To celebrate my birthday a few weeks ago, I dragged a friend with me to the spa for a day of pampering. If you've never done this, I highly recommend it. Really, who doesn't like having people running around you, tripping all over themselves to get you anything your heart desires? Add to that cute men giving massages and as much wine as you can drink and you've got yourself a winning combination. I've done this spa day thing for my birthday a number of times at this point, as it's hard to think much about getting older when you're being made to look and feel like a Hollywood star, but I've never brought a friend with me to join in the fun. Or keep telling me how much younger I was looking. Whichever.
So on a Saturday morning, we set off to be beautified. We were led upstairs to a waiting area, where the first thing we were asked was what we wanted for lunch. I love anything that starts out with food. That and changing into robes, since I try not to get out of my pajamas for any longer than necessary. Our first appointment was for massages. While my friend filled out some paperwork, the guy who was to do mine entertained me (it didn't take much; I'm easily entertained). Paperwork complete, I followed Rich to a dimly lit room scented with lavender while my friend took off behind her masseur, Ryan. An hour later, half asleep, it was time to get up. "But I'm not done yet, " I insisted. Unfortunately for me, he had other clients waiting, so brought me a glass of wine, led me to the sauna, and eventually left me to sweat.
I'm not entirely sure what the purpose of a sauna is. I know you're supposed to sweat. Is that it? Is there not more to it? Seems like it would dry out your skin. I love the feeling for short periods, but if God wanted me to sweat on a regular basis, he would have made me a guy. My friend joined me and immediately announced that she would be continuing to see Ryan on a regular basis. Since she's married, I'm pretty sure this meant she would be getting regular massages. Having had enough sweating, we took our robed-selves out to a waiting area. Ryan, my friend's masseuse, evidently had no one waiting, as he came out to say hello (he's done massages for me in the past) and chat a bit. Having correctly identified us as troublemakers, he spent five minutes laughing at us until we were called for our mani-pedis.
Color choice, of course, is a vital part of the "getting your nails done" experience. Admiring the color on my technician's fingernails, I settled on a deep black/purple color. I have no idea what my friend picked. I had moved on to soaking my feet, which for me personally is the best part. I'm rough on my feet, and getting all that skin softened and brushed away is almost better than the massage. Also, it's less greasy. Just as we were getting ready to paint my nails, I found myself distracted by a bottle of polish left over from the last client. Hot pink. Woo hoo! I subscribe to the philosophy that everything's better in pink. Naturally, I had no choice but to change colors. Evidently, this did not surprise my technician, as she took the bottle while trying not to laugh. Because I'm nothing if not coordinated (my mother calls it OCD), I generally like my fingernails to match my toenails, so I soon had hot pink all around.
Never known for moving quickly anywhere, we were a bit late for lunch, served to us in a cozy hideaway behind a curtain of the spa. This was not unlike being in front of the first class cabin on an airplane, and I took a moment to feel sorry for those on the other side who were not having an entire birthday of luxury. A short moment. Lunch passed quickly, and we were soon whisked off for facials.
Facials are one of those things you don't realize you need until you actually get one. I don't know what was happening in my friends room, by my aesthetician was digging and popping and picking all over my face. She quickly soothed it with steam and smooth moisturizers. By the time I left, It felt like a film of dirt had been removed. I joined my friend to soak up the leisure for a few minutes before we got dressed and had to acknowledge that was almost time to leave. Because I'll stretch out my birthday for as long as people will let me get away with it, I asked if there was an intern available to blow out our hair (I'd been given a heads up that this might be possible). Indeed there was, so we made our way to the hair studio and seriously had our day "topped off."
Because no birthday is complete without sugar, we left the salon to stop at a desert shop on the way to the car. Choosing some treats to go, we brought them back to my house, where my current boarder happened to be at home. "Did you go to the salon?" she asked. One hopes that a visit to the salon is generally obvious enough not to have to specify, but since it wasn't, we agreed that we had, indeed, been to the salon. We dug into our deserts and soon had to end the day of luxury.
It's not every day that I can partake in such a day of pampering, and it was only possible thanks to a birthday gift from my mom. There's no better time than your birthday to be treated like a queen.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Sunday, January 6, 2013
The Real Estate Market Goes Up and Down, Up and Down, Up and Down...
