere in the middle of observing this exclusive and beautiful place (which you can do, as well, for around $900 per person, per day), my populist, working class roots began to twitch.  As much as I appreciated the excellence and refinement all around me, I also began to have a flash or two of internal eye-rolling and thoughts of, ‘give me a break.’  Then my hosts (the owners of the plantation, who were gracious in every sense of the word), took me out to meet the hunt party which was already in the field for the morning.

We drove out and met them–they in mule-drawn wagons and on horseback–in a glorious little patch of burned pines.  The party of three or four hunters were accompanied by the huntmaster and the wagon driver.  As the shooters were all in the field following the dogs, the owners invited me to climb up on the wagon to get a better view of the hunt.  So I stood there petting a beautiful lab named Lena and watching the hunters, and I asked the owners who these folks were, exactly.

“The older gentleman over there is Mike, Sr., and this is his 70th birthday.  His son, Mike, Jr., put this trip together with these other friends to celebrate his dad’s birthday,” they said.  “Those two live in Michigan part of year, this other gentleman over here lives in Minnesota part of the year, but they all go to their homes in Naples, Florida, for the winter.”

All of the hunters were meticulously outfitted with the finest apparel and equipment, and beautiful firearms.  My initial thought as I sized them up was, ‘These overpriveledged jet-setting turkeys don’t have a clue what life’s about.’

That’s when God decided to back-hand me.

Mike, Sr. and his friend, Dallan, climbed up on the wagon with me and introduced themselves.  They asked about the magazine I’m writing for, and we made small talk about the picture-perfect weather and fantastic dogs.  Then I asked the owners how many horses and mules they keep on the plantation.

That discussion led to Mike, Sr., commenting: “At our schools in Uganda, or biggest single expense–believe it or not–is dipping our dairy cows to protect them against tse tse flies and the like.”

Then the converstaion took some other turn.  But my curiosity was piqued.  “These schools in Uganda,” I asked, “are these part of a charitable operation of some type?”

“Well,” Mike, Sr., began, “we have a foundation, and we’ve started schools in Uganda and Rwanda in an effort to relieve the poverty, and heal a lot of the cultural strife after the genocide through Christ-centered education.  I’m the Chairman of Prison Fellowship Ministries, and Dallan here is also on the board.”

Gulp.  Ahem.  “Uh…Chuck Colson’s Prison Fellowship Ministries??” I stammered.

Mike’s eyes lit up. “That’s us!  Chuck’s a dear friend of ours.  I took over for him a couple of years ago when he needed more time to focus on other ministry areas.”

My eyes brimmed.  These people had no idea what my impression of them had been just a few minutes earlier.  But I did.  And now I knew how insanely inaccurate my snapshot assessment had been.  I was ashamed.  Yes, they were all insanely wealthy (Mike Timmis, Sr., was a very successful Detroit attorney and businessman, and Dallan Peterson owned several businesses and founded Merry Maids, which he later sold to national conglomerate Servicemaster.)  But they now spend a considerable portion of their time–and lots of that money– battling tse tse flies and spreading the gospel in third world countries.  Is it a crime for them to spend a little money to shoot quail in Georgia on Mike’s birthday?  Hardly.

I drove home in a daze.  All the way, God was whispering to me, “You are the one who doesn’t have a clue, Dana.  But I love you anyway.  You have no idea where I’m moving and what I’m doing, and the wonderful servants I’m using.  And they don’t all look and live the way you expect them to.  Honey, you just can’t even imagine what I can see from where I sit…”

After I had a few hours to digest how the Lord had let me brush up against His presence in that unexpected venue, I was heartsick that I’d only had a few minutes with these wonderful men.  I had so many questions!  And perhaps one day I’ll get to ask them.  But for now, I’ll just try to remember that I see through a glass darkly…and reserve judgement.

You can read more about Michael Timmis here.  And more on Dallan Peterson here.

