Grumpy Customer

The Grumpy Customer - How He Made My Day

Preface / Introduction

I was in a good mood, just doing my promotions for my online business, whilst listening to theAnything Goes program, which I rarely get the opportunity to attend. At this point, I have to extenda huge thanks to Patrice Porter, a fellow community member, for initiating recorded sessions, whichI am able to view at my leisure. (and George, for special events ie Wallace Johnson’s 89th Birthday)However, my good mood was dampened, when, in the midst of Dr. Lant, absorbed in an article hewas currently reading, this person, Paul, chose to type derogatory remarks on-screen that he claimedhe was recording. In fact, he made a special point of attending the Anything Goes session, perfectlyaware of the fact, that, basically….Anything Goes!

I will admit, at this point, my Irish-Italian descent kicked in, and my “maternal” instincts (we’retalking about Max now) lit up. Having been in the retail business years ago, I know it only takes onedisgruntled customer to ruin your day; but also, one happy customer, to make your day. By chimingin, and coming up on-screen, I figured “Max” would be content, and enjoy the rest of the day.

Ironically, I wasn’t enjoying my day, due to this ill-informed malcontent. This exchange took myfocus off of my promotions; essentially, my business. Now, I was not a “happy camper”, andmore-so, I was upset that I allowed myself to go from a perfectly happy mood into a state ofunproductiveness so easily. But all was not lost. In fact, it presented an opportunity for an ebook Iwould never have thought of, or considered. I can only thank Grumpy Customer and Worldprofit forthe assured leads I’ll receive.

Call me now for your FREE Internet marketing consultation. $100 value. Let an expert show youRIGHT NOW how to profit online every single day without leaving home. Your success guaranteed.I'm waiting for your call RIGHT NOW! Get Your Business Off To A Great Start. Or, if you are justconsidering a Home-Based Business.....you are at the right place! Working With Internet Expertswith over 20 Years Experience to provide you with the All the Essential Tools Needed for YourOnline/ Home-Based Business. We are available 24 hours/day, 365 days/year. Here to Help YouRealize Your Financial Goals!!

You may contact me at:

Lisa Martiniuk

Alberta, Canada

Phone: (780) 779-4347

Skype: lisar339

Twitter: treksbeyond

Email: [email protected]

Website: www.TheHomeOfficePeople.com

Blog: http://thehomeofficepeople.com/blog

Table of Contents

1. It's time to celebrate International 'Get It Off Your Chest Day.' You'll feel better if you do. 2. It's time to recognize those who have failed. It may be the very best way to get them to succeed.An audacious idea. 3. Thoughts on books.

It's time to celebrate International 'Get It Off Your Chest Day.'You'll feel better if you do. By Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author's program note. For this article Maria Mendez' recording of "What a difference a day makes"(released 1934) is a must. You'll find it in any search. engine. And, by the way, Maria is right: thedifference is you!

Have you noticed there's a "day" for everything... for artichoke growers... pizza makers... midgets...apples... moms and dads... you get picture.

However, after exhaustive research ( at least an hour or two) I have discovered an absolutely crucialactivity which has not, so far, been granted its own special day.

Thus, I am herewith proposing "International Get If Off Your Chest" Day.

This day was inspired by my nephew Kyle who graduated from college in May 2011. As iscustomary (at least the graduate so told me) I donated some bucks to the young buck... then sat back(like millions of generous parents, relations and friends) for the effusive letter of acknowledgement,thanks, and gratitude.

I have waited for weeks now (along with those millions cited above) and have received nada, zip,absolutely nothing. It occurred to me that all of us long-suffering folks need an outlet for ourchagrin, irritation, and soon-to-be righteous wrath and rage.

But, let's face it, a special day for the good people who sent money (so far unacknowledged) forcommencement would, I think you'd agree be (perhaps) a tad over specific.... even if we extended itsfocus to be any slothful, lay about graduate of any institution.

So, I put my thinking cap on and brainstormed... to see how the parameters of this holiday could besuitably extended so that more sins of omission and commission could be added.

