I was working at Gillette, now over 30 years ago. I went to a Promotional Seminar and met Jill. She was a brand manager for Campbell's Soup. We were in the the same breakout group, and got along well. We said we'd stay in touch but life got busy and we didn't. About nine years later, around 1990, Jill called me. She had moved to New York and was job-hunting. I was at CBS. Jill ended up becoming my colleague and one of my closest friends. The latter she still is.
Meredith and I worked together in 1985; I was a brand manager at Lever Brothers and she was the senior producer I worked with from Jack Morton Productions. We weren't friends, just business associates. Our relationship began and ended with the introduction of Extra Strength Aim — the toothpaste that was going to revolutionize the world, but didn't. Meredith moved to Minneapolis and then back to New York. Around 1994 she called and suggested getting together. We've been close friends ever since.
Gail was my first boss at Gillette. I left in 1984 and moved to New York. Then, in 2011, we discovered through LinkedIn that we both live in NYC. We had dinner, and now see and speak to each other all the time. It's hard to imagine a time when Gail was absent from my life.
Sometimes great friendships evolve after a second chance with the same person.
I moved to New York in 1985, and was job-hunting a few years later. At the time, there was only one professional recruiter in the entertainment field. Susan owned her own company and was the IT girl for all executive jobs in film, television, or any related field. If you were in entertainment, you knew Susan.
We became Facebook friends a few years ago, and then started playing Words With Friends. Our communication was little more than great play! Then a few months ago, Susan wrote to tell me that she is also a member of BAFTA and saw me presenting at a screening. Today we meet for coffee. It must be at least 20 years since I last saw Susan. Then, we were both in suits discussing some job, probably in Susan's sleek midtown office.
Today we meet at a westside coffee shop. Susan looks the same as she did the last time I saw her, except she is dressed casually. As soon as I sit down, we begin talking. It's like getting to know someone I sort-of knew, but not really. We talk about work, kids, travel, future plans, parents and more.
I hope this is the beginning of a real friendship. This is a person I'd love to have in my life. As a real friend, not a virtual one.
Thursday, April 30, 2015
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
a tragedy
Yesterday I get a call from Shari. "Did you hear? Peter Cronkite died."
Peter is a mutual friend of our sons. Soon after learning of Peter's death on Sunday, we also learn that he took his own life. Peter would have graduated from Colby in a few weeks.
It doesn't take long for the word to spread. Peter graduated Horace Mann with Alexander. Between texts and calls and emails, we all hear the tragic news. I call Alexander but he of course already knows. No one can explain why. Peter seems the most unlikely of kids to take his own life.
Peter was athletic, an excellent writer, and very likable. During breaks from school, it was always Peter who would organize friend get-togethers. Whenever Alexander was home, and whenever he was going out, more often than not it was with Peter. "I'm going to Peter's. We're hanging on his roof." Apparently Peter's roof (a finished roof for sunbathing) was the gathering place when the weather even remotely allowed for outdoor activity.
Alexander and Peter were both interested in film and writing. One summer they began writing a screenplay together. If they weren't writing or hanging on Peter's roof, they were here watching movies late into the night.
I can't imagine the pain his family and friends are going through. Peter's death is inexplicable. I have nothing insightful to say. It is all so heartbreakingly sad.
Good-bye dear Peter. You left this world much-loved.
 |
| Sam, Peter and Alexander |
Sunday, April 26, 2015
the art of selling
This has been a tough week.
Selling is hard. But I enjoy it. The quality of the merchandise is outstanding; the price point is excellent; and the people are great. It's a product I totally believe in.
On Friday, there's an all-company big-news-announcement webinar. After all the rah-rah dies down, and I read through the stuff that was skimmed over, I see that commissions, starting in June, will be cut dramatically.
What can I say? To paraphrase a popular children's book, it's been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week.
And this is just the stuff I dare write about!
- I call about 25 potential J. Hilburn clients. Not one returns my call.
- I meet a client — a very nice man — at his office in midtown. We spend about an hour together, and I don't get his new credit card information. I leave multiple messages (via phone, text and email) and he still hasn't gotten back to me.
- Another client I meet while he's on his lunch break. Again, very nice. He asks for some fabrics to take home and we are meeting again, at his office, next week. I hope a sale results but I'm not certain it will.
- Someone else receives a jacket that is measured correctly, as a previously ordered jacket fits perfectly. I have been waiting five days for a return shipping label that still has not arrived. And, the fabric for this jacket is now out of stock and is not being reordered.
- I speak to someone on the phone. He wants a couple of suits. I pull fabrics and photos and send him the information. He doesn't call back. It takes me three weeks to reach him again. He tells me he wants to meet, and I should call him in two days when he knows his schedule better. I call in two days, three days, four days, a week later, two weeks later. I have been unsuccessful in reaching him and my calls go unreturned.
- A client in another state orders shirts based on the same measurements of his previous shirts that fit perfectly. But the new ones don't. I've been waiting for him to send me photos for the past month. My emails, texts and phone calls are ignored. And he, too, is a really nice guy.
- Another client orders a sports jacket a month ago but asks for me to place the order at the end of April. I go to place the order today but it's sold out — for good.
Selling is hard. But I enjoy it. The quality of the merchandise is outstanding; the price point is excellent; and the people are great. It's a product I totally believe in.
On Friday, there's an all-company big-news-announcement webinar. After all the rah-rah dies down, and I read through the stuff that was skimmed over, I see that commissions, starting in June, will be cut dramatically.
What can I say? To paraphrase a popular children's book, it's been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week.
