The day the editor drove to an angry customer’s house
It was one of those Mondays.
I was frustrated. I could list dozens of reasons, but what’s the point? As I learned long ago, “The world doesn’t care about labor pains. It only wants to see the baby.”
In the midst of this, well, laborious day, I got a voice message from a man angry about a newspaper delivery issue. Honestly, I didn’t have time to deal with it; besides, it was a circulation matter. Not my job, right?
But something about the man’s voice … well, on this particular day, it reminded me of me.
“You need to get over here and take care of this because if I keep feeling unhappy, I’m going to take other measures,” he said, a familiar level of exasperation in his voice. “And you don’t want to deal with me if I’m unhappy.”
“I know the feeling,” I grumbled, while listening to his 2 minute, 45-second message.
As editor of the newspaper, I occasionally get calls about things I don’t control — circulation, billing, advertising and right down the line. I can understand the confusion, and the frustration. But we have other people who control those things. Their job, right?
“And I would APPRECIATE a call back!” the man said at the end of his message, with the real-world weariness of a man who absolutely did not expect to get a call back.
For whatever reason, I decided if he was having such a bad day, and I was also having a bad day, maybe we had more in common than either of us thought.
So I called him back. He told me about his delivery problem. And, for reasons that escape me to this very moment, I said “Give me your address and I’ll be right over.”
(Note: I am not being specific about the delivery problem because I don’t want you thinking you can call me and I’ll run right over to fix it. I won’t. I can’t. I’m too busy. It’s not my job. OK, except this one time.)
Still on the phone with the guy, I drove toward his house. The man — self-described as “old” — gave me a running list of everything wrong with the country today. Computers. Cell phones. The fact businesses won’t take cash money and you have to sign up with a credit card. The way people don’t call you back, won’t listen to their customers and won’t stand behind their products, like back in the days when Chico had seven locally owned hardware stores.
“This country lost a lot as fewer and fewer people started coming from family farms,” he continued. “If you grew up on a family farm, you learned a good work ethic and you kept your word.”
“Fifth-generation sheep farmer,” I said proudly.
“I’ll be there in 5 minutes.”
I don’t think he believed me. But when I pulled up, he was standing in his driveway, seemingly getting a good-sized kick out of the fact the editor of the newspaper had driven to his house just because he’d called with a complaint.
He was eager to talk. Usually, this is where my “I have to go, I have things to do besides stand here and listen” habit kicks in. For a change, I decided to stand there and listen.
The man showed me his trees, his plants and especially some irises. I told him the story of digging up some irises that had been on my family’s ranch for more than 100 years and planting them at our home. His irises were stunningly bigger than mine.
I thought, “I can’t wait to get home and tell my wife about the huge irises I saw today.” Earlier in the day, it was more like “I can’t wait to get home and tell my wife what a lousy day I had.” Plants are good that way, and thus, probably nobody was happier that I’d stopped to look at those irises than my wife.
We talked for a few more minutes. I told him I’d do what I could to keep his delivery problem fixed in the future and if he had any more issues, he (and only he) was welcome to give me a call. We also marveled at how much more quickly problems can be solved when people speak with one another.
And he told me “You’re free to call us back and come visit once this virus thing is finally gone. We’ve got some artwork here that might make a nice story. Call us and come back any time.”
I promised him I would. After all, that’s my job.