Yesterday I talked about fucking up a sound file for a high-profile client video. There was a chance we’d reshoot the piece today, but that didn’t happen. Scheduling the CEO was too difficult.
I would be very surprised if the client ever called me again. So I gotta chalk up the failure AND a lost client.
I hope no one ever mistakes me for someone who doesn’t own up to their blunders. I take failure very seriously, in myself and others. And I failed hard on this one. There’s no question about that.
But it didn’t kill me. And it’ll likely be something that never happens again.
The good news is that I finally had a chance to go to Apple about my phone. They replaced it no questions asked. I’m updating it now. In the interim, I had a beater phone. Every time someone texted me, I would call them back if it was more than a one or two-word response.
Going back to keypad texting was really tough.
The reason I didn’t go to Apple until today, was their reservation service was always backed up. We had traveling and a heavy schedule, so I needed a little better window than one or two days out.
I made my reservation with a “genius” for 1:30 p.m. It was so crowded and over “reserved” that I waited 30 minutes before seeing anyone. It seems like a conspiracy that I can’t go to an AT&T store to have them replace my phone. Thirty minutes in an Apple store is the rough equivalent to forty nights for a nymphomaniac at a whore house.
But I resisted all temptations and only left with what I wanted, a working iPhone.
We stopped at Jewel on the way home for a couple groceries we needed for dinner. I saw a cashier who reminded me of a story I meant to tell you.
One time, I was checking out. The cashier was a man, in his late 30s to early 40s. He was geeky looking. There were stains on his burgundy-colored Jewel shirt. His name read something like, “Marty.”
Marty asked for my ID. I had beer in my cart. I handed it to him. He handed it back and said, “1975. That was a bad year.”
“Oh yeah?” I kind of laughed to myself. “What happened?”
“My parents got divorced,” he said sharply.
The rest of the check out experience was [sing-song] awkward.
I hope you didn’t lose any clients today. And something you wanted to happen happened. And no one told you bad news about their parents divorcing in 1975.
Or, hell, that you told someone bad news and made an awkward situation more awkward.
Le Café Wittypoots 