Chandra Clarke

Award-winning entrepreneur. Author. Professional Optimist.

The Cheque is In The Mail

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Economists would have you believe that they can tell when an economy is hurting by looking at important indicators like unemployment, inflation and GDP. I’m here to tell you that you don’t need all of that. All you have to use is my patented Creative Excuses Coefficient Meter (TM).

When I’m not writing this column, you see, I run a business. One of the joys of self-employment is discovering — and I know you’ll find this as shocking as I did at first — that sometimes people don’t pay their bills on time. This means that occasionally, I have to morph, just like Jekyll and Hyde, from Thoughtful Funny Columnist to Big Mean Bill Collector.

I don’t like being called a BMBC. And I certainly don’t like the other names I’m called when I have to be a BMBC. But it has allowed me to determine that, the worse the economy, the more creative the excuses are for why someone hasn’t paid their bill. Just in case you have collection agencies at your door (and if you DO, make sure you pay me first!), here are some of the best I’ve heard so far:

Rubber Czech: “Oh, three hundred and fifty dollars? I thought you charged in koruny, so I figured my last payment covered everything.”

Proof Positive: “I’ve only received four invoices, six overdue statements, and three warnings. Please provide proof of my debt.”

Currency, Schmurrency: “I bought this when there were still German Deutschemarks around, and since the European Union eliminated that currency, I didn’t think I had to pay any more.”

Dissed and Dismissed: “Oh, my secretary placed that order, using my name and my information, and the work I wanted done. I’ve since fired her and don’t know where she is. You’ll have to get the money from her.”

Sure, I’m Sure: “I paid that. I don’t keep any receipts though. You’ll just have to take my word for it.”

Hacked Off: “I don’t owe you anything. You stole all my personal information off my computer, and this is all a lie.”

Hold The Phone: “Why are you calling me? Is this something for a reality TV show? Am I on one of those hidden cameras?”

Memories, Oh Sweet Memories: “Oh yeah, I think that’s because I didn’t like the work you did, but I didn’t remember to complain about it, and then forgot to pay too.”

What A Rush: “Yes, I ordered the rush service, but decided afterward that I didn’t need it that fast, so that’s why I only paid half my bill.”

Curses, Foiled Again: “What &^%@^!! bill? I don’t know nothing about any &^!!@^!! bill! Get the @#$%^&! outta here!” [Okay so this one isn’t creative. But it is really, really common.]

Win Some, Lose Some: “Right, yeah, um, I lost what it was that I bought from you, so didn’t think I still owed you the money.”

Sign Here: “The person who’s authorized to sign cheques around here was, uh, shot last night. We don’t know how long it will be before he recovers.”

This Costs Money?: “I’m sorry, I thought this was a free trial sample. Yes, I know I ordered six different times.”

This Costs Money II?: “I thought everything on the Internet was free?”

Divine Intervention: “I’m waiting for a sign from God as to whether I should pay you.”

Vital Signs: “You know what? I got really sick last week and I’m still contagious so I don’t want to send you anything, especially, you know, if I have to lick an envelope or something.”

So folks, if you ever want to know how the economy is going, never mind looking at the Dow Jones Average and don’t bother consulting your broker. Just call me. Especially if you owe me money.

Too Tired To Sleep

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Too Tired

It is often said that the Inuit have something like 500 different words for snow. I have no idea if this is true or not; personally I have only one word for snow and it’s: pththththb!

As a business owner, homeowner, and parent, however, I can tell you that there are probably at least 1000 types of “tired.” Here’s just a few:

Toy Box Fatigue: Every night you pick up the 204 toys scattered around the house and put them in the toy box. Every morning, approximately five minutes after breakfast, it looks like you never touched the place.

Just the FAQs Ma’am: Answering the same customer question 300 times a day can produce a special kind of resignation and tiredness. It’s especially soul-draining when the answer to that question is printed in at least six different places in company literature.

Dish Wear: My all time record for keeping the kitchen clean is 5 minutes, 38 seconds. My family has this annoying habit of wanting to eat three meals a day, plus snacks and drinks.

Once More Unto the Voicemail: Trying to get in touch with contacts in other companies can be an exhausting, all-day exercise, as you: Press ‘1’ for accounts, ‘3’ for account representatives on the east coast, ‘2’ for account representatives on the east coast with names beginning with G…

Laundry Lethargy: My mother always maintained that dirty laundry bred in dark places. My hamper is always full, so I think she was on to something.