And this is just the stuff I dare write about!
Thursday, April 23, 2015
a neighborhood meeting
Every year, there is an association meeting for the residents of Wild Harbor, the beautiful area where my mom lives on the Cape. And every year it falls in late August, when I'm usually there. I like to go.
The trustees lead the meeting and areas of concern are discussed. The person in charge of the waterfront speaks, as does the person in charge of tennis, of recreation, etc. The biggest issue is usually the reckless driving of golf carts by pre-teens. Or maybe the use of the Wild Harbor private beach by residents of the neighboring New Silver beach. Other than that, things generally run pretty smoothly.
But even big cities are made up of small neighborhoods. Tonight I see this in my lobby and decide to go.
Apparently, these monthly meetings have been going on for 31 years, though this will be the first one I've attended. This neighborhood association — which covers 76th to 82d Streets from the East River to First Avenue, as well as 79th Street west to Lexington Avenue — is probably smaller geographically than Wild Harbor Estates.
Tonight's meeting is being held a block from where I live (on East 79th Street). I arrive a few minutes before six, and am surprised by the large group attending. Betty, the 78-year old woman who runs the meeting, is a no-nonsense, tough leader. I later find an article in the New York Times from 1996 that describes her as "the most polite pit bull in local politics."
Tonight Betty has invited all sorts of community heads, including the local police captain, some of his patrolmen, the NYC Commissioner of Consumer Affairs, and a city council member.
The reports are enlightening. I hear, for example, that in the past 28 days:
One woman gets carried away in her complaint about something. Betty unsuccessfully tries to interrupt, but the woman talks over Betty. It ends with the woman dramatically walking out of the meeting. Had she not, I am sure Betty would have had her removed.
If I've learned anything tonight, it's that you don't mess with Betty.
The trustees lead the meeting and areas of concern are discussed. The person in charge of the waterfront speaks, as does the person in charge of tennis, of recreation, etc. The biggest issue is usually the reckless driving of golf carts by pre-teens. Or maybe the use of the Wild Harbor private beach by residents of the neighboring New Silver beach. Other than that, things generally run pretty smoothly.
But even big cities are made up of small neighborhoods. Tonight I see this in my lobby and decide to go.
Apparently, these monthly meetings have been going on for 31 years, though this will be the first one I've attended. This neighborhood association — which covers 76th to 82d Streets from the East River to First Avenue, as well as 79th Street west to Lexington Avenue — is probably smaller geographically than Wild Harbor Estates.
Tonight's meeting is being held a block from where I live (on East 79th Street). I arrive a few minutes before six, and am surprised by the large group attending. Betty, the 78-year old woman who runs the meeting, is a no-nonsense, tough leader. I later find an article in the New York Times from 1996 that describes her as "the most polite pit bull in local politics."
Tonight Betty has invited all sorts of community heads, including the local police captain, some of his patrolmen, the NYC Commissioner of Consumer Affairs, and a city council member.
The reports are enlightening. I hear, for example, that in the past 28 days:
- There has been only one assault in the neighborhood, and that was between roommates.
- Grand larceny is the biggest problem (11 incidents) but most of those involve credit card fraud.
- Phone scams are on the rise; DO NOT GIVE MONEY to anyone emailing you from the IRS saying you owe back taxes; one local resident lost $2,700 doing this.
- There were 397 collisions, but only 21 involving occupancy injury.
- Shockingly there were only 6 bike incidents, and none of these involved pedestrians.
- And, two major shredding events (one for hard drives and one for paper) are scheduled for next month.
One woman gets carried away in her complaint about something. Betty unsuccessfully tries to interrupt, but the woman talks over Betty. It ends with the woman dramatically walking out of the meeting. Had she not, I am sure Betty would have had her removed.
If I've learned anything tonight, it's that you don't mess with Betty.
Tuesday, April 21, 2015
a wildly unexpected afternoon
It's been years since I've seen Kathy. Not quite 31. We used to work together at Gillette. In fact, it was Kathy who recruited me from Northwestern.
Kathy was (and is) a great marketer. She has had a successful career in the business of beauty. Currently Kathy is president of John Sahag Ltd, which includes their workshop/salon on Madison and 49th. But it's not Kathy's marketing skills I remember most; it's her incredible sense of style. She always wore the most fashionable clothes, with her hair cut one step ahead of the trend it would become.
Today I am meeting her at The Sahag Workshop.
My hair needs to be colored. It's been five weeks and shows. And, it's a rainy day, the worst for hair like mine. This alone makes me nervous about our meeting. My hair looks good when I leave my apartment, but bad within minutes of catching the bus.
As it turns out, I needn't have worried. Actually, the worse it looks the better.
I bump into Kathy at the elevator, on my way up to see her. I recognize her right a way as she hasn't aged at all since I last saw her. I of course love what she's wearing, and her short, punky hair complements her flawless face.
The space is large, airy, and ultra modern, with beautiful architectural details. Within minutes of my entering, I meet the seductive Arous, "like Arouse without the e," she tells me.
Arous looks at me with excitement and asks, "Will you be our model?" She (and the class she is teaching) agree that my hair needs help. I am thrilled. Especially when she says, "I am going to make your hair dance." Someone takes a before picture.
Soon I am surrounded by a small group of stylists from all over the country. Arous cuts away. "What sign are you?" she asks. "Pisces," I respond. "March Pisces, right,not February?" She's correct. "You are sensitive but outgoing." True, too, I think.
