I am an avid user of your Premium Choice Gloves which are “Neoprene Dipped for Extra Durability and Protection.” Though I was not searching for neoprene-dipped gloves, I have become a loyal user of them as they are the most durable rubber gloves that Target sells to protect my hands as I scrub pots and pans.
Otherwise my hands would resemble those of the Wicked Witch of the West.
Usually I buy two pairs at a time, so when the first pair fails – via a tear in one of the gloves – I have a back-up pair ready.
Here’s the thing though. It’s always the right glove that goes first.
Our world has gotten feedback happy. And it’s annoying.
In a 48-hour period at the beginning of May I received five surveys.
One paper survey via snail mail with 66 questions to rate my son’s pediatrician. One online survey from a hotel I had stayed at the prior weekend and another from a hotel stay two weeks before. A third online survey from the conference I had just attended, and a fourth one from OpenTable for the restaurant I had dined in the Friday before.
Last month I wrote about the annoying experience of having a Honda dealership try to influence my rating on their customer satisfaction survey.
My annoyance prompted me to write that article. Boy did I spark the passion of others, including the dealership marketers themselves.
As I learned to drive, my father not only braved my initial road experience, he also tried to teach me about the way a car functioned.
He opened the hood of our 1969 Buick Le Sabre and pointed out areas where you add fluids. There was a carburetor and a radiator. He even showed me how to change a tire.
I waitressed for two summers during college and met some pretty interesting people. The first summer I worked the counter of a Bloomingdale’s restaurant in Hackensack, New Jersey. I served two Secret Service agents who were trailing Pat Nixon and her daughter Tricia who were eating in the dining room of the restaurant. Nice guys, easy going, and tipped well.
Prior to my sophomore year I worked at a 24-hour diner called The Forum. The Saturday night shift went from 5 pm to 4:30 am. As you could imagine, the crowd here differed from Bloomingdale’s.
One day last summer my husband and I were in the kitchen coordinating preparations for a huge party when we were stopped in our tracks by a deafening noise.
Was it thunder? No. Police siren? No. Earthquake? No. Avalanche? Atomic bomb? The Red Sox beating the Yankees? No, no, and no.
Photo Credit: The Wall Street Journal
It was my husband opening two bags of Sun Chips.
The din was unbelievable. Not just loud, but pain-inducing to the eardrum.
As a result, neither of us was surprised when Pepsi Co. announced in October that their Frito Lay snack unit was ditching Sun Chips’ biodegradable bags on all but one flavor and going back to the old packaging.
I love my mother-in-law, Elanaah. And not just out of obligation. We get along great because we respect and trust each other. Our mutual respect comes from years of being straightforward and truthful with each other.
Based on this trust, I have occasionally sought Elanaah’s advice.