Repetitive Junk Mail Injury: If you think you get a lot of junk mail now, try running a business. In a single day, you’ll get 25 computer technology offers, 58 cheap long distance flyers, 17 office supplies catalogues, and 398 trade magazines.

Grassoline: In a typical summer, you have to mow your lawn once a week. If you have 1000 things that need doing this summer, you’ll have a hot, wet one, which means you’ll have to mow your lawn twice a day just so the mailman can find your front door. This means you won’t rid yourself of that peculiar odour blend of grass and gasoline until Christmas.

52 Pickup: There is a special kind of backache that develops after a day of bending over to pick up the items your child has pitched out of the stroller, or shopping cart. These include: the soother, a shoe, socks, sunglasses, hat, juice bottle, your shopping list, your purse, the glass jar of pickles, and the open bag of onions.

My Name Is Not Sally!! Paying your bills and making standard store purchases should be simple, right? After all, we’ve been doing this sort of thing for hundreds of years now. But no, at least once a month, someone, somewhere does something stupid to your account. The cheque you wrote for $400 is processed as being for $4000. Or your last payment date is reset to August 10, 1927, and suddenly they think you owe $45,998 in interest. Or their computer insists that the occupant at your address is one Sally Smithers, not you, even if you built your house and have been the only occupant it’s ever had. And all of it requires several days of calling, emailing, shouting, and a lot of fighting to get it fixed.

Whine Hangover: Sometimes, there is just no pleasing a child, and they spend the entire day crying, whining and fussing. By bedtime, your ears will be ringing, and nothing short of large glass of merlot will make the headache go away.

Shovelitis: Right about the time the smell of grassoline dissipates, it’s time to start shovelling snow. On the days when you absolutely have to be somewhere in a hurry, there will be a sudden flurry that dumps six inches on your driveway. If you were organized enough to shovel it out first thing in the morning, the flurry will dump twelve inches.

And that explains why I have just one word for snow.

The Straw That Broke The Camel’s Back

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If you’re like me, you spend most of your highway driving time gripping the steering wheel hard and staring directly ahead.

This is not, as you might think, something I do to avoid a fender bender with another car. It’s because I’m deathly afraid to find out what the drivers around me might be doing when they’re supposed to be, well, driving.

For example, a quick scan of a recent local police report shows that drivers have been caught doing the following behind the wheel: eating a bowl of cereal and milk, playing a trumpet, and putting on panty hose. If I were a cop, I would have this to say to anyone I caught doing these things:

A) Does the phrase ‘100 kilometres per hour’ mean nothing to you?
B) All these activities require two hands. Please do not tell me what other body part you were using to actually steer.
C) I can’t prevent runs in my panty hose when I’m sitting on the bed in the morning! How can you possibly expect to— Okay, maybe if I were a cop I wouldn’t say this.

As bad as this is however, I suppose it could be worse. There are still many parts of the world where domesticated animals are used for both transport and labour. Police have a technical phrase for describing a scene where animals and large, speeding hunks of metal have crossed paths, and it is: Ew, gross.

The problem is bad enough in Israel that officials are slapping large phosphorescent strips on pack animals. Yes, that’s right – the camels now glow in the dark. And in India, elephants in work crews get to wear reflective ankle wraps and butt straps.

One can only hope that as trade increases between these two nations, they make use of more modern transport systems. Otherwise rush hour along the intercontinental highway might go like this:

ELEPHANT: Evenin’ Samir. Phew! Nose to tail today, isn’t it?
CAMEL: Yeah, my driver has been boxing me about the ears since sundown, like I’m going to be able to move any faster in this mess.
ELEPHANT: So do you have one lump or two? Hahahaha!
CAMEL: Very funny, Raj. Did I ask you what your driver packed in your trunk? No.
ELEPHANT: Oh, don’t get your knees in a knot. I see you’re wearing very stylish Day-Glo green tonight.
CAMEL: That’s so no one confuses me with my cousin Abijah. She stepped in a pile up last week. Boy, was she mad. Spat on everyone within twenty metres.
ELEPHANT: A clear case of road rage, to be sure. Speaking of which… YOU! YES YOU OVER THERE PULLING THE CART! You cut me off four and a half years ago! An elephant never forgets! Where do you want me to put this tusk, huh? Come on, tell me!

There is also the question of what you’d be able to buy for aftermarket parts in the camel and elephant stores. Those purple running board lights for the camel’s belly? A pressure wash nozzle for the end of the elephant’s nose? What about bumper stickers?