Although to varying degrees across the country, in general, the real estate market has not done well over the past few years. Suze Orman has been saying that 2012 would be "rock bottom," the worst we've seen in a while, but that things should begin improving after that. As in, now. The Commerce department recently said that new, single-family home sales rose 4.4% in November 2012. That's the best it's been in 2 and 1/2 years. Prices seem to be moving fastest out west.
Unfortunately for me, I don't live out west. So I'm anxiously watching for news that the real estate market is improving, especially in my area. I don't think the Raleigh area was hit as hard as some other places in the country, but I've watched homes in my neighborhood take forever to sell, and then not at nearly the price it would have gotten several years ago. However, in 2011, home values in Raleigh and Cary appreciated about 7% more than the previous year. The number of active home lists has dropped 12% from last month, which I personally take to be a good sign. Less supply, better demand. I'm pretty sure that's how it's supposed to go.
And that's what I'm counting on. I'm making tentative plans to sell my house in the Spring, probably in May. Five or six years ago, my house would have sold for more than it probably will now, or even this Spring. But I've been getting ready for a while, and the house is probably about as good as it's going to get. The list of projects from the past year or two is a long one: new hardwood floors, new countertops in the kitchen and bathrooms, new bathroom and kitchen faucets and lights, refinishing the back deck, new energy-efficient windows, and a fresh paint job throughout the house. Other than a few small things that I'll work to get done in April (and if you know me at all, you know that means "hire someone to get done"), we're ready to go. Unless something happens to change things, the plan right now is to interview real estate agents in April and do whatever they recommend still needs doing around the house (I don't really need to repeat that that means hire someone, do I?), and then list the house for sale in May. I'll cross my fingers that it sells relatively quickly, at which time I'll rent in Raleigh (close to work) for a while until I decide what I want in a new home. This will likely be a condo with a fantastic homeowner's association that allows at least outdoor maintenance to be a thing of the past. Or, it would be, if I actually did any.
I've always watched the house sales in my neighborhood, but I've kept an especially close eye on them of late. The house next door to me, which had been most recently owned by a real-estate agent who had been renting it out but had decided to sell, sold within three months. Woo hoo! Good news for Tracy. A house around the corner has been listed as a short sale, and six months later, does not appear to have gotten any interest, despite a ridiculously low price. Not such good news for Tracy. There are two neighborhoods up the street that developers started building about six or seven years ago then came to a screeching halt as the economy went bad. Both have started building again, though selling at lower prices than originally advertised. I used to read palms, but I cannot read crystal balls, so any prediction I might make would be a guess. I am hopeful that things are starting to improve, and even though I might not get as much as I might have at one point, I'll get a decent price for my house in a reasonable amount of time.
I watch way too much House Hunters, so I have a lot of ideas about how this should go. A friend has already given me a sugar cookie scented candle perfect for enticing buyers into my house. I'm clearing out anything that could be termed clutter, unless, of course, it's something I might need later and couldn't possibly replace. I'm rearranging some pieces of furniture to show off the house's best features. I've been in this house for almost thirteen years, and it's a little uncomfortable to think about leaving it, but it's time.
Do you happen to know a real estate agent?
Unfortunately for me, I don't live out west. So I'm anxiously watching for news that the real estate market is improving, especially in my area. I don't think the Raleigh area was hit as hard as some other places in the country, but I've watched homes in my neighborhood take forever to sell, and then not at nearly the price it would have gotten several years ago. However, in 2011, home values in Raleigh and Cary appreciated about 7% more than the previous year. The number of active home lists has dropped 12% from last month, which I personally take to be a good sign. Less supply, better demand. I'm pretty sure that's how it's supposed to go.
