Spinning Yarns

(ring, ring)

Me:

Good afternoon, Michael’s Bakery, this is Michael speaking. How may I help you today?

Customer:

Yeah, hi, I’m having some trouble with your bread.

Me:

I’m very sorry to hear that, sir; what seems to be the problem?

Customer:

Well, I bought a loaf of your bread the other day, and my girlfriend made me a sandwich with it, but the sandwich doesn’t look like the one I got from Subway.

Me:

Okay, sir. And how can we help you?

Customer:

Well, can’t you make the bread so that when my girlfriend makes a sandwich, it comes out just like the Subway sandwiches? It’s really important to me that my sandwich should look and feel and taste just like the Subway sandwiches.

Me:

Well, sir, we make bread, but we really don’t have any control over how your girlfriend uses it to make her sandwiches. Subway uses a variety of different condiments and other ingredients, as well as slicing techniques, that aren’t related to the bread. Also, they use long white-flour rolls, whereas you bought a loaf of sliced pumpernickel and a half-dozen bagels.

Customer:

Well, thanks for the technical explanation, but from the user experience standpoint, it remains frustrating that many other sandwich shops, like Subway, manage to solve this problem, whereas Michael’s Bakery doesn’t. I realize it’s trickier with sliced pumpernickel, but I was specifically asking about bagels.

Me:

I understand, sir. It really is frustrating when your sandwich doesn’t come out the way you like it. Let me tell you what would help us improve this for you: Can you get a loaf of bread from another bakery, and ask your girlfriend to make a sandwich for you with that bread? If you like that sandwich better, maybe you could tell us what the differences are, so we can make our bread more to your liking.

Customer:

This issue is about your bread, not bread from some other bakery. As I said before, the difference is simple: I give a loaf of your bread to my girlfriend, and ask her to make a sandwich. Result: Tastes like roast beef with Swiss cheese on pumpernickel. On the other side, go to Subway and order a sandwich. Result: Tastes like a Spicy Italian with mustard and black olives on a white-flour sandwich roll. I can’t understand why you people can’t make it so they’re always the same.

Me:

Well, sir, have you considered just getting your sandwiches from Subway? As much as I’d love to help you, we make bread here, not sandwiches, and we can’t decide how other people use our bread.

Customer:

Are you saying the problem is with my girlfriend? Like, maybe I should break up with her or something?

Me:

I didn’t say that, but now that you mention it, I think maybe that would be best for everyone concerned. Have a nice day, and thank you for calling Michael’s Bakery.

(click)

Filed by Michael at 16:36 under Amusement, Technology
7 Comments

You simply must read this letter, from the talented pen of Cosmo Catalano. An excerpt, to get you started:

Dear America,

I know a lot of you are anti-bailout. And I can understand why— those are my tax dollars, too. But as a line worker at GM, I’ll be the first to feel the effects of my company’s collapse. So please, hear me out on why I want to keep my job at General Motors

Okay, maybe that doesn’t sound very exciting, but as he says, hear him out. He’s got some excellent points. Also, “Cosmo the Auto-Worker” is a lot more interesting than Joe the Plumber.

Disclaimer: As far as I know, Cosmo has never worked for General Motors or any other automobile manufacturer. But I could be wrong.

Filed by Michael at 14:48 under Reference
No Comments

It started out so simply.

A couple of months after we moved to Cambridge, we gave a little money to a local medical charity—sent them a cheque, and got a brief letter of fulsome thanks. The cause was good, and we felt glad to have contributed. If only we had known then, what your real thanks would be.

It wasn’t too long before we began receiving solicitations from other charities as well. At first, it was just a few, and most of these we recycled; but to one of you—a popular environmental charity—we gave a small contribution. I’m here to say that, in retrospect, I’m sorry we ever contributed to your causes. We will not make the same mistake again, and I’m going to tell you why.

Obviously, the local charity had sold our name and address; we write it differently when we give to charities than we do for other purposes, so we can tell when you have done this to us. If you are affronted by the idea that we track you this way, I can only say that it is no worse than what you do to us: Every envelope you send out is bar-coded so that you can track which of your advertisements got the best responses, and which of us, your contributors, are your biggest suckers. Thus, when you hawk our good name to other charities without our permission, we can tell. And we will not forget.

Lately, our mailbox is more and more full of solicitations from charities. Now that so much of our personal communications take place over the Internet, virtually everything in our physical mailbox boils down to a request for money in one form or another. That includes bills, of course, which are a necessary evil; but you charities have really gotten out of hand. The more honest among you at least display your names prominently on your envelopes: Many of you, however, hide behind plain faux hand-lettered envelopes, too craven to reveal your true desires. At least the folks hawking credit cards have the decency to mail their stuff with a Delaware postmark. Is your cause so ignoble that you must deliver your pleas in a brown paper wrapper?

In addition to selling our names, you are also flagrantly wasteful with our contributions. Your envelopes are thick with full-colour advertisements, pre-paid business reply cards, and complex self-adhesive forms. While it is true that printing these things in bulk reduces their cost, your case for needing contributions would be a lot more convincing if you would simply send a single-page black-and-white letter. I promise you that if I’m really interested enough in your cause to give you some money, I can afford a first-class postage stamp to send you a cheque.

You print on glossy, non-recycled paper. You send catalogues full of “donationware” for us to buy. You stuff your envelopes with sheets of address labels, stickers, and plastic inserts, and some of you even glue a bright new U.S. nickel to each reply card. This latter really offends me: It’s not enough to ask for a donation, but you’ve read Robert Cialdini’s book and now you’re trying to guilt me into contributing. I will state for the record that I am keeping your nickel, and not sending you a donation.

On behalf of the poor soul whose nickel you just wasted, however, I’d like you to stop. On behalf of your causes, many of which are good and deserving, I’d like you to stop. Out of respect for your contributors, I’d like you to stop: Stop sending us catalogs. Stop sending us coins and flyers and glossy photographs of miserable children. Stop wasting our contributions on overpaid advertising agencies who spend their days and our dollars figuring out how to manipulate us. And most importantly, stop selling our names to other charities.

Because, if you do not stop, we will: We gave you our money because we believe in your cause, not because your cause has the best brand recognition. We still think your causes are deserving, but that was not enough for you. You have abused our trust, wasted our hard-earned money, and sold our names like a hot stock option. And, unlike direct marketing, which basically uses the same bag of tricks, you’re probably not even paying taxes on it. When you treat us this way, we won’t give to you anymore.

Despite all this, my wife and I still give to some charities, and we will continue to do so. The charities we give to now are the ones who do not treat us like shop-happy mall patrons, but who have the decency to ask with respect. Send us a letter with a return address, and write a simple letter explaining your needs. If we agree, and we have the money, we will contribute.

Otherwise, you can pay your expenses out of the thirty pieces of silver you got from the sale of your mailing list.

Filed by Michael at 14:24 under Diatribe, Open Letter, Personal
1 Comment