MY OTHER PACK ANIMAL IS AN ARABIAN STALLION

IF YOU CAN READ THIS, YOU’RE PROBABLY ABOUT TO GET KICKED IN THE CHOPS

BORN TO BE WILD
(But currently serving time in the road crew.)

I BREAK THINGS FOR NO APPARENT REASON.

IF I CAN’T PASS THROUGH THE EYE OF A NEEDLE
I can’t squeeze between lanes either, so stop pushing

This elephant’s favourite game is SQUASH!

WHY CAN”T I…
… get that celebrity job endorsing cigarettes?

ELEPHANTS GERALD: My kind of jazz.

Okay, so maybe the local driving scene isn’t so bad. At least now when I hear a trumpet on the 401, I can be sure it’s a performer and not a pachyderm.

I hope.

 

Photo Credit: Bergadder / Pixabay

Death of a Sales Pitch

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This week, I ask you all to look inside your hearts to see if you can spare a bit of love and sympathy for the poor, embattled ad executive.

No? Oh come on, not even a teensy weensy bit?

Well, that doesn’t surprise me, but it’s going to come as yet another shock to the advertising industry.

You see, there’s this rumour going around that people may not be — gasp — paying attention to commercials on television!

“I believe that the 30-second commercial, which is the underpinning of the broadcast revenue model is — I’m not going to say dying — but quite ill,” said Sunni Boot, president of Zenith Optimedia Canada, in a Globe and Mail article.

Apparently broadcasters are especially miffed at TiVo-type technology, which allow users to zip past commercials without so much as looking at them, much less enduring them.

Not to burst the advertising industry’s bubble or anything, but TV viewers have been using technology to avoid commercials since the medium became popular. A quick review:

1963 — The Toilet: Many viewers took advantage of minute long commercials to go to the loo.

1974 — The Fridge: When commercials got shorter, viewers simply used the time to raid the refrigerator.

1985 — The Remote: The mute button becomes the most popular feature of the remote control. Mine was so well used that the button now says: ” ute.”

1996 — The VCR: Tape your favourite shows, watch them when your schedule permits, and fast forward through the commercials. Well okay, fast forward, swear because you overshot the mark, zip back, overshoot again, and see the last five seconds of the last commercial. But mostly avoid the commercials.

2005 — The Internet: Download your favourite TV shows with ads already chopped out of them.

Networks have a right to be annoyed about people avoiding commercials — after all, it’s advertising revenue that pays for the shows that people like to watch. However, broadcasters really only have themselves to blame. Instead of broadcasting commercials at sensible intervals and appropriate times, they’ve used this formula for advertising:

1) Assume your audience has the intelligence level of a kumquat.
2) Allow advertisers to create commercials that are so stupid that even kumquats would go “Oh come ON, already!”
3) Play them 400 times an hour.
4) Repeat.

Okay, so maybe it’s not four hundred times an hour — but I’ve noticed that those Internet downloads of “hour long” television programs are only about 39 minutes with the commercials removed. Even if you only watch one program over a typical 10 year run, that’s nearly three days of your life just watching commercials. Just think of how much quality reality TV programming you could watch instead!

And I don’t know about you, but I refuse to watch movies on television any more. In order to pack forty minutes of advertising into a two hour movie broadcast, you have to have one commercial every three minutes. This kind of ruins any drama or tension in the flick:

VADER: If you only knew the power of the dark side. Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your father.
LUKE: He told me enough! He told me you killed him.
VADER: No. I am your father.

COMMERCIAL: Is your toilet the biggest cleaning job in YOUR house? Try new Flushit! It cleans, it polishes, it’s the best!

LUKE: No. No. That’s not true! That’s impossible!
VADER: Search your feelings. You know it to be true.
LUKE: No! No! No!

COMMERCIAL: Do you suffer from the burning itch and pain of haemorrhoids? Suffer no longer! New GoodByeItch will help you work by the seat of your pants again!

Personally, I won’t mourn the death of the 30-second ad spot. Indeed, I may be tempted to wish the same fate on pop-up windows on the Internet and the telemarketing industry. A little advertising goes a long way. It shouldn’t interrupt your dinner or make you want to lose it.

PS — This column brought to you by Flushit and GoodByeItch. Mention you saw them here, and get 20% off your next purchase!

Photo Credit: falco / Pixabay