« Roll your own title for this one. | Main | "Dos margaritas, por favor. Rocas, sin sal." »
December 06, 2004
The squeaky wheel gets a return call.
One of the gym's co-owners left a voice mail for me this afternoon to follow up on the cranky note I left behind.
I tried to keep myself from turning into the aggrieved customer who suddenly has someone's ear. You know the type; they blather on at great length, so glad for a somewhat interested audience that their salient point is drowned in a torrent of tangential thoughts.
I kept it simple, describing my occasional run-ins with Chatty Kathies who are also committed to cardiovascular health. I suggested that I probably wouldn't be allowed to sing along with my headphones for an entire workout, and mentioned the corollation to heavy perfume and appropriate attire.
The owner did a fine job of customer service, empathizing with my concerns and validating them by indicating that she'd been annoyed similarly in the past. She said she'd be talking to her partner about it, and I hope she wasn't just shining me on.
Before I got off the line, I let her know about the new vogue of cell phone booths. These vestibules are popping up in restaurants and other public spaces.
I may even print out a few of these articles and leave them for her consideration. Nothing like a little follow-up to motivate someone.
I should contact this company to see about designing a modular Cone of Silence that could be used to keep inconsiderate assholes away from decent folk like myself. I'd be doing a solid for others who honor our social contract, and I might make some long green in the process. Looks like cell phone booths might be a really hot space, if I might appropriate the silver tongue of the fatuous asshole I recently encountered.
Cell phones are here to stay, as are the dickheads who don't know when or where to use them.
Posted by Your Protagonist at December 6, 2004 11:24 PM