Warning: This is a very marmish post. About cussing and customer service and cookies — and I might as well make another bullet about regular hand washing. Or potpourri.
On cussing: I’ve been known to blurt the occasional curse word in traffic or a caught-off-guard moment (like when the 6-pack of Shiner Bock beer fell through its wet cardboard carton and onto the floor at Target last weekend, shattering shards of glass upon my flip-flop covered feet). But I am not a fan of the constant explicative-dropping. Today I had a friend tell me, “They’re just words. They don’t mean anything.” To which I replied, “you’re telling a writer that words don’t mean anything?” To which I later thought, “If they don’t mean anything, then why use them?” It is precisely because they mean something that people like to use them. Because if they had no effect, you wouldn’t bother with it. Potty mouth or not, don’t use the excuse that “they’re just words,” — because if they really had no meaning — and got no reaction — then there would be no point in using them. Love, Mom.
On customer service: I met the nicest men behind the cash register today. Wouldn’t that be a good name for a book on customer service? “Behind the Cash Register: When good customer service goes ka-ching!” ANYWAY. I went to Chick Fil A to get a sandwich — and then I stopped by a bakery to pick up cookies for my group in my after-lunch meeting — and they were just both so nice. They were quick with their pleases and thank yous with a big smile on the side. It’s so refreshing. It also reminds me of the neon yellow banner hanging on a rinky-dink gas station by our house that says “We appreciate your business.” I appreciate their appreciation and will go there more often because of it. Even though it’s kind of scary looking. OK, maybe it takes more than just a banner, but you get the point. Love, a happy customer.
On the cookies in my meeting: They were good. But only two people ate them. So now there are three left and I’m bringing them home, honey. Love, your wife.