Arous cuts away. I trust her and say nothing. "I am custom sculpting Lyn's hair to fit her attitude," she tells the class. Arous is more artist than anything else.
The class looks on, observing their teacher's confidence and skill, as well as her humor.
My hair is definitely dancing now.
Arous finishes the cut and then addresses the class. She tells them my current color is washing me out, and the big chunks of light highlights in the front look dated (I like my highlights but say nothing). The class agrees with Arous. "Lyn, can we change your color?" "Of course. Do what you want, as long as it's not pink, blue or red," I say.
Arous brings me closer to my natural dark brown, and adds some soft, natural highlights around my face.
I look at myself and say, "Wow, this looks so different." "In a good way?" Arous asks. "Yes," I respond. "Lyn, you need to finish your sentences."
I leave four hours later, with new hair, new color, and a bag full of de-frizzing product, shampoo, hair serum, a leave in conditioner and something to seal in my color.
I expect Kathy to look fantastic and she does. I expect our conversation to be effortless and interesting and it is. But everything else that happens today is a big, wonderful surprise.
Kathy was (and is) a great marketer. She has had a successful career in the business of beauty. Currently Kathy is president of John Sahag Ltd, which includes their workshop/salon on Madison and 49th. But it's not Kathy's marketing skills I remember most; it's her incredible sense of style. She always wore the most fashionable clothes, with her hair cut one step ahead of the trend it would become.
Today I am meeting her at The Sahag Workshop.
My hair needs to be colored. It's been five weeks and shows. And, it's a rainy day, the worst for hair like mine. This alone makes me nervous about our meeting. My hair looks good when I leave my apartment, but bad within minutes of catching the bus.
As it turns out, I needn't have worried. Actually, the worse it looks the better.
I bump into Kathy at the elevator, on my way up to see her. I recognize her right a way as she hasn't aged at all since I last saw her. I of course love what she's wearing, and her short, punky hair complements her flawless face.
The space is large, airy, and ultra modern, with beautiful architectural details. Within minutes of my entering, I meet the seductive Arous, "like Arouse without the e," she tells me.
Arous looks at me with excitement and asks, "Will you be our model?" She (and the class she is teaching) agree that my hair needs help. I am thrilled. Especially when she says, "I am going to make your hair dance." Someone takes a before picture.
Soon I am surrounded by a small group of stylists from all over the country. Arous cuts away. "What sign are you?" she asks. "Pisces," I respond. "March Pisces, right,not February?" She's correct. "You are sensitive but outgoing." True, too, I think.
Arous cuts away. I trust her and say nothing. "I am custom sculpting Lyn's hair to fit her attitude," she tells the class. Arous is more artist than anything else.
The class looks on, observing their teacher's confidence and skill, as well as her humor.
My hair is definitely dancing now.
Arous finishes the cut and then addresses the class. She tells them my current color is washing me out, and the big chunks of light highlights in the front look dated (I like my highlights but say nothing). The class agrees with Arous. "Lyn, can we change your color?" "Of course. Do what you want, as long as it's not pink, blue or red," I say.
Arous brings me closer to my natural dark brown, and adds some soft, natural highlights around my face.
I look at myself and say, "Wow, this looks so different." "In a good way?" Arous asks. "Yes," I respond. "Lyn, you need to finish your sentences."
I leave four hours later, with new hair, new color, and a bag full of de-frizzing product, shampoo, hair serum, a leave in conditioner and something to seal in my color.
I expect Kathy to look fantastic and she does. I expect our conversation to be effortless and interesting and it is. But everything else that happens today is a big, wonderful surprise.
Sunday, April 19, 2015
filling time
I'm bored, something I rarely am.
I'm meeting Jill at 4 to see a screening of Far From The Madding Crowd, and an interview with Carey Mulligan, Michael Sheen and Matthias Schoenaerts after. But what can I do before the screening that involves spending little money, not eating, and not doing mindless stuff on the computer?
I went to the park yesterday to take some spring pictures, but most of the flowers hadn't bloomed yet, so that's out.
I could read but that involves staying in, and I feel like going out. Besides, the two books I'm reading (Hush Hush by Laura Lippman and A Circle of Wives by Alice LaPlante) don't deserve full attention. They are perfect for riding the subway or bus, but little else.
The screening is in the East Village, so I leave early to get in a long walk.
I start in SOHO. My only purchase there is at the MOMA store, a knife I saw featured this week in the Times. This sold-out item promises to take "a hard brick of butter and turn it into sumptuous, spreadable ribbons." I order one.
Alexander will love this, and I won't be cleaning up broken chunks of butter off my counter.
I walk over to Little Italy and then the East Village. I have an unsatisfying salad sandwich at Whole Foods, and refuse to pay a $1 more for some extra balsamic vinegar. "Okay, this time we won't charge you more," concedes the very relevant sandwich maker.
Jill and I both arrive early for the screening. Uncharacteristic of most of our meet-ups, we actually talk awhile before the movie starts. Starting around the 20-minute mark of this two-hour film, I get restless. I guess I'm not a big fan of these gloriously filmed romantic sagas, featuring lush English countryside as a main character.
I'm meeting Jill at 4 to see a screening of Far From The Madding Crowd, and an interview with Carey Mulligan, Michael Sheen and Matthias Schoenaerts after. But what can I do before the screening that involves spending little money, not eating, and not doing mindless stuff on the computer?
I went to the park yesterday to take some spring pictures, but most of the flowers hadn't bloomed yet, so that's out.
