Creative Generalist

So, here’s what happened.  Since January we had been living in a little flat with a big problem – there was a flaw in the plumbing installed when the building was remodelled which meant that sewer gases could rise through the pipes and escape freely into the bathroom.  It smelled like a public toilet all the time.

We talked about it with the owner who told us it was a construction mistake and couldn’t be rectified.  Every time I spoke to her I mentioned the fact the we weren’t happy and that the smell was sometimes so bad you would put off peeing as long as you could just to avoid going in there.  Once, when the landlord visited, we talked to some of the neighbours who had the same problem.  The couple upstairs who had two bathrooms even told us that they couldn’t use one of theirs (the one directly above ours) because it smelled so bad.

We had a minimum years contract, but told the owner at the beginning of April that we would have to leave because of the smell and would be out by the end of the month.  We went and found another flat and moved all our stuff out.

The end of the month was this week, so we went over there to give her the keys back and officially sign off.  I had trusted she would do the right thing, but my partner had had suspicions all week that she wouldn’t play ball.  She was right.  She refused to give us our deposit (1 months rent) back because we were breaking the contract early.

Now, we had always tried to behave reasonably towards the owner.  We had tried to solve the problems ourselves.  We had poured countless Euros worth of bleaches and chemicals down the tubes.  We had even called a plumber at our own expense.  In the end, when we couldn’t stand it any more, we gave her plenty of notice and told her she could bring people to see the flat whenever she wanted so she wouldn’t have the flat empty for any extended period of time.  When we gave the flat back, we left it cleaner than when we first took the keys.

Given the circumstances, I trusted she would see that we had behaved reasonably all along and would choose to do so herself.  Unfortunately, she obviously saw it as a chance to make some easy money from our horrible experience.  All she could say was: “Do you need me to read the contract to you?”.  She had also bought her beefy policeman dad as backup.  This is a person who knew about the smell, who had deliberately covered it up with air-fresheners the day we saw the flat and who had personally heard from the neighbours that their equivalent bathroom was unusable.

When we first met her, she seemed like a very pleasant and reasonable woman.  I wondered at what point her greed had overcome any natural human kindness instinct she might have had.  Yes, she did have the contract on her side – there was no clause that said “The bathroom will not stink”; there wasn’t even a ‘fit for use’ type clause.  So I guess if it went to court she’d probably win.  But really, is that the point?  Shouldn’t any reasonable person see that the contract means nothing if you can’t live in the place because it smells so bad?  That morally, not legally, she had no right to keep our money?  I asked her how she would be able to sleep at night.  The dad got aggressive.

When we came out of the meeting, both my partner and I were emotionally knackered.  We are non-confrontational types and recognised that the half hour intense argument had taken its toll on both of us.  We sat on a bench for a while and nursed our wounds.  When I got home I asked Google why we should feel so tired after a ‘fight’.  Apparently it’s something to do with hormones.

The whole episode got me thinking about whether these types of fight are actually worth it in the long run; and small business owners will recognise that when every day is a never ending fight with suppliers, customers, salesmen, con-artists and everyone else who wants a piece of your business, the battle can be exhausting.

The problem in the short term is the immediate desire for moral victory – “It’s not about the money, it’s the principal”.  You hear it all the time.  The problem is that when you’re up against an army of cold-hearted, empty-headed opponents, getting them to see the just truth is a very unlikely outcome.  And even if you do, as a non-confrontational person the victory might cost you more than the prize is worth.  So should you let people walk all over you, just for an easy life?  What’s the right action – fight or flight?

After running a small company for almost 4 years and taking a lot of crap and giving a lot back, I’m starting to think that either I don’t have the right personality for it, or that I’ve got the wrong approach.  When you sell stuff to the general public (and I’m sure all merchants will agree), there is always a small percentage of ‘bad customers’.  And I mean bad in every way.  The have a chip on their shoulder from the very beginning, demand discounts and special treatment, point out mistakes in your webpage or sales literature, behave irrationally and expect you to comply with their whims and then inevitably, ask for their money back.