Dana’s Favorite Things 2009

Hey there, blog friends!  It’s that time again.  Time for Dana to rip off Oprah’s little “must have for Christmas” list and reinterpret it for my world.  Yes, I know it’s not even Thanksgiving, but if you wait until December to start telling people what you want thinking about the holidays, there’s hardly time to get it all done!  So let’s get the lead out and encourage some blatant commercialism…

1.  The New Ipod Nano (8G) – I know what you’re saying.  “But Dana, you already have an Ipod.”  True enough.  But my click wheel is almost worn out, and I see the end approaching on the horizon.  And this is an item that I use DAILY.  Plus, the new version has several great new features:  a bigger screen, the capability to shoot short video, and my favorite–an FM Tuner.  The lack of radio has been the only missing link with the Ipod.  And some days I just want to listen to Rick & Bubba, or some SEC football.  It comes is a bunch of great colors, and my roving eye has spotted the best price at Sam’s Club ($139).

 

2.  A pressure cooker – Wow. Don’t you like how I went straight from sleek, of-the-moment technology to gear popular with old ladies in “comfort waist” pants?  Hope I didn’t give anyone whiplash.  So why do I want a pressure cooker?  Well, I’ve learned the hard way that cooking fresh beans or peas takes around, oh, 20 hours without one.  A gal has to put on supper right before breakfast to get ‘em tender.  I stopped to look at one in Bed, Bath & Beyond a few days ago, and a kind lady–fresh from the beauty shop for her weekly set and wearing her favorite comfort waist slacks, came along side me and said, “Sugar, if you want to know the truth, QVC has the best one.  I wouldn’t mess with that rinky-dink ‘ole thing.”  I said, “Did my mother send you here?”  (My mother has a legendary preoccupation with QVC.)  I don’t need a fancy one.  Just a basic one…

 3.  Bobbi Brown fragrance – I am a HUGE Bobbi fan.  Her cosmetics are in great, natural-looking, classy shades, and her fragrances are just as top-notch.  I’ve worn her signature scent “Bobbi” for years, and there are others that I’d love to try like Beach, Bath and the newest one, Almost Bare.  You can find them at her cosmetics counters in a precious few department stores, or at www.bobbibrown.com.

4.  Books, books, how I love books – and winter is my favorite time to nest on the weekends by the fire and get lost in the pages.  There are a few classic titles on my “must read” list that I’d love to have, like Zora Neal Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God , William Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying, and The Moviegoer by Walker Percy.

 

Well, I can’t think of anything else right now.  I reserve the right to post a second installment of this list between now and Thanksgiving.  Now, to get to work on the things Santa needs for the kiddos in my life!  That’s where the fun happens!

And the Winner Is…

Where to even begin?

First off this post feels far different for me than I imagined it would when I wrote the first installment of this series.  On that day, I imagined writing this with self-satisfied glee.  I imagined myself as some arbiter of consumer justice, meting out public relations lashes to the business wrong-doers of the world.  But it’s just more complicated than that…

So I’m going to tell my story, but I’ve decided to withhold the name of the business.  One reason for this is that the stupid problem is still not resolved.  Local readers will probably figure it out anyway, but that’s just the way it goes.  So here we go:

A few months ago, my husband sent me out to purchase two appliances for the cabin we’re restoring on our farm.  (I know, I’m going to do a post soon…)  We needed a slide-in range and a dishwasher.  I checked out the local big-box stores and didn’t see any slide-in ranges, only tons of the free standing ones (knobs on a panel that sticks up on the back, which wouldn’t work with the bar height on our kitchen island).  So I went to a local, independent appliance dealer who carries a wide range of brands and styles, from the uber-pricey Viking and SubZero stuff to the more accessible Fridgidair and GE.  He had a couple of different slide-in ranges on the showroom floor, and told me that he could get it for us in our preferred stainless steel in two weeks.

Two weeks.

I said OK, but that we did need it soon, because our cabinet man would have to have the appliance on hand to make the necessary cuts in the wood countertops.  The owner of the business (we’ll call him Larry) said no problem.  So my husband went by later that day and paid him by check in full.  The total was $1815 and change.

Two weeks went by.  No appliances.  Three weeks.  No appliances.  I called Larry.

