Tuesday, January 23, 2007

So, back to the routine. There was nothing in my interoffice mail box after being away for four business days. There were a few things on my chair.


The manager called over to me, he was seeking a confirmation as to when Danielle had left; he thought it was about a year. I told him it was only about five months even though I knew it was closer to three.

I seem to be the local historian.


She handed me the phone. She had just told me that Danielle called her back while she was in Seattle but hadn't left a number and she had lost the slip of paper that I gave her before. She wrote the number down after I displayed it on my phone and called her.

I asked about the things that I knew were going on in her life, it seemed it was a lot less than I knew three months ago.

She's doing well. She's working on her masters.


I was reading up on designs and layouts and got restless. I needed something to do, something creative. I went down the list my mental list of options: wood, ink, paper, music, design, cordage, leather. I ended up opening up the word processing program.


Those postcards are going to cost the same as a first class letter to mail. I would have done something other than a postcard. Postcards are too easy to discard unread. Postcards, for advertising purposes, seem to say "Listen, I'm not spending a lot of money or effort on this endeavor."

If your piece is going to less than a hundred addresses, don't do postcards - is what my opinion is.

I would have done a folded card sent in a hand addressed envelope to the fifty units in the building. I may have even included a custom refrigerator magnet. And I certainly would have changed the wording of the message. I called it antiseptic when I was speaking with the owner. She said that was the personality of the agent.

"Yeah, no shit and that's why we should change it" is what I wanted to, but didn't need to, say. When the design was finally set the next day, I again asked about the wording but it went unchanged.

I think the piece will fail. I think some folks might save it for a day or two, maybe even a week, because of the photo on the front but eventually, all of them will be in the trash. I think the normal 3 to 4 percent success rate for such things will not be achieved.

There was a chance for a precise mailing to a very specific and small group, a chance to make it look like the company is caring and knowledgeable about them, the unit owners. A soliciting postcard doesn't do that.

I said my piece, though, or at least a piece of my piece. I tried for something better and I was told that things were good enough.

The best I could figure is that there was a possible concern with bruising someone's spirit by changing their idea too much.

I would have sold the change as an enhancement to a good idea.

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I don't know as much as I think I do. Maybe there will be four responses which will statically make it a great success. Maybe folks will love the stoic feel of the message. Maybe they will think it very business-like and uber professional. Maybe they will think the unassuming method of a postcard as being polite and something less presumptuous as an envelope intruding into their personal lives.

Maybe, I should just let it go. Maybe, I should chalk it up to lessons learned because I did do a couple things I've never done before even though they didn't make it to the finial design.

I don't see me letting this go. I see me doing the design I would have done if I had the choice and showing it off. "This is what we could have done," will be said. "Maybe, next time," will most likely be heard.



I was standing at the counter wondering if I would ever see that technician or that laptop again when my phone rang.

"Hey, Homo, you just cost me twenty bucks."

"Listen, I'm on my way. I just got busy, that's all." Forty minutes later I showed up at the regular lunch place.

"Now you show up. Get it up. You cost me ten bucks."

"Over the phone it was twenty. Which is it?"

"He brought something for Jen though, so that makes me five." He said mostly ignoring me and completely ignoring my question. "I know him better than my wife."

"Who bet against me being here is what I want to know."

"They all did," he said as he made a sweeping motion with his hand all the way down, those seated at the bar. I guess the bet was that I would be there waiting for them when they got there and there was a side bet that I would bring something for the bartender because I hadn't seen her in two weeks.

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