I could read but that involves staying in, and I feel like going out. Besides, the two books I'm reading (Hush Hush by Laura Lippman and A Circle of Wives by Alice LaPlante) don't deserve full attention. They are perfect for riding the subway or bus, but little else.
The screening is in the East Village, so I leave early to get in a long walk.
I start in SOHO. My only purchase there is at the MOMA store, a knife I saw featured this week in the Times. This sold-out item promises to take "a hard brick of butter and turn it into sumptuous, spreadable ribbons." I order one.
Alexander will love this, and I won't be cleaning up broken chunks of butter off my counter.
 |
| the buttercup knife |
Jill and I both arrive early for the screening. Uncharacteristic of most of our meet-ups, we actually talk awhile before the movie starts. Starting around the 20-minute mark of this two-hour film, I get restless. I guess I'm not a big fan of these gloriously filmed romantic sagas, featuring lush English countryside as a main character.
Friday, April 17, 2015
short trip to a foreign land
A few years ago I buy a long, black linen dress with thick rope ties for straps. I can never get the ties right. They are too big and bulky to layer over, and they never stay in place. As a result, I hardly ever wear the dress.
This year, the dress is produced in a much better version: thin rope straps have now replaced the older, thicker ones. I had planned to bring the dress to a tailor to see if he can change the ropes/straps, but then I get a better idea. The company, Pip-Squeak Chapeau, is located in Brooklyn.
I've never been to Greenpoint— the section of Brooklyn where this small boutique is located.
I take three different subways to get there (including the G line which I'd never even heard of before today). But it only takes 35 minutes. It's an easy trip. I arrive feeling like I'm in a totally different place from the one I've just left.
Greenpoint doesn't have the hip vibe of some other Brooklyn neighborhoods. That's why when I find the very chic Pip-Squeak Chapeau it looks like it's in the wrong zip code.
Lilly, whom I spoke to yesterday, could not possibly be more helpful. She takes my dress, finds a thinner rope, and while I try on some things (but thankfully buy nothing— the one dress I love is out-of-stock in the color I want), Lily remakes the straps on my dress.
While I'm waiting, the owner comes in. I ask her how much for the re-done straps and she smiles and says, "Nothing."
New neighborhood. New-ish dress. No money spent. It's the perfect small adventure for this cloudy pre-spring day.
This year, the dress is produced in a much better version: thin rope straps have now replaced the older, thicker ones. I had planned to bring the dress to a tailor to see if he can change the ropes/straps, but then I get a better idea. The company, Pip-Squeak Chapeau, is located in Brooklyn.
I've never been to Greenpoint— the section of Brooklyn where this small boutique is located.
I take three different subways to get there (including the G line which I'd never even heard of before today). But it only takes 35 minutes. It's an easy trip. I arrive feeling like I'm in a totally different place from the one I've just left.
Greenpoint doesn't have the hip vibe of some other Brooklyn neighborhoods. That's why when I find the very chic Pip-Squeak Chapeau it looks like it's in the wrong zip code.
Lilly, whom I spoke to yesterday, could not possibly be more helpful. She takes my dress, finds a thinner rope, and while I try on some things (but thankfully buy nothing— the one dress I love is out-of-stock in the color I want), Lily remakes the straps on my dress.
While I'm waiting, the owner comes in. I ask her how much for the re-done straps and she smiles and says, "Nothing."
New neighborhood. New-ish dress. No money spent. It's the perfect small adventure for this cloudy pre-spring day.
Thursday, April 16, 2015
the other woman
A couple of weeks ago I connect with Marla, the ex-girlfriend of my ex-boyfriend Lee.
http://www.nycdiarist.com/2015/03/marla-and-me.html
Today we meet for coffee.
I arrive a few minutes before Marla. She's chosen a little place on the westside called Maison Kayser. Marla lived in Paris for many years. I'm glad our waiter is American; I would have been jealous had the waiter been French and the two of them talked in a language I wish I understood.
Marla sits down and we begin catching up, though since we've never met, there is technically nothing to catch up on. But that's how easy the conversation flows. I feel like she's an old friend with whom I've lost touch. Marla and I have far more in common than either of us ever had with Lee. We were both in the entertainment business (Marla used to produce TV shows). We are both single moms. We've both lived in more than one major city. And we are both now doing something in fashion.
After coffee I go up to Marla's nearby apartment. It's not until I'm leaving that Lee's name even comes up, and even then, only briefly. I hope this is the start of a new friendship. She's a dynamic, interesting woman. I can see how Lee fell in love.
http://www.nycdiarist.com/2015/03/marla-and-me.html
Today we meet for coffee.
I arrive a few minutes before Marla. She's chosen a little place on the westside called Maison Kayser. Marla lived in Paris for many years. I'm glad our waiter is American; I would have been jealous had the waiter been French and the two of them talked in a language I wish I understood.
Marla sits down and we begin catching up, though since we've never met, there is technically nothing to catch up on. But that's how easy the conversation flows. I feel like she's an old friend with whom I've lost touch. Marla and I have far more in common than either of us ever had with Lee. We were both in the entertainment business (Marla used to produce TV shows). We are both single moms. We've both lived in more than one major city. And we are both now doing something in fashion.
After coffee I go up to Marla's nearby apartment. It's not until I'm leaving that Lee's name even comes up, and even then, only briefly. I hope this is the start of a new friendship. She's a dynamic, interesting woman. I can see how Lee fell in love.
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
sign of maturity?
I am not at home when my cell rings.
It's Alexander; he never calls me in the middle of the day. I pick up and immediately hear in his voice that something is very wrong.
" Hi. I can't talk." That's how he begins the conversation, even though he's calling me.