Then I thought of a no-longer-quite-so-dear friend...let's call him Thomas Frederick Byrd III...because that is his name. Tommy (for he is not always so formal) borrowed 10 CDs from me, what,an eon ago, making the usual sincere, look-deeply-in-his-eyes promises that "they'll be returned,Scout's honor, in a week, ten days tops." As I said, and as I must reiterate here, that ample deadlinehas long been exceeded.... hints to Tommy (even quite a lurid one) have gone unanswered... andnow the bugger won't answer my calls. The holiday must be extended to include these miscreantsand scoffers.

Tommy's non-return of my very best CDs is venal compared to William Wilder's misdemeanors. Heput the touch on me for 200 Yankee dollars; I don't know what I could have been thinking of. Ishould have listened to Polonius (ok, he's a trifle windy) about borrowers and lenders. Bill Wilderused to be one of my best friends; now I can hardly think of him without apoplexy... for, of course,he is now in the witness protection program... and my beloved dollars with him.

Near crying at these acid remembrances of people who have let me down, in so remembering I haveone "aha!" moment after another, each of which builds the case and need for this deeply sensibleday.

There's Tommy (seemingly a frequent miscreant sobriquet) at the convenience store who haspromised me at least half a dozen times to charge back those mildewed strawberries. So far, noaction.

http://www.TheHomeOfficePeople.com Copyright Lisa Martiniuk - 2014 4 of 13


http://www.TheHomeOfficePeople.com

There's my cousin Clarabelle (and no she has no children named Howdy Doody) who has yet toreturn that lovely pic-nic basket with the (admittedly plate) silver handles.

This list, growing by the moment, represents in miniature just why we absolutely must have a day,perhaps even two, when we can let it all hang out. Such a day would of course feature politicians andthe myriad of ways they irritate and abuse us every single day.

"Great idea," everybody says so.

While writing this article, I have been tending a very busy phone. I emailed a few of my nearest anddearest to clue them in to my Big Idea. I told them their opinion was urgent and expected; myphone's been ringing off the hook ever since with calls from people who have quite clearly masteredthe superlative tense; without exception these bright folks want what I am proposing: a chance to tellthe truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth about matters great and small with which lesspolite and perceptive folks have afflicted them. I am getting used to the constant huzzahs andraucous congratulations.

These, admittedly thrilling, have induced further cogitation on the issue. As I amble and ponder,new facets of this idea emerge and take center stage in my fervid brain; I am like a man possessed.

In addition to the specially designated "Off Your Chest" day... we need a National Registry whereaggrieved citizens can post their complaints and miseries; given our digitized age it should be easyto cross-reference these, to create profiles and warning systems for people (even if our nearest anddearest) who have affronted not one, but many, and often.

And, remember, this registry, this most necessary warning system would not be a thing for just asingle nation, no matter how grand, but for all the nations, even insignificant little San Marino.

Of course, there might be mistakes... or at least folks claiming they have been victimized.

I am a believer in fairness, a believer in fairness am I. As a result, there must be some means ofchecking the accuracy of all information and allowing folks to respond. Yes, that is only fair. Ofcourse this will necessitate a very substantial staff; their workload, as is already plain, would bestaggering. After all, nearly every person on this planet (except a few Trappist monks) have thingsthey wish, indeed need to get off their chests... and I may be doing a disservice to Trappists whoagree. If so, I abjectly apologize.

This is turning into a helluva lot of work!

You know, people like me with good ideas should be designated Super Citizen. After all, WE keepthis country, this world, and, may I say, this whole solar system working.

I'm really ticked off now. My original simple idea has now morphed into a multi- dimensionalnightmare. I'm over my head, for sure. All I wanted was to chide a few friends and get some bucksback and my very best CDs. Now people are starting to criticize me, yes ME, as some kind ofdictator, FBI, CIA, looking-for-skeletons- -in-all-the-closets. Every time they do, I put them on mylist for future SEVERE action. It's what those friggin' morons deserve.

I give up.