“Hey, Larry.  I’ve really got to have those appliances in the next day or two, because my cabinet man is waiting on you, and I don’t want him to get wrapped up in another job before mine is done.  It’s hard to get people scheduled to go up to this place because it’s so far out of the way.  Can you deliever day after tomorrow?”

“Yeah, your stuff is in.  It’s in Panama City. {I didn’t realize that having something parked 90 miles away meant that it was “in,” but whatever…}  I can deliver them day after tomorrow.”

“Great.  I’ll call you Thursday morning and set up a time.  Bye.”

Thursday rolled around.  I called that morning to set up a delivery time.

“Hey Larry.  What time does your delivery guy want me to meet him at the cabin?” {Remember people, this is 35 miles from my house.}

“Well, your stuff is in Panama City.  {awkward silence that I refuse to fill with words.} I think I can send my guy to get it tomorrow.”

**Big sigh from me.**  “Ok, so can you deliver Monday?”

“Yeah, that shouldn’t be any problem.”

Do I even have to tell you how the conversation went on Monday?  You can just cut and paste the above conversation here, because it was the exact same conversation. 

So now we’re over two weeks past the promised delivery date, and I’m grinding my teeth at night.

A few days later I walked into Larry’s store and said, “Larry, I’m sorry, but this is just not working out.  I needed those appliances weeks ago, and you promised you could get them to me then and it hasn’t happened.  I need to go somewhere that has what I need in stock and get on with it, so I’m gonna need my money back.”

“It’s HERE,” he says all panicked, gesturing toward the back of the building.  “I can deliver today.”

“Today?”  I say, skeptically.

“TODAY,” says Larry.  “What time do you want to meet us?”

“How about 3 o’clock?” I say.

“We’ll see you at 3!” he says.  I leave.

I make arrangements for someone else to pick my children up from school and drive the 40 minutes to the farm.  I unlock the gate and go wait at the cabin.  For over an hour and a half.  No delivery.

I lock up, get in my car, and start driving back to town.  I’m gripping the steering wheel tight enough to break it.

When I get back to civilization and a good cell signal, I get a call from Larry.

“Where are you?” he says.  “My guy is up there and he says the gate is locked.”

{Note:  this is where my anger gets the best of me and I LOSE IT.  I am not proud of it.  I was pretty emotionally drained, as this was just a few days after the sudden death of a family friend that set into motion the American Airlines incident.  I have prayed for forgiveness.  I’m just telling you like it is…}

“REALLY?!?!  BECAUSE IF HE HAD BEEN THERE AT THREE HE WOULD HAVE FOUND IT WIDE OPEN.  IF HE HAD BEEN THERE AT FOUR HE WOULD HAVE FOUND IT WIDE OPEN.  HIS PROBLEM IS THAT HE’S ALMOST TWO HOURS LATE!!”

“I’m sorry,” Larry says.  “I apologize.  He had a flat tire on the way back from Panama City…”

{OK, wait a minute.  This morning when I wanted my money back, Larry insisted that my appliances were HERE, emphatically gesturing toward his stockroom to make the point.  He knew that if he told me they still weren’t even in the STATE I would have insisted on my refund.  I realize now that I have not only been jerked around and inconvenienced, I have been LIED TO.  Cue anger…}

“Well, I’m done,”  I said, attempting to get it together. “I want my money back.”

“How about a big discount?” Larry pleads.

“I.  Want.  My.  Money.  Back,” I said again.

“I’ll give ‘em to you half off!” he pressed.

“I WANT MY MONEY BACK!!!”  I shrieked like a crazy person.

“OK,” Larry said dejectedly. “I’ll have you a check tomorrow.”

{Would you believe me if I told you the story hasn’t gotten bad yet?}

The next morning I arrived at the appliance store shortly after they opened, and Larry met me at the door with a check for the full amount of our purchase.  I told him I was sorry it hadn’t worked out, took my check and left.

The check went into the bank a couple of days later, I paid several bills out of the account and then we left for our trip to North Carolina.  (Yes, where we suffered the Chambers Agency incident.)  I returned home to a weeks worth of mail, which included several overdraft notices.