"What's up?" I ask.
"I thought I'd paid my rent for the whole year, but apparently I just paid for six months, and I just got an email that I'm late and my rent is past due and I had no idea and...." I can hear fear in his voice.
"Okay, but you have the money to pay, right?"
"Ya, it's not that. I'll send them a check today."
"Okay, that's fine. So what's wrong?"
I'm waiting for, "I've been thrown out of my apartment and now have no where to live."
Or something really bad like, "I was so troubled by the email that I spaced out and failed two important tests."
But I'm wrong.
"What's this going to do to my credit score?"
Ah, my son must be growing up. The real world is just a few weeks away.
Good that the renting office is used to dealing with students. There will be no consequences.
It's Alexander; he never calls me in the middle of the day. I pick up and immediately hear in his voice that something is very wrong.
" Hi. I can't talk." That's how he begins the conversation, even though he's calling me.
"What's up?" I ask.
"I thought I'd paid my rent for the whole year, but apparently I just paid for six months, and I just got an email that I'm late and my rent is past due and I had no idea and...." I can hear fear in his voice.
"Okay, but you have the money to pay, right?"
"Ya, it's not that. I'll send them a check today."
"Okay, that's fine. So what's wrong?"
I'm waiting for, "I've been thrown out of my apartment and now have no where to live."
Or something really bad like, "I was so troubled by the email that I spaced out and failed two important tests."
But I'm wrong.
"What's this going to do to my credit score?"
Ah, my son must be growing up. The real world is just a few weeks away.
Good that the renting office is used to dealing with students. There will be no consequences.
Sunday, April 12, 2015
some risks are bigger than others
Life is full of risk. Some are calculated; others are not. Some we take after carefully weighing the pros and cons; others we take because our hearts tell us to. And some we take just because, well, why not?
In 1974 Don surprises me with Jesse, an Irish Setter puppy. I fall in love, but don't have the maturity or lifestyle to adequately care for a dog. Even one as perfect as Jesse. She eats my sofa, my friend Scott's plants, and remains totally undisciplined, despite my meek efforts to the contrary. Eventually I give Jesse to a more responsible family, but for a few months continue to visit her, as one would a shared-custody child.
In 1976 I move to Chicago without a job. Soon I find one, along with a great apartment and new friends. It's an impulsive move, but a life-changing one. Okay, so I don't end up with the guy I followed there, but all these years later and Don and I are still good friends. And my roommate Hazel is someone I am still close to.
In 1979 I marry Tim, a man who is kind and thoughtful and unlike anyone I've ever dated. It doesn't work out. Tim eventually moves to San Francisco; I stay. Over time we lose touch. This relationship doesn't have the happy ending I'd hoped for.
In 1981 I reluctantly move back to Boston. I take a job at Gillette that I initially had rejected, after accepting one at a big advertising agency in Chicago. I so don't want to move. But I love working at Gillette, and there I meet new friends and a new guy; the new friends (M, V and Gail) enrich my life; the new guy brings me equal parts passion and heartache.
In 1985 I move to New York without knowing a single person and barely making enough money to live. Had I calculated my expenses against my income, I would not have moved. And that would have been a colossal mistake.
In 1992 I get pregnant and never once consider not having the baby. It is the best decision I ever made.
Today I finally go from this:
To this:
As I said, some risks are bigger than others. And watch, tomorrow it'll be back to 40.
Saturday, April 11, 2015
how to lose a customer
My Louis Vuitton Neverfull Tote — the one that half of Manhattan owns — is falling apart.
One strap broke and the other is about to. The stitching around the top of the bag is coming apart. The tote is only five years old so my hope is that LV via Bloomingdales (where I bought the bag in December of 2009) will fix it for free.
But that is not what happens. Not even close.
I go to the LV boutique at Bloomingdales, and when the sales woman there can't help me, I ask for the manager. A well dressed, good-looking man approaches me with a smile and asks, "How are you today?"
I show the manager where the bag needs to be repaired. He looks at it and tells me that each strap will cost $110 to fix. That's $220. And two years ago I spent $120 to fix a side strap that had broken. This bag is like maintaining a car.
After I digest the ridiculous repair cost, I tell the manager to go ahead and process the paper work. It's still a lot cheaper than a new bag.
But then I notice the manager continuing to inspect my tote. He looks up at me sadly, and says, with sincere sadness, "I'm so sorry. But here, look. Underneath this (the clover-shaped piece of leather that the strap attaches to) you can see a slight crack in the vinyl." He tries to show me but honestly, I can't see what he's talking about.
"Oh—kay," I say, still not sure where the conversation is heading.
"So we can send the tote back to our artisans, but it'll take four to six weeks weeks for you to get your bag back, and I'm certain they will conclude the same thing."
"Conclude what?" I ask.
"That they won't be able to fix it. You see, if the vinyl is starting to crack, it could get worse if ....." but I am barely listening. I am just hating Louis Vuitton.
Can Customer Service get any worse than this?
I take my bag and leave.
I jump on the subway up to Pavlos, the best shoe repair place on the Upper East Side, maybe Manhattan.
Michael, the magician there, looks at the bag. "Sure, we can fix it. I can deliver it to you early next week. Is that okay?"
"Of course," I respond. "How much?"
"$20."
Michael even poses for a picture when I ask.
Perhaps Louis and his artisans should meet Michael and his. They would undoubtedly learn a lot.
One strap broke and the other is about to. The stitching around the top of the bag is coming apart. The tote is only five years old so my hope is that LV via Bloomingdales (where I bought the bag in December of 2009) will fix it for free.