I'm ditching this idea and am heading in a brand-new direction. I've written Kyle's thank-you noteand sent him a copy so he knows what he said. I sent a gift card to Tommy giving him CDs he won'tgive up anyway. And as for the 200 smackers, I'll tell the IRS they are a charitable donation topeople with incurable insensitivity.

As for me, I've sent this letter to the president reminding him the buck stops there.







It's time to recognize those who have failed. It may be thevery best way to get them to succeed. An audacious idea.by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author's program note. In 1962 one of the grandest American musicals hit the cinemas of the GreatRepublic. It was Meredith Wilson's "The Music Man"... and we got up and marched as we heard itseffervescent score. No high fallutin' Eye-talian music you had to scratch your head about,understanding hardly a word.

No, this was Iowa music, Kansas music, music every last citizen of Tennessee and Oklahoma couldunderstand, every last word. As for the star, insinuating Robert Preston; we all knew someone likehim... scamp, con man, plausible trickster redeemed by the love of a good woman.

Oh, yes, "The Music Man" was something we could get our teeth into... which is why, a mere lad, Iwas set the onerous task of mastering its "76 Trombones" on the piano; for the next school recital.Anyone but a doting mother and her unctuous piano teacher, who had wife and children (and, Ialways thought, a bit of a drinking problem) to support would have looked at me on that concretepiano bench (or so it seemed) and blurted out the first words that came to mind: "He stinks!" Butthose words were not heard until...

... the day of the school recital.

Kids good got up and did their bit... that didn't take so long, since there weren't so many of them...and it was obvious which ones had worked hard and deserved the top prizes.

Then kids, carefully turned out in best bib and tucker, got up and did their mediocre bit. A largechunk of my classmates found themselves in this category; having done some work, but not enoughto reap the blue ribbons that said "First Prize". They got the red ribbons... just good enough toassuage anxious parents.

Finally, there were the kids who had to be pushed -- umbrella ferule in the small of their back -- toget up and recite... or dance... or play an uncooperative instrument. And I -- and my ragged renditionof "76 Trombones" -- was in this group... stinkers all. But awarded notwithstanding an HonorableMention and a few seconds of rousing, possibly even sincere applause, lead by mothers who wouldnever admit -- much less on school recital day -- their little Hannah, Billie and Mike were anythingother than paragons; "most likely to succeed" tattooed on their foreheads.

Privately, however, even some of the mothers gave vent to the truth; being Midwestern they justcouldn't help themselves.... "They stink!" I heard them say... and then "Jeffrey stinks!"

And so truth came to River City. Truth, embarrassment, red-faced humiliation... which could not beassuaged by any white ribbon that said Honorable Mention. It all poured out now; how I washorrid... tone deaf... rhythm challenged... note oblivious... absolutely hopeless.... hot words thatcaused my little brother (who had a lifetime of Jeffrey plaudits to work through) to dance with glee..."Ol' Jeffrey stinks." On this day of days he just couldn't say it enough and knew a profoundhappiness long deferred. He talks about it to this very day.

I was 15, I was humiliated, I was determined this would not be the end of the story... .... and that'swhy I won the next recital prize fair and square... because I was resolved, and fiercely too, that"Jeffrey stinks" would not be the last word on this subject...

... In other words, from abashment and humiliation came triumph and reward. So it worked for meon the grave matter of the school piano recital and so it is about to work for you in your business. For




I am about to urge that all your business failures, slothful habits, egregious errors, failure to achievesignificant results; that all of these, things which have placed you well and truly amongst thestinkers... be brought out... and publicized to the world; thereby ensuring that your humiliation bethorough and detailed...

Why?

So that you will do everything needful, yes move heaven and earth, to ensure you are never, ever inthat shocking place again, your dunce cap retired, your name no more ridiculed but revered, honoredand extolled, which is the only way it should be.

Consider how you did "business" yesterday, the day before, the day before that...

Have you done the necessary to profit? Did you get up early to handle all aspects of yourprospect-generating machine? Did you generate prospects? Follow up (and especially telephone)prospects? Did you make offers, improve offers, and improve these offers again until you had a dealand the money that accompanies it? If so, you made money... and have every right to be happy withyourself... for you are a true and faithful business impresario and you deserve every penny and everycompliment you got.