And that's what I'm counting on. I'm making tentative plans to sell my house in the Spring, probably in May. Five or six years ago, my house would have sold for more than it probably will now, or even this Spring. But I've been getting ready for a while, and the house is probably about as good as it's going to get. The list of projects from the past year or two is a long one: new hardwood floors, new countertops in the kitchen and bathrooms, new bathroom and kitchen faucets and lights, refinishing the back deck, new energy-efficient windows, and a fresh paint job throughout the house. Other than a few small things that I'll work to get done in April (and if you know me at all, you know that means "hire someone to get done"), we're ready to go. Unless something happens to change things, the plan right now is to interview real estate agents in April and do whatever they recommend still needs doing around the house (I don't really need to repeat that that means hire someone, do I?), and then list the house for sale in May. I'll cross my fingers that it sells relatively quickly, at which time I'll rent in Raleigh (close to work) for a while until I decide what I want in a new home. This will likely be a condo with a fantastic homeowner's association that allows at least outdoor maintenance to be a thing of the past. Or, it would be, if I actually did any.
I watch way too much House Hunters, so I have a lot of ideas about how this should go. A friend has already given me a sugar cookie scented candle perfect for enticing buyers into my house. I'm clearing out anything that could be termed clutter, unless, of course, it's something I might need later and couldn't possibly replace. I'm rearranging some pieces of furniture to show off the house's best features. I've been in this house for almost thirteen years, and it's a little uncomfortable to think about leaving it, but it's time.
Do you happen to know a real estate agent?
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Sasha, the Customer
***note--I actually wrote and published this in late November, but I somehow managed to accidentally delete it and had to replace it into the blog. Can you tell I'm new at this?***
Sasha had an appointment with her doctor the other day. Regretably, this is not like saying she had an appointment with her hairdresser or her therapist (both of which she could use). If it was, she would have been waiting for me to come pick her up with a glass of wine in her hand or a prescription for some drugs in her bag. No, my job here was simply to be the chauffeur and check-writer. Her job was to look pitiful and insist that she felt fine.
Sasha's veterinarian has known her (and, therefore, me) for about thirteen years now. We have been in and out of that office numerous times, sometimes happier to be there than others, but always pleasant and with credit card in hand. At one point, Sasha had four sister-cats (the TLC show is in production now), and so we have spent a great deal of time at our vet's office over the years. When your cat's doctor can call you on the phone and start talking without introducing herself, you know you're important to her business.
So despite Sasha's reluctance, we were happy for an opportunity to check in at Dr. Sheri's office. Sasha needed an ultrasound, so it meant dropping her off at 7:30 inthemiddleofthenight and picking her up later. The faces at the desk were familiar to me, but I didn't know anyone's name. I used to know everyone--that's what happens when you have five cats--but we're not in there as often as we used to be anymore. Nevertheless, I cheerfully (and at 7:30 inthemiddleofthenight, somewhat painfully) announced that I had Sasha to see Dr. Sheri. One of the staff members at the desk gave me a blank stare. Oh, dear. Had Sasha done something to her that no one had mentioned to me? A co-worker quickly picked up the slack and asked me to sign some papers, adding that someone would be out to get Sasha in a moment.
I didn't ponder the blank stare for long. While looking at the paperwork, I heard a familiar voice and called out to a technician I know. An old friend! Sasha didn't seem to care one way or the other, but I was pleased to see someone who had been here even longer than I'd been coming here. We chatted for a few minutes, breaking up only when another tech came to take Sasha back. Kisses to Sasha and my business done, I turned back to the desk to make sure they didn't need anything else, but no one was paying any attention to me, so I left.
It wasn't long before Dr. Sheri called to report on the results of Sasha's ultrasound (fine bladder stones, which while somewhat distressing, are not the point here). A couple of hours later, I walked back through the office door to rescue Sasha from a small cage and the indignities of having her stomach shaved. Three people were at the desk, two of whom I recognized, one of whom I could name, none of whom could name me. I walked up to the one closest to me. "Hi!" I'm much brighter at noon than I am at 7:30 inthemiddleofthenight, and really, who wouldn't look up when I walk in? Besides, I was wearing my high-heeled, black boots, which give me a certain level of sassiness, and I tend to command attention when I have them on.
To my great surprise, the office assistant did not even look up at me. She continued staring at her computer screen, and she let out a long sigh, the kind used to indicate that she was in battle with the computer and could not possibly turn away. Being who I am, I continued standing there and smiling, just daring her to make me say anything else. After thirty seconds (I counted), someone at the other end of the desk called to me "I can take you down here!" Hmmm. Well, I just didn't like that at all, but I needed to save my damsel in distress, so I moved down to the other end of the counter.