Larry’s check had bounced.  Causing me to overdraw and incur $220 in overdraft charges.  I wanted to run into the street screaming.

At this point I looked at my husband, the trial lawyer, and said, “Um, I think I need you to take this over.”  He agreed.

The next morning we went to the store, showed him the returned check and said we’d need cash or a certified check by Monday morning.  Larry looked at us and said he wouldn’t be able to get the money until Wednesday.

Ya’ll.  This is a business that sells Viking ranges that price out at over $10,000 a piece.  Refrigerators for $8,000.  How in the world is it possible that this man can’t lay his hands on $1815 in less than five days??  HOW do you run a business like that?

Anyway, we said OK, Wednesday.  Do I even need to tell you?  On Wednesday he needed until Friday.  In the mean time my husband and I are making daily trips to his bank and presenting the returned check in the hope that we’d get there just after a deposit and be able to cash it.  It was like playing a slot machine.  We never won.

On Friday, my husband informed Larry that time was up, and if he didn’t have the cash, we’d just take some stuff.  I swear, I couldn’t make this up.  I had to go into this man’s business like a loan shark and say “I’ll take that, and I’ll take that, and I’ll take that.”  I walked out of there with a six-burner Jenn-Air gas range and a Frigidair built-in stainless microwave that I NEITHER NEED NOR WANT. 

Larry followed me out the door promising that he was going to make this whole thing right ASAP.

I have a feeling I’m going to be running an appliance business through Craigslist and Ebay soon to cover my loses.

So why do I have trepidation about releasing his name and the name of the business?  Because I think he’s about to bankrupt.  And as angry as I am, and as unfairly as we’ve been treated, I can’t help but feel a little bit sorry for this guy who’s so obviously on the ropes.  Granted, he’s a horrible businessman.  But I don’t like watching a husband, father, and provider go down.  That gives me no pleasure, even under these circumstances.

So there you have it.  All in the space of a couple of weeks, I had the pleasure of the American Airlines fiasco, the Chambers Agency debacle, and the ongoing appliance saga with my buddy “Larry.”  Everytime I turn on local TV, he’s standing in his showroom shouting for me to “COME ON DOWN TO **** APPLIANCES!”  He’s smiling like the cheshire cat.

I think I’d rather not, Larry.  If it’s all the same to you…

The Skunk Awards – A Sidebar

Before I unveil our big winner for ‘09, I feel the need to back up and revisit why I’m even doing this series.  I have to thank my Sunday School teacher, Steve, for bringing this into focus for me today.  You see, I hope that this blog and the things in it ultimately glorify God.  I know some of it is just silly and funny, but at the end of the day, I want my life to make you think.

And let’s be honest:  I don’t always get it right.  (I know that’s shocking–take a moment and let it sink in. ) But I hope that even in my screw-ups and stumbles, a good dose of transparency in the retelling will help us all think about what a God-honoring life really looks like.

It doesn’t accomplish any of those goals for me to simply bash a business person who failed in his or her job.  Heck, serving the public in any capacity is hard, and we all have bad days.  If any of the people I’ve written about in this series had a front-row seat to my jobs (mom, wife, writer, teacher…) I’m sure they could find plenty to take issue with.  But at the same time, I do hope that talking about these experiences will encourage those who do serve others in their jobs to raise the bar and do their jobs–even on the bad days–”as unto the Lord.” (Col. 3:23)

So let’s just shell the corn:  I let anger seep into my attitudes and words in almost all of these situations, to varying degrees.  That’s my sin in this.  To feel anger is human, to act or speak based upon it is sinful.  To take that one step further–when I’m truly seeking the Lord (spending time in the Word and prayer, and staying in tune with the leading of the Holy Spirit), the anger monster is much more difficult to arouse.  Even in the most provoking situations, a heart that is thoroughly marinated in Jesus just acts and reacts more like Jesus.  And yes, I did just use the culinary practice of marinating as a metaphor for spiritual discipline.  You heard it here first.