You did get that profit and those compliments, didn't you? Well, didn't you? If not, it's time for analternative approach to the business of helping you succeed in business. It's time for the motivatingFailure Awards, a kick in the pants like no other.

Imagine the following scenario. You wake up tomorrow, go to your website, and see emblazonedacross it these words

"You have just been dishonored with the

BIG-TIME LOSER OF THE DAY PRIZE.

Trustees of the foundation have selected you because you didn't do one darn thing yesterday,absolutely nothing, to make money, generate leads, work with leads, make offers, close deals andbuild your business.

Yep, you are on the bottom of the heap, no money in the till and none expected or possible, until youchange the way you do 'business' so that you can profit from it.

Then you see a picture of yourself festooned with mulish ears... with a caption that says simply

LOSER OF THE DAY... (then the date)."

Your reaction?

How will you feel when you see this? I'll tell you, you'll fly into an unparalleled rage... condemningeveryone... everyone, that is, except the one person whose lack of constructive endeavors got youthere in the first place: that would be you!

Your lack of effort got you this (boobie) prize. It's only your constructive efforts that can get youout.

But will you make them?

In my humble opinion you will do so faster, with more energy and determination if you publish theunpalatable truth, shining full, unyielding light on the success you didn't get, letting the world seeyour inadequacies. You will hate this situation and rightly so, for being amongst such a passel oflosers is humiliating indeed.




That's why you should award yourself this egregious and sick-making award... and spend the rest ofthis day and every day doing what is necessary to expunge it and reap the substantial benefits whichyou'll get when you do.

Now go to any search engine. Play "76 trombones" and get in the mood for success, joy, and manyhappy returns of the day, a day where failure is just a word in the dictionary.




Thoughts on books.by Dr. Jeffrey Lant.

Author's program note. It had been a long, exhausting day, frustrating, irritating, a day of people Ididn't want to know, disliked on sight, and couldn't wait to see the back of them. Business can belike that, especially on a Friday afternoon in September, when anything, absolutely anything, seemsmore desirable than staying in one's office tending to customers who seem tailor-made by centralcasting to irk, exasperate, just the shake of a lamb's tail from disdain, contempt, loathing also being adistinct possibility.

At last the time came when I could, with decency and well-honed precedent, withdraw... trusting thatthose following could take the job I was leaving with greater enthusiasm and higher spirits than I,just then, was able to muster. Just then, I didn't care.

I was content, just then, to wallow in disgruntlement and high dudgeon. But though I didn't know itjust then, my grumpy mood was about to change for the better, all because of an old friend I'dforgotten I had, a friend whose constructive powers were such that even had my funk been farmightier and tenacious than it was, my friend would have surmounted even that, with ease, grace,and total confidence for it and its kind had worked their magic so many times before and this daywas poised to do it again.

A book.

This friend was a book, a book I had not thought of or recollected in any way these nearly 40 years,"Ottoline: The Life of Lady Ottoline Morrell". It was written by Sandra Jobson Darroch andpublished in 1976 in London by Chatto & Windus.

I found it in a stack of books on the floor of my bedroom, a place with custom- made mahoganybook shelves; ("Real Honduran mahogany, sir, just as you wanted".) They looked capacious enoughwhen being crafted, but were quickly overrun by the thousands of books I retained after that joltingyear when I donated over 12,000 volumes to charity, an act that at first touched my heart and thenchallenged my resolve to "prune", the better to keep what was "truly important".

But as every book lover knows, every book no matter how ill-considered and poorly written, is trulyimportant (at least to the author). For each book is a statement of significance (at least to the author),though admittedly some have distinctly less significance than others.

This, of course, was the argument Ray Bradbury made in his 1953 classic dystopian novel"Fahrenheit 451". His book is set in a future American society where books are outlawed and"firemen" burn any that are found. The title refers to the temperature that Bradbury understood to bethe autoignition point of paper.