In our business, problems are mostly delivery related.  Maybe 2-3% of deliveries go wrong.  People don’t take the time to read the information on the website, fail to receive their order and then expect us to bear the cost or responsibility.  When the customer is calm, genuine and reasonable, I never hesitate in helping them out, even making a loss on their order just so that they’re happy.  When the customer is an arsehole, it costs a lot more.  You’re left with a stark choice:

1)  Argue with the customer, exchange 6-10 heated emails, all of which leave you a little drained, get a chargeback on your PayPal or credit card merchant account, write letter(s) to them explaining the situation, exchange more emails and/or phone calls, worry, possibly progress to legal action, possibly win financially/morally, possibly not.  Or,

2)  Give the customer their money back.  Forget about it.  Move on.

What about suppliers who deliver late and mess up your whole logistics schedule?  Do you argue, complain, explain that their mistakes have cost you time and money, ask for compensation, risk ruining a stable relationship?  All of this takes time and emotional investment.  And it’s constant.

I know what my choice is.  But does that mean that I’m letting people walk all over me when I should be standing up and fighting my corner?  And I’m not just talking about customers – these situations arise constantly in business and come from all angles.  Fights with suppliers about pricing or delivery errors, with employees about behaviour, with customers about service and payment – business is a battleground, and my feeling is that the winners are the ones that are up for the fight, the ones who are prepared to not let anyone stand in their way, the ruthless ones, the ones who don’t care too much about other people outcomes or feelings.  Ultimately it’s survival of the fittest and a competition for resources and not everyone can win.

Me, I don’t want to fight so much.  So is the conclusion that I’m no good as a businessman?  Maybe.  No doubt that a more aggressive, less sensitive personality would serve me well in this particular domain.  But to be honest, I’m not that person and don’t want to be either.  I’m not prepared to force a change of personality just to get on in business.  Maybe I’ll learn to be more selective, to pick my fights better.  Maybe I’ll get naturally better at confrontation and negotiation.  Maybe I’ll find way to get others (professionals) to fight the bulk of my fights for me.  Maybe I’ll get comfortable with selectively letting people ‘get their way’ in pursuit of peace.  Maybe I’ll find a less conflictive business.

Maybe the hard edge of business is just for a different type of person though – and that’s a thought that troubles me.

We often think of our small businesses as growing and developing gradually and consistently.  We look at typical business indicators, such as revenue and profit curves, customer metrics or website hits and what we see resembles a car journey.  Sometimes it’s a motorway, and progress it fast.  Sometimes its a windy country lane and progress it erratic, at times rapidly accelerating, at times braking hard.  Sometimes you’re stuck in a dead end and just have to reverse.  And sometimes you’re just parked.  But it always looks like the same journey in the same car.

In the software industry, development traditionally takes the form of major and minor releases of applications.  Version 1 comes out – it’s not perfect, but it’s usable.  Bit by bit, the developers nail down the bugs and the functionality glitches, gradually releasing updates and patches – Version 1.1, 1.2, 1.3 etc.  By 1.6, it’s a perfect app – it does exactly what it’s supposed to do with no bugs.

But any good software company doesn’t stop there.  In fact, the minute Version 1 came out, they were probably already thinking “Hey, this app does x, but wouldn’t it be good if it did y and z too”.  So a year or two after Version 1 came out, they release Version 2.  It does more, it does it slicker, it does it bigger and it does it better.  It’s not compatible with Version 1.  You might even have to buy it again if you bought Version 1.  It’s not an upgrade, it’s fundamentally different.

Look at how we’ve come to think of and call the current phase of the internet ‘Web 2.0′.  It’s not just a geek thing either.  In our hearts and minds we know something has changed in Web 2.0.  Perhaps, if you’re not a techie, it’s hard to put your finger on.  But back in 1999, in Web 1.0, your grandma wasn’t keeping up with your shenanigans on social networks was she?  Most of the software you used was on your operating system, not through your web browser, wasn’t it?  Web 2.0 is different from Web  1.0 in many, many ways.  But the key is that they add up to a step change.  A fundamental shift in the way we use and perceive the internet and the way it shapes society.

