Today as I booted up my middle-aged laptop there was a loud silence. I was 30 words down in my 101st blogpost when my ears were temporarily shut off and I began hearing a unclear resounding echo. Ten minutes into the din, my trained ears perceived it to be the wails of my unsung backspace key (Hence referred to as Bspace). Though unsuccessful at a complete translation from 'keyboard-ish' to English, I was quite able to understand the message. It said "You jerk, useless brat, keep your stinking nail-bit fingers off me!". This is the censored version of what Bspace said.
Though my first intuitive reaction was to bring the bit gardening shovel on to B's spine, the professional in me sprung up. According to articles from the opportunities and other 'Become the leader that you are (not)' type of books, when a customer has a complaint,
Rule number one : Act like you understand him
Rule number two : Make him feel the boss
Rule number three : Say that things are going to be okay
The golden rule : Never meet him again
Going by the same order when Mr.B complained, I cried with him (for an hour). He finally gave up seeing that my wails were more horrible than his. I took a brand new tissue wiped off the dust and with pair of neat forceps removed the ages of snacks and eraser dust that pained him. I also promised him that I would use a sanitizer before I started typing. Second mission accomplished.
B had a serious complaint, he was frustrated with the way - I kept typing crap for my post, erase it all up; type my name a hundred times and remove it again (My name a hundred times seriously doesn't make a good reading); Sit there with no idea of what I was going to write about and unconsciously type down a Taylor swift song and erase it all over because I was terrified of copyrights; sometimes unconsciously played vaguely remembered Casio tunes on the QWERTY keyboard and still rub 'em off because I hadn't yet completed my post for the day.
Oh yeah, I had the same doubt, how does my non-deliberate typing practice worry him at all. But then, I realized (quicker than you did!!) that every time I erased I fractured his plastic spine and he was tired of it. Ruthless had I been, indeed. I started to sympathize, forgot the golden rule, forgot my professionalism and cried. I decided to celebrate him and write the 101st blog post about my special backspace key.
So, I broke his bones as i erased off the half written post (Oops) and wrote this post toasting to the one semi-martyr of the blog, Mr. B (sans the chips underneath).
Though my first intuitive reaction was to bring the bit gardening shovel on to B's spine, the professional in me sprung up. According to articles from the opportunities and other 'Become the leader that you are (not)' type of books, when a customer has a complaint,
Rule number one : Act like you understand him
Rule number two : Make him feel the boss
Rule number three : Say that things are going to be okay
The golden rule : Never meet him again
Going by the same order when Mr.B complained, I cried with him (for an hour). He finally gave up seeing that my wails were more horrible than his. I took a brand new tissue wiped off the dust and with pair of neat forceps removed the ages of snacks and eraser dust that pained him. I also promised him that I would use a sanitizer before I started typing. Second mission accomplished.
B had a serious complaint, he was frustrated with the way - I kept typing crap for my post, erase it all up; type my name a hundred times and remove it again (My name a hundred times seriously doesn't make a good reading); Sit there with no idea of what I was going to write about and unconsciously type down a Taylor swift song and erase it all over because I was terrified of copyrights; sometimes unconsciously played vaguely remembered Casio tunes on the QWERTY keyboard and still rub 'em off because I hadn't yet completed my post for the day.
Oh yeah, I had the same doubt, how does my non-deliberate typing practice worry him at all. But then, I realized (quicker than you did!!) that every time I erased I fractured his plastic spine and he was tired of it. Ruthless had I been, indeed. I started to sympathize, forgot the golden rule, forgot my professionalism and cried. I decided to celebrate him and write the 101st blog post about my special backspace key.
So, I broke his bones as i erased off the half written post (Oops) and wrote this post toasting to the one semi-martyr of the blog, Mr. B (sans the chips underneath).
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