So when I award the big Skunk of the Year, I have to make it clear that in my interaction with that particular business, I let anger get the best of me even more than in the previous award scenarios.  I’m not proud of that.  But because I’ve confessed it to the Lord and he is infinitely merciful, I know I am forgiven.  Which means that…

I have to forgive these people, too.  (That’s what I get for writing my little smarty-pants blog, right?) So I do.  I forgive “Lou” at American Airlines for stonewalling me.  He was probably just doing what the company trained him to do, and has the supreme pleasure of catching it from the flying public all day for being a good little soldier.  He’s probably stuck between the boss and the lady on the phone.  I forgive you, Lou.

I forgive Tucker Chambers for being a jerk.  That one’s a little tougher, because he’s an independent business person with all the autonomy in the world, but who knows what other circumstances were bearing down on him in his personal or professional life that day.  I forgive you Tucker, whatever that was about.

And I have forgiven the man who will receive the grand prize.  Totally.  No hard feelings.

Now, that being said, I think you can completely let go of bitterness and hard feelings and genuinely forgive another, but wisdom has to dictate how you interact with them going forward.  So forgiving doesn’t necessarily mean that I’ll choose to do business with them in the future.  I can love them, pray for them, and wish them well without entering into another business relationship.  That’s my understanding, anyway. 

So read these stories and learn.  Learn how to avoid the ditches I’ve stumbled into.  Learn how to look to the  Word for the guidance we need just to get through the stinkin’ day.  Learn how to be so grateful for a Lord and Savior who loves us enough to forgive us.

Even in a bad customer service moment.

Now that’s forgiveness, people.

The Skunk Awards 2009, Part Two

For those just joining us, I am naming the recipients of a special award (created by moi) called The Skunk Award…”For customer service that truly stinks.”  Honorable Mention went to American Airlines, and you can read all about that here.

Moving along.  Our First Runner-Up is (drumroll):  The Chambers Agency of Highlands, NC.  Here’s the story:

During the summer, I began to daydream about cool mountain air and crisp fall foliage as a means of surviving the delirium brought on by the oppressive south Alabama heat.  So I began to plan a fall break adventure to Highlands, NC.  Highlands is an upscale, small resort town in the Blue Ridge Mountains known for its jaw-dropping scenery, great shopping, and cool temperatures.

I spent a considerable amount of time combing the internet for a rental cabin or home that would accomodate our family of four plus my mom and dad, who were joining us.  I finally zeroed in on a small 3 bedroom, two bath home with a beautiful stone fireplace and newly remodeled kitchen.  Highlands is a pricey market, but I felt like a had found a good deal.

My parents arrived at the cabin first, and they chose one of the downstairs bedrooms.  Now let me stop here and say that most of the online photos of the home were of the top floor, and there was a reason for that.  The upper floor was much nicer.  The two downstairs bedrooms and bath had a definite dank, “basementy” feel.  But, you know, nothing we couldn’t live with.

Then my mother went to turn back the bed, and found this:

Sweet dreams...

Now, when one looked at the stained ceiling tiles just above the bed, it became obvious that the horrific sheets were the result of a prior leak.  Unpleasant.  But, you know, nothing we couldn’t get past…Mom just washed the linens and we went on about our business.

The next day, my parents reported clouds of some type of swarming insect (termites, maybe?) in the downstairs bath.  They dutifully found some Raid and killed the pests, then swept up the carcasses.  Truly unpleasant.  But, you know, nothing we couldn’t…oh give me a break–enough is enough.  This is not what we paid for.  I don’t need luxury, but I do need clean.  And if I need clean, my parents are certifiable germaphobes.  Clean freaks.  They were being troopers, but I knew this place was making them crazy.

So I went by the agency and spoke with a nice younger woman, explained the trouble we’d had, and asked for one of the owners (a husband/wife duo by the name of Tucker and Jeannie Chambers) to call me to discuss it.  We went on with our sight seeing for the day.  No call.

The next morning I called back and spoke with Tucker Chambers.  I politely explained that while I understood that things can’t always be perfect with every home, we’d had quite a few problems with this one, and was there anything he could do about it?

“No,”  he said.  “I won’t be able to do anything.  You got that property at a discount, and you get what you pay for.”