But that is not what happens. Not even close.
I go to the LV boutique at Bloomingdales, and when the sales woman there can't help me, I ask for the manager. A well dressed, good-looking man approaches me with a smile and asks, "How are you today?"
I show the manager where the bag needs to be repaired. He looks at it and tells me that each strap will cost $110 to fix. That's $220. And two years ago I spent $120 to fix a side strap that had broken. This bag is like maintaining a car.
After I digest the ridiculous repair cost, I tell the manager to go ahead and process the paper work. It's still a lot cheaper than a new bag.
But then I notice the manager continuing to inspect my tote. He looks up at me sadly, and says, with sincere sadness, "I'm so sorry. But here, look. Underneath this (the clover-shaped piece of leather that the strap attaches to) you can see a slight crack in the vinyl." He tries to show me but honestly, I can't see what he's talking about.
"Oh—kay," I say, still not sure where the conversation is heading.
"So we can send the tote back to our artisans, but it'll take four to six weeks weeks for you to get your bag back, and I'm certain they will conclude the same thing."
"Conclude what?" I ask.
"That they won't be able to fix it. You see, if the vinyl is starting to crack, it could get worse if ....." but I am barely listening. I am just hating Louis Vuitton.
Can Customer Service get any worse than this?
I take my bag and leave.
I jump on the subway up to Pavlos, the best shoe repair place on the Upper East Side, maybe Manhattan.
Michael, the magician there, looks at the bag. "Sure, we can fix it. I can deliver it to you early next week. Is that okay?"
"Of course," I respond. "How much?"
"$20."
Michael even poses for a picture when I ask.
Perhaps Louis and his artisans should meet Michael and his. They would undoubtedly learn a lot.
Thursday, April 9, 2015
how to keep a customer
Last
October the yellow light on my laser printer starts blinking indicating I'll soon be out of ink. I order a new HP 49X
cartridge on Amazon, an expensive one. $130, but it prints up to 6,000
pages and will last me two years or more.
The new cartridge arrives and sits in my closet until last week. I guess the yellow blinking light gives you 6-months notice. I install the new cartridge and it prints worse
than the cartridge it just replaced. The type is so light I can barely read it.
I call Amazon and they tell me I have to
go through the seller before they can help. The seller is a company called Sell
Toner -- not the most creative name but certainly a descriptive one. Judging
from the seller's area code, I see the company is based in Utah. I am not
optimistic, especially since the cartridge is only guaranteed for 30 days, and
it's been about 180.
I call
the number and a woman answers, "Hello."
Hello? No automated voice instructing me to push different numbers for different
departments. Not even a, "Hi. This is Karen. How can I help?"
I hear a baby crying in the background. I can picture the scene, and
the scene I picture is not a woman in a cube with headsets on in front of a computer. Nonetheless, I explain my
problem, with no confidence at all that this experience is going to end well.
After telling the woman about the defective product she says, "Let me get my Amazon liaison on the phone." Really? Your
Amazon liaison? Who is that? Your oldest son? I am put on hold
and then "Mike" picks up. He sounds like he may be on a chairlift.
I start to explain my problem and when I get to the part about why I
didn't open the cartridge until 6 months after receiving it, Mike says,
"Ya, I understand." I get no
"I'm sorry, you can only make a return within 30 days." Mike then
adds, "No problem; I'm really sorry; I'll Fed Ex a new one out to you
tonight." (As soon as I'm done skiing for the day, I assume.
But I don't care.
This whole experience has been nothing like what I'd
expected. I'm not asked for proof of the defected cartridge. I am not asked to
return it. I am not given a hard time about the 180 days. Nope, just a sincere
apology, and a quick solution.
My new
cartridge arrives. It works fine. Sell Toner; I love you!
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
out with Jill, sort of
A few weeks ago I email my friend Jill about seeing The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. We've both heard amazing things about this play.
I don't mind going to theater alone, but it's always nicer to go with someone. So when Jill says she'd like to see the play too, we decide to get tickets.
The reviews have been great, and good seats (for under $250) are hard to find. Jill and I go online and discover that we have totally different seat preferences — I like orchestra while Jill prefers mezzanine. So we buy single seats. We figure we'll meet up before. But then somehow that doesn't happen.
I have a great seat, but bad neighbors. I am squished in between two gigantic people, both of whom have claimed our shared seat rest. The woman to my right is soaked in some awful-smelling perfume that is making me nauseous. And the guy in front of me is whistling, a habit I hate. Almost as annoying as someone snapping their gum.
But once the play begins, I forget my surroundings. The Curious Incident is a mesmerizing story and an emotional one. The physicality of the actors is impressive. The sensational young lead is a recent Juilliard graduate. And the inventiveness of the staging is truly extraordinary.
At intermission, I find Jill upstairs in her great mezzanine seat (I think she made the wiser choice). We talk for five minutes, if that. Then the lights dim, the second act begins, and I make it back into my seat (in that order).
I don't see Jill again.
While it's always better to see a play with a friend, sometimes it doesn't quite work out that way, even when that's the plan.
I don't mind going to theater alone, but it's always nicer to go with someone. So when Jill says she'd like to see the play too, we decide to get tickets.
The reviews have been great, and good seats (for under $250) are hard to find. Jill and I go online and discover that we have totally different seat preferences — I like orchestra while Jill prefers mezzanine. So we buy single seats. We figure we'll meet up before. But then somehow that doesn't happen.