"How can I help you?" she smiled at me. Now, she was very pleasant, helpful even, and did nothing unfriendly in communicating with me. She was also the same receptionist with whom I had signed the paperwork and dropped off Sasha a few hours earlier. In the office where I have been going for thirteen years. Where I have spent thousands of dollars. And know my vet so well that I know her voice on the phone. Really? Quickly losing my sense of humor, I said I was there to pick up Sasha.
"Great," she responded. "What's your last name?" Again, really? You should not only recognize me, but know my name, my cat's name, and what brand cereal I eat. Nevertheless, I gave her my name and pulled out my credit card. But something on the screen caused her to pause, and she asked if I'd wait a moment while she went to make sure all the charges were in. Since there was only the one ultrasound, I'm not sure what charges she thought were missing, but sure, go ahead, and she scurried off to check this out.
As I waited, the first person I had greeted (but had not greeted me) came over. "I"m sorry," she said. "I was at still at lunch when you came in." This was approximately one minute earlier. Slightly Passive-Aggressive Tracy thought "If you were at lunch, perhaps you shouldn't have been taking a seat at the front desk and using one of the computers." But I smiled and said nothing. She asked if someone was now helping me, and I briefly explained the confirmation of the charges. Taking this as an opening, she began chatting with me about the weather and what she was doing over the holidays. I recognized this for an attempt to make better her abruptness at my entrance, which was appreciated, but didn't change anything.
The assistant with my credit card returned and indicated that all my charges were in. Not surprised, I signed the receipt and waited. They continued to chat with me a bit, until I finally asked "Is someone actually GETTING Sasha?" They agreed that, oh, yes, the technician was bringing her out, leaving me to wonder why they couldn't have led with that.
Finally, the queen was handed over to me. I greeted her with great enthusiasm, making sure she knew that I was there. I suspect that, had I been able to ask Sasha, she would have agreed that our customer experience that morning was not excellent, but at least I hadn't had my tummy shaved (look closely at this picture of her above, and you can see her bare stomach). Calling out a thank you (I called out a thank you; Sasha turned around in her carrier so I was looking at her behind), she and I took our leave.
Coincidentally, a friend of mine and I had just been having a conversation about the importance of great customer service. We both worked for an organization that places high priority on doing whatever is necessary to keep the customer happy. There are exceptions to that, of course, but we both have incredibly high standards for serving customers. She's currently managing an office in which she has to model and train staff of the significance of recognizing each customer and treating them better than they could be treated anywhere else. We agreed that this is not natural to everyone, but it makes a huge difference in getting and keeping customers (She calls it "faking it." At least, I think that's what she's referring to).
I love Sasha's vet, who does indeed treat her like she's the only cat in the world. I like the office, and I think most of the staff are pleasant and helpful. But I can't help but think there's a lot they could do to make someone like me, a long-time, loyal, and regular customer, feel a little more valued.
 |
| Sasha and her ultra-sound hair-do |
Sasha's veterinarian has known her (and, therefore, me) for about thirteen years now. We have been in and out of that office numerous times, sometimes happier to be there than others, but always pleasant and with credit card in hand. At one point, Sasha had four sister-cats (the TLC show is in production now), and so we have spent a great deal of time at our vet's office over the years. When your cat's doctor can call you on the phone and start talking without introducing herself, you know you're important to her business.
So despite Sasha's reluctance, we were happy for an opportunity to check in at Dr. Sheri's office. Sasha needed an ultrasound, so it meant dropping her off at 7:30 inthemiddleofthenight and picking her up later. The faces at the desk were familiar to me, but I didn't know anyone's name. I used to know everyone--that's what happens when you have five cats--but we're not in there as often as we used to be anymore. Nevertheless, I cheerfully (and at 7:30 inthemiddleofthenight, somewhat painfully) announced that I had Sasha to see Dr. Sheri. One of the staff members at the desk gave me a blank stare. Oh, dear. Had Sasha done something to her that no one had mentioned to me? A co-worker quickly picked up the slack and asked me to sign some papers, adding that someone would be out to get Sasha in a moment.