Book loving revolutionaries, unable to hide even the most important books from the regime which isdetermined to destroy each and every one of them, dedicate themselves to saving one book apiece,by memorizing its contents, continually reciting it over and over again.

Thus they become that book, fiercely dedicated to their task of preserving its unique and crucialmessage, despite the difficulties of their task and the horrendous consequences if they are found outby a regime determined to extirpate, extinguish, exterminate and end once and for all every book,every book lover, and the progressive and humane thoughts which will continue to exist so long (butonly so long) as the books containing them do so. Both sides in the struggle agreed on that, ifnothing else.




Composer Bernard Herrmann in his score for the film, caught the tension, the danger, the fatefulcommitment, the great risks run for humanity by those who knew that each book lost diminishedhuman kind, whilst each book saved preserved not only that single volume but every thought,dream, aspiration of the author and the often lyric beauty of the language he used to express them.The stakes could hardly be higher; the very outcome of civilization hanging in the balance. Go to anysearch engine now and hear how brilliant Herrmann handles this challenge.

The curtain opens, peace descends, a world has been awaiting me and I am soon immersed.

Each day of my life, I try to read something that has absolutely nothing to do with business, makingmoney, or expanding my empire at Worldprofit.com where the business of the day, every day, ishelping Internet marketers worldwide profit online. That is important but as the old Yiddish proverbsays, "A man who has nothing but money is a poor man."

Thus when you come to visit me in Cambridge, you find a residence that is a tribute to man and hiscreative vistas, talents, and demonstrated abilities. Here the arts flourish and are celebrated,including the art and craft that produces the masterful bundles of words we know as books.Whatever room you are in, wherever your eye chances to look, you see books, here a single volumedistinguished by the strawberry jam I was savoring while reading. There a tottering pile of volumesdedicated to the politics and culture of Central Europe.

A thousand or two other tomes balance higglety-piggledy in my sanctum sanctorum; inviolateplaces near at hand for "the Holy Bible"' (King James version) and Shakespear's much thumbed andconstantly consulted works, a task which always elevates and is never onerous or irksome, evenwhen a quotation provokingly resides elsewhere from where it is doggedly sought and erroneouslyremembered.

These books, the ample residue of my donative hecatomb, are each and every one a friend, whoseopinions I seek, even when I disagree with them. It is unthinkable to dismiss them because of somedivergent viewpoint. After all, they tolerate me when I cannot see my way to agreeing with them.Constructive, affectionate dialog is the essence of why we make and why we keep friends of anykind. So it should be here...

Lady Ottoline, like cream rising.

Moments away from exiting my imperial abode, short moments from selecting the vehicle that willtake me up, up, and away, all is in readiness for my ascension. I have found the book, I haveglanced at the cover, I am ready to see what the story of this eccentric, exquisite, extraordinaryEnglish aristocrat at the height of the empire on which the sun never set might do for me. And thatturned out to be generous, glorious, as unexpected and perfect as the occasions she walked herpampered Pekinese dogs on ribbons tied to the shepherd's crook her ladyship carried like a magicwand, herself the chief sorceress of all.

Once upon a time when I was a newly minted Harvard Ph.D. with modern English history myspecialty, I was destined to write such books, one after another; each one so well researched andwritten publishers would make fools of themselves running after me to sign on the dotted line. Therewere, however, enormous changes at the last moment; I wrote books, 18 of them, books which madefortunes but did not provide the wherewithal for delicious gossip and polished literary vignettes overtea ("China, please") and strawberries and cream. No matter.

In less time that it takes to write this line, I was back in the England that I have always loved, everycharacter in the book an old and well-known friend... now rising off the page to sharp renewal in mymemory where they, the author, and her unforgettable subject exist for me and bless me, remindingme of what is really important, and that includes every word I am reading now. In these lie the




greater significance... and I am glad to be reminded.




ResourceAbout the Author Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., providing a widerange of online services for small and-home based businesses. Dr. Lant is also the author of 18best-selling business books.

Republished with author's permission by Lisa Martiniuk http://TheHomeOfficePeople.com.



http://TheHomeOfficePeople.com


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