I have a great seat, but bad neighbors. I am squished in between two gigantic people, both of whom have claimed our shared seat rest. The woman to my right is soaked in some awful-smelling perfume that is making me nauseous. And the guy in front of me is whistling, a habit I hate. Almost as annoying as someone snapping their gum.
But once the play begins, I forget my surroundings. The Curious Incident is a mesmerizing story and an emotional one. The physicality of the actors is impressive. The sensational young lead is a recent Juilliard graduate. And the inventiveness of the staging is truly extraordinary.
At intermission, I find Jill upstairs in her great mezzanine seat (I think she made the wiser choice). We talk for five minutes, if that. Then the lights dim, the second act begins, and I make it back into my seat (in that order).
I don't see Jill again.
While it's always better to see a play with a friend, sometimes it doesn't quite work out that way, even when that's the plan.
Monday, April 6, 2015
a new job
Last week Janice calls. She's an ex-Horace Mann mom, ob/gyn, runner, skier, and makes everyone around her look like a slug (though not intentionally).
"Hi, I know this is a crazy idea, and feel free to say no, but my receptionist is going to be out for a couple of days next week and I was wondering if you'd like to fill in for her?" I immediately say yes.
I tell M — the M who sits on a couple of boards, was President of a major company, and is degreed from two ivies. "I'd love to do that," she says. "It's something I've always wanted to do. That, and be a mail carrier."
Another very accomplished friend tells me that she'd be happy driving one of those NYC street-cleaning vehicles. "I'd get to drive recklessly, beep my horn at everybody, and still be providing a good service for the city."
Another friend, this one with a droll personality and dry wit, once told me she'd like to be an indexer. "You know, the person who cites that any mention of Lincoln can be found on pages 18, 35, 226, and 334-338."
So today is my first day as a receptionist. I have to admit, I'm a little nervous. But Janice makes it easy, as do her nurse and her patients. Soon, I am answering and scheduling with ease.
I work from 8 to 2, then grab a quick bite, and go to Bellmarc where I'm on office duty for a few hours. No one comes in looking for a new home.
Tomorrow I go back for my second and last day as a receptionist. It's nice to do a job and then get paid for it. It's been a while since I've had that kind of job. I miss it.
"Hi, I know this is a crazy idea, and feel free to say no, but my receptionist is going to be out for a couple of days next week and I was wondering if you'd like to fill in for her?" I immediately say yes.
I tell M — the M who sits on a couple of boards, was President of a major company, and is degreed from two ivies. "I'd love to do that," she says. "It's something I've always wanted to do. That, and be a mail carrier."
Another very accomplished friend tells me that she'd be happy driving one of those NYC street-cleaning vehicles. "I'd get to drive recklessly, beep my horn at everybody, and still be providing a good service for the city."
Another friend, this one with a droll personality and dry wit, once told me she'd like to be an indexer. "You know, the person who cites that any mention of Lincoln can be found on pages 18, 35, 226, and 334-338."
So today is my first day as a receptionist. I have to admit, I'm a little nervous. But Janice makes it easy, as do her nurse and her patients. Soon, I am answering and scheduling with ease.
I work from 8 to 2, then grab a quick bite, and go to Bellmarc where I'm on office duty for a few hours. No one comes in looking for a new home.
Tomorrow I go back for my second and last day as a receptionist. It's nice to do a job and then get paid for it. It's been a while since I've had that kind of job. I miss it.
Saturday, April 4, 2015
passover at jill's
The Boston-part of my family left today, and the remaining New York side celebrates the second night of Passover at Jill's (Abbey's sister).
The food again is excellent and plentiful. And the Seder again is short. Well, tonight's Seder consists solely of the blessing over bread, so short is a bit overstated.
At the table, Adam has a great suggestion. "Let's go around the room and have each person tell us their favorite new apps." I have nothing to add, but at least I am asked; a few people aren't even asked.
So here's a short list of the ones I can't wait to try.
Via
Shared car service
between 32nd Street and 110th
6:45 to 9pm
$5.44 per ride; not bad when a bus is $2.75
Instacard
Delivery in in two hours for $3.99 (orders must be over $35)
Includes Costco (you don't even have to be a member)
Fairway, Whole Foods and Trader Joes
Google Shopping Express
Same day delivery; orders must be over $15
Stores include Costco, Taget, Fairway, Staples and others
Flavour
A new restaurant discovery app
Pre-selects based on criteria you input
More selective than menu pages
More selective than menu pages
Camcard
Scans and stores business cards
Keeper
Password manager
The Skimm
This isn't an app, but rather a daily newsletter of top stories
How did dId I not know about this?
The Skimm
This isn't an app, but rather a daily newsletter of top stories
How did dId I not know about this?
And while these don't fit my current lifestyle, they sound great anyway:
Docusign
Easy way to store and use an electronic signature
Pager
Doctor comes to you
Shout
Way to "buy" or "sell" reservations to hot restaurants, events, etc.
Glamsquad
Hair and/or makeup stylists come to you
Handy
Book trusted home cleaners and handymen
Emojii Me
Turn your selfies into emojiis
After dinner, the men retreat to the living room to watch the end of the final four game, Duke vs. Michigan State. The woman move to the kitchen. And Amanda teaches Rita how to text.
All around, it's a tech-happy Seder.
Friday, April 3, 2015
passover at val's
Jean, Jim, Jack and my mom are coming up from Massachusetts. Rita is flying in from Florida. And Amanda just got in from China last night. Missing will be some grandkids — Jessica, Michael, Sally and Alexander. Still, it'll be a nice family get-together.