I didn't ponder the blank stare for long. While looking at the paperwork, I heard a familiar voice and called out to a technician I know. An old friend! Sasha didn't seem to care one way or the other, but I was pleased to see someone who had been here even longer than I'd been coming here. We chatted for a few minutes, breaking up only when another tech came to take Sasha back. Kisses to Sasha and my business done, I turned back to the desk to make sure they didn't need anything else, but no one was paying any attention to me, so I left.
It wasn't long before Dr. Sheri called to report on the results of Sasha's ultrasound (fine bladder stones, which while somewhat distressing, are not the point here). A couple of hours later, I walked back through the office door to rescue Sasha from a small cage and the indignities of having her stomach shaved. Three people were at the desk, two of whom I recognized, one of whom I could name, none of whom could name me. I walked up to the one closest to me. "Hi!" I'm much brighter at noon than I am at 7:30 inthemiddleofthenight, and really, who wouldn't look up when I walk in? Besides, I was wearing my high-heeled, black boots, which give me a certain level of sassiness, and I tend to command attention when I have them on.
To my great surprise, the office assistant did not even look up at me. She continued staring at her computer screen, and she let out a long sigh, the kind used to indicate that she was in battle with the computer and could not possibly turn away. Being who I am, I continued standing there and smiling, just daring her to make me say anything else. After thirty seconds (I counted), someone at the other end of the desk called to me "I can take you down here!" Hmmm. Well, I just didn't like that at all, but I needed to save my damsel in distress, so I moved down to the other end of the counter.
"How can I help you?" she smiled at me. Now, she was very pleasant, helpful even, and did nothing unfriendly in communicating with me. She was also the same receptionist with whom I had signed the paperwork and dropped off Sasha a few hours earlier. In the office where I have been going for thirteen years. Where I have spent thousands of dollars. And know my vet so well that I know her voice on the phone. Really? Quickly losing my sense of humor, I said I was there to pick up Sasha.
"Great," she responded. "What's your last name?" Again, really? You should not only recognize me, but know my name, my cat's name, and what brand cereal I eat. Nevertheless, I gave her my name and pulled out my credit card. But something on the screen caused her to pause, and she asked if I'd wait a moment while she went to make sure all the charges were in. Since there was only the one ultrasound, I'm not sure what charges she thought were missing, but sure, go ahead, and she scurried off to check this out.
As I waited, the first person I had greeted (but had not greeted me) came over. "I"m sorry," she said. "I was at still at lunch when you came in." This was approximately one minute earlier. Slightly Passive-Aggressive Tracy thought "If you were at lunch, perhaps you shouldn't have been taking a seat at the front desk and using one of the computers." But I smiled and said nothing. She asked if someone was now helping me, and I briefly explained the confirmation of the charges. Taking this as an opening, she began chatting with me about the weather and what she was doing over the holidays. I recognized this for an attempt to make better her abruptness at my entrance, which was appreciated, but didn't change anything.
The assistant with my credit card returned and indicated that all my charges were in. Not surprised, I signed the receipt and waited. They continued to chat with me a bit, until I finally asked "Is someone actually GETTING Sasha?" They agreed that, oh, yes, the technician was bringing her out, leaving me to wonder why they couldn't have led with that.
Finally, the queen was handed over to me. I greeted her with great enthusiasm, making sure she knew that I was there. I suspect that, had I been able to ask Sasha, she would have agreed that our customer experience that morning was not excellent, but at least I hadn't had my tummy shaved (look closely at this picture of her above, and you can see her bare stomach). Calling out a thank you (I called out a thank you; Sasha turned around in her carrier so I was looking at her behind), she and I took our leave.
Coincidentally, a friend of mine and I had just been having a conversation about the importance of great customer service. We both worked for an organization that places high priority on doing whatever is necessary to keep the customer happy. There are exceptions to that, of course, but we both have incredibly high standards for serving customers. She's currently managing an office in which she has to model and train staff of the significance of recognizing each customer and treating them better than they could be treated anywhere else. We agreed that this is not natural to everyone, but it makes a huge difference in getting and keeping customers (She calls it "faking it." At least, I think that's what she's referring to).
I love Sasha's vet, who does indeed treat her like she's the only cat in the world. I like the office, and I think most of the staff are pleasant and helpful. But I can't help but think there's a lot they could do to make someone like me, a long-time, loyal, and regular customer, feel a little more valued.
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