If I’m lying, I’m dying.

“Well,” I said. “The rental rate (which was $1300 for the week) that was listed on the internet didn’t indicate that it was a discounted rate.  And I would think that cleanliness would be the bare minimum you’d want to offer in all of your properties, at every price point.  Wouldn’t you?”

“Well, sure.  But there were other sheets in the house.  I’m not going to be able to do anything for you.”

Amazing.  I mulled it over for 24 hours. 

Luckily, my mother had NOT WASHED the most offensive pillowcase, and I was able to retrieve it from the downstairs closet.  The next day, a Friday, I waited until around 11:00 am when things would have picked up around the office with weekend travelers coming and going.  I put that skanky pillowcase under my arm and told my husband that I was going to see my friend Tucker Chambers.

The office was bustling, and when they saw me walk in, pillow in tow, the blood ran out of their faces.  Jeannie was standing in the front foyer, and I sweetly asked if Tucker was available.  She glanced into his office, just off the foyer, and said that he had someone in with him.

“I’ll wait,” I smiled.  Everyone stared at the pillow and wondered what was about to happen.  Jeannie shot looks into Tucker’s office that silently indicated that he needed to step on it.

Soon Tucker ambled out of his office along with his guest, and I introduced myself.

“Hi Tucker,” I said with a smile. “I’m Dana McCain–we spoke yesterday?  Remember?  Yeah, well, this is the pillow you want my momma to shut up and sleep on.”  I was smiling as if I had just said ‘I was baking and wanted you to have this pound cake.’

His wife shuddered audibly when I stuck the pillow out in her direction.  Tucker stammered.  Everyone stared as if I had a rattlesnake in my extended hands.

Finally Jeannie ushered me and my show-and-tell item into her office, and apologized for the inconvenience.  And what I said to her was this:

“You know Jeannie, I understand that homes have leaks and that sometimes housekeeping misses something.  I understand that sometimes the bugs show up at a very inopportune moment.  And when I first called your husband, he could have offered me nothing more than a sincere apology for our inconvenience and I would have been satisfied.  He could have thrown a gift certificate for a free cup of coffee at me, and I would have said thanks and been on my way.  But with arrogance like I’ve seldom experienced, he instead condescended to suggest to me that because I hadn’t rented one of your more expensive properties, I was not entitled to a clean place to sleep.  That is offensive.”

“He’s entirely too blunt,” she sighed.  “I ought to know, I have to live with him.  He should never have said those things to you.  Let me see what I can do.”

Jeanne refunded a small portion of our rental fee.  But the damage was done.  Tucker Chambers is a jerk, and I wouldn’t rent a bucket of water from him if I was on fire.

(By the way, has anyone else noticed that while I’m married to a trial lawyer, I’m always the bad cop?  What’s up with that?)

Coming next:  Our SKUNK OF THE YEAR FOR 2009.  You don’t want to miss it…

The Skunk Awards – 2009

I don’t know what God is trying to teach me, but it’s something pretty important.  How do I know?  Because he is making me walk through Customer Service Hades.  Surely this is an effort to purify my soul from some hidden sin.  To break me and make me cry out to him in despair.  To take the veneer off of my usual affable disposition and expose me for the barracuda I really am.  Because even the sugary-sweetest among us would lose it in the string of experiences I’ve had of late.

The customer service I have experienced on three different occasions recently are detailed here.  Each of the businesses who rendered such exceptionally bad service are recipients of an award I have created:  The Skunk Award – For Customer Service That Stinks.

And the winners for 2009 are (sound of envelope ripping):

Honorable Mention:  American Airlines.

AA only receives an honorable mention because they stopped just short of truly bad customer service and did the right thing in the end.  Here’s the story…

My husband’s brother was killed in an accident during Army basic training at Ft. Sill, OK, 20 years ago.  A memorial event was schedule for the anniversary of the sad event that killed three and grieviously injured several others.  My husband bought a ticket to travel to the event and join his parents and sister there.