We are celebrating the first night of Passover at Val's home. Of course Abbey lives there too, but it's Val who makes the meal, creates the beautiful table, and hosts the evening with both glamour and perfection.
We observe the Passover rituals, to some extent. Everyone gets a Haggadah — the ones with the yellow and red covers; the same as I remember from childhood. The seder plate is reviewed. Some are better than others at remembering the meaning of each symbolic food on the plate. We sing a song in Hebrew. And the door is left open for Elijah. It's an abbreviated version of a traditional seder.
The best part of course is celebrating together.
My mom and Rita, 85 and 91 respectively, are a great example of living a vital life well past middle age. They both dress beautifully, live active lives, have many friends, and keep their minds and bodies challenged through golf, cards, daily walks, and reading. They are aware of all the breaking news stories and celebrity gossip. They both drive, live alone, are proudly independent, and use their iPads regularly. They have great senses of humor, and consider themselves lucky as they look around the table at their families. In truth, we are the lucky ones to have them at the head.
Following dinner, everyone willingly, though reluctantly, sits for a picture. Jack, who has become the family photographer, gets his camera, tripod, and remote, and everyone smiles.
First the group.
And then me, my mom and sisters.
Happy Passover everyone.
We are celebrating the first night of Passover at Val's home. Of course Abbey lives there too, but it's Val who makes the meal, creates the beautiful table, and hosts the evening with both glamour and perfection.
We observe the Passover rituals, to some extent. Everyone gets a Haggadah — the ones with the yellow and red covers; the same as I remember from childhood. The seder plate is reviewed. Some are better than others at remembering the meaning of each symbolic food on the plate. We sing a song in Hebrew. And the door is left open for Elijah. It's an abbreviated version of a traditional seder.
The best part of course is celebrating together.
My mom and Rita, 85 and 91 respectively, are a great example of living a vital life well past middle age. They both dress beautifully, live active lives, have many friends, and keep their minds and bodies challenged through golf, cards, daily walks, and reading. They are aware of all the breaking news stories and celebrity gossip. They both drive, live alone, are proudly independent, and use their iPads regularly. They have great senses of humor, and consider themselves lucky as they look around the table at their families. In truth, we are the lucky ones to have them at the head.
Following dinner, everyone willingly, though reluctantly, sits for a picture. Jack, who has become the family photographer, gets his camera, tripod, and remote, and everyone smiles.
First the group.
And then me, my mom and sisters.
Happy Passover everyone.
Thursday, April 2, 2015
a new whole foods
Recently a Whole Foods opens on the Upper East Side; today I go.
The store takes up an entire city block and occupies two levels. I'm sure it'll take some getting used to, but right now it feels overwhelming, especially since I don't know where anything is. That I expect. What I don't expect is for the sales people to be as as new to the store as I am.
I ask one clerk where the check out lines are, and she directs me to the lower floor. I even question her, but she insists with conviction, "You have to go downstairs." Another WF employee overhears and shakes her head. "It's right over there," she says, and points to a section about ten feet from where I'm standing. On the street level.
I ask another employee where the yogurt covered pretzels are and he says, "It's in the bulk food section. You know where that is, right?" I don't even know what the bulk food section looks like unless I'm in Costco where everything qualifies as bulk food. At Fairway, they would have walked me to the right section. Someone should create some kind of map app for this store.
When I was up in Boston, M and I went grocery shopping at a Whole Foods in Newtonville. Out of curiosity, I keep the receipt. Today I buy two of my favorite items: Mom's Chicken Soup for $6.99 (thank-you Gail for the recommendation) and the yogurt-covered pretzels for $5.49 (thank you M). The pricing in Boston is the same as New York. Anyone reading this from Nebraska, South Dakota or Arkansas? It'd be interesting to know if the pricing is the same nationwide.
WF has a prepared tuna fish salad that I love, so I replicated it at home. If you are a tuna-fish eater, you might like this:
When I'm providing recipes, you'd be right to assume it's a slow news day.
The store takes up an entire city block and occupies two levels. I'm sure it'll take some getting used to, but right now it feels overwhelming, especially since I don't know where anything is. That I expect. What I don't expect is for the sales people to be as as new to the store as I am.
I ask one clerk where the check out lines are, and she directs me to the lower floor. I even question her, but she insists with conviction, "You have to go downstairs." Another WF employee overhears and shakes her head. "It's right over there," she says, and points to a section about ten feet from where I'm standing. On the street level.
I ask another employee where the yogurt covered pretzels are and he says, "It's in the bulk food section. You know where that is, right?" I don't even know what the bulk food section looks like unless I'm in Costco where everything qualifies as bulk food. At Fairway, they would have walked me to the right section. Someone should create some kind of map app for this store.
When I was up in Boston, M and I went grocery shopping at a Whole Foods in Newtonville. Out of curiosity, I keep the receipt. Today I buy two of my favorite items: Mom's Chicken Soup for $6.99 (thank-you Gail for the recommendation) and the yogurt-covered pretzels for $5.49 (thank you M). The pricing in Boston is the same as New York. Anyone reading this from Nebraska, South Dakota or Arkansas? It'd be interesting to know if the pricing is the same nationwide.
WF has a prepared tuna fish salad that I love, so I replicated it at home. If you are a tuna-fish eater, you might like this:
Can (or two) of tuna packed in water
Salt and Pepper
Cut up dried cranberries
Cut up fuji apple
Mix above together.
Add mayo.
When I'm providing recipes, you'd be right to assume it's a slow news day.
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