Unfortunately, the day before his departure, a very close family friend died in a farming incident.  While not technically family, my husband is extremely close to these sweet people, and was needed to help with the funeral arrangements, talk with the coroner, go back out to the farm and put away the machinery, etc.  There was absolutely no way he could leave.

We were so undone by the whole chain of events and the needs around us, we didn’t call the airline before the time of my husband’s scheduled departure.  When I thought about it later in the day and called customer service, I was promptly told by a guy I’ll call “Lou” that there was nothing the airline could do, and we had just lost the full value of the $300+ fare.  I asked to speak to a supervisor.  Lou informed me that he (the supervisor)would tell me the same thing, and I politely insisted I’d prefer to hear it from the horse’s mouth.  Cue 15 minutes worth of elevator music.

When Lou came back, he said that his supervisor didn’t even have the authority to give us a voucher for the ticket, so there was nothing that could be done.  My response was, “So, my husband misses a flight because of a tragic death, and your supervisor is refusing to even speak with me about it?  I just want to make sure I understand what’s going on here…”  Lou stuttered and stammered and said sorry, there’s nothing we can do.  “So you’re willing to have me quote you as having stated that your supervisor refuses to speak to me regarding this problem?” I replied.

Big sigh from Lou.  Hang on, he says.  15 more minutes of elevator music.

Whe he came back he connected me to his superior, who promptly and graciously issued a voucher for the fare, and offered condolences for our loss.  An action that just a few minutes earlier I was to believe he didn’t have the authority to perform.  So in the end AA does the right thing.  But it required the tenacity of a bulldog to get past Lou and experience that.

Tune in next time for the unvailing of our 1st Runner-Up…

Turning the Tables

Sometimes, your brother puts on his fighting gear from karate class and tries to beat you up…

…and you’re forced to stuff him into a little box…

…you know, sometimes.

Go Fish

We spent a day at my in-laws before our jaunt to the Neshoba County Fair, and much of it was spent at their pond, fishing.  It’s a beautiful spot, even at this time of year, but during the spring it’s a show-stopper.  Lots of azaleas and lush green grass around the banks–it begs you to kick off your shoes and play awhile.  They’ve even built a beautiful dock and pavilion, causing me to dub it “McCain State Park.”

As I watched the kids baiting their hooks and trying (with varying levels of success) to cast their lines in a particular spot, I was reminded of a sermon series I’ve begun listening to.  It’s called Go Fish by Andy Stanley of Northpoint Church in Atlanta, GA. (Available as a podcast on iTunes)

Stanley’s premise is this:  if you are a follower of Christ, you are supposed to be a “fisher of men.” (Matthew 4:19)  That was the one thing he promised his would-be disciples when he asked them to follow him.  He didn’t say, “Follow me and I will make you holy.”  He didn’t say, “Follow me and I will spare you from heartache and pain.”  He said, “Come with me and I will make you fishers of men.”

You gotta have bait.

So I listened to this and started to ask myself how much fishin’ I’ve been doing lately, in the spiritual sense.  The answer?  Not enough.

I think I sometimes let myself off the hook (pardon the pun) by rationalizing that this just isn’t the right time, or the right place.  By saying that I need more time to build a relationship with this person before I “go there.”  But the fact of the matter is, all of that loving people, all of that relationship-building, all of that small talk is useless if it is not eventually the on-ramp to a discussion about Jesus Christ and what he means to mankind.

Occasionally, you’ll throw your hook in the water and it doesn’t go so well.  Maybe your friend or acquaintance is resistant to Christianity because of a prior bad experience (and believe me, there are some bad experiences out there), or maybe it just goes nowhere.  You put the big proposition out there and they just sidestep the whole thing and do nothing.  You feel as if you’ve failed.

Sometimes, there's a lot of waiting involved.

But you never know how your words and your example are resonating with people in the places they aren’t prepared to talk about.  Your fishing expedition may just be the first step toward a relationship with Christ for your friend, but it may be years before he or she realizes it.  But when that day comes–the rewards, oh the rewards…

Sweet success.

So ask yourself, and be honest:  when was the last time you baited a hook and wet your line?  To follow is to fish…