Now what if we were to think of our businesses this way?  What if we went from major version to major version rather than just notching up an endless string of minor versions? What if your business was ‘Your Business 3.4′, rather than ‘Your Business 1.87′?

In fact, such a conceptualisation is incredibly empowering.  Thinking of your business as a serious of ‘major version releases’, each of which is fundamentally separated from the previous version by a step change, can only motivate you to push forward to the next iteration.  And in my eyes, step changes are not (or at least they don’t have to be) sharp jumps in metrics like sales or profits.  New major versions are triggered by changes that are fundamental to what your business really is, what it represents, what it offers, how it operates and what it brings to or takes from your life and that of others that are involved in it.

I’m not going to go into details here of of my own business (that’s for another post), but just as an example, we went to ‘Our Company 2.0′ to ‘Our Company 3.0′ the day we first stopped doing the physical warehouse work ourselves and moved to a contracted-out logistics solution.  This was a fundamental change for us – it changed the way the company operated, it changed what we could offer, it changed what we did on a day-to-day basis and it changed how we thought about our company and its prospects.

Major versioning is not all about the past though.  Of course, with the help of hindsight, you might look back and easily determine where your major versions were, and if they were positive, or even planned.  But really, major versions are all about the future, about where you’re going.  Don’t ask yourself where you see your business in 5 years – who knows what shape the world will be in in 5 years.  Better to visualise the next major version of your business – what it will look like, what will be fundamentally different about it, how it will change your life and the lives of others.  Does it excite you?  If it doesn’t, you’re jaded.

So why not get started ‘major versioning’ your businesses.  Look back to the past and then look towards the future.  Ask yourself the following questions:

• Starting back from My Business 1.0, how many major versions have there been?
• What major version am I at now?
• What were the characteristics of each major version?
• What will the next major version look like?  How will it be characterised?  How will it be fundamentally different?
• When will the next major version be?
• How many more major versions will there be?  Does the project have a ‘final version’?

Time, in business, is money. If, like me, you run a low-margin e-commerce business and allow customers to place orders over the phone, you might seriously question whether the cost of employee time spent on taking phone orders is actually compensated by the profits those orders generate, especially when most customer calls seem to go a little something like this…

J (Me): “Good morning, how can I help?”

(The voice on the other end is quiet, wheezy, crackly and nervous – a gentleman of advancing years who may have already had two gin-and-tonics by 11am.)

C(ustomer): “Is that the sausage people?”  

J: “Um, yes, we do sell sausages. How can I help you?”  

C: “Excuse me?”  

J: “How can I help you?”  

C: “Meat stew?”  

J: “HOW CAN I HELP YOU?”  

C: “Oh yes, my wife was on your pages thing last night and she’s asked me to call you to order one of your chorizos ‘cos it’s always quicker to speak to someone isn’t it?.”  

J: “We have 12 different types of chorizos, did she say which one?”  

C: “Say what?”  

J: “Which chorizo, we have 12.”  

C: “Ooh, dunno, better ask ‘er. Give us a second. (A deafening scream causes you to wrench the phone away from your ear). BAAARRRBBARRRAAAAH. BARRRRRRRBBBBSSSSSS. BAARRRRBBBBIE. (A quiet female voice in the distance responds). WHAT BLOODY SAUSAGE DID YOU WANT – THE BLOKE SAYS THEY’VE GOT TWELVE. (Barbara responds). She says it’s the big red one.”  

J: “They’re all big and red I’m afraid.”  

C: “What?”  

J: “That doesn’t help much, I’m going to need more details.”

(Barbara, clearly irate, forces her husband off the phone and takes over.)

C: “Look here. I don’t want any trouble. My son-in-law’s brother’s wife had them on holiday in the Canaries last year and she loved them. You should know which ones I’m talking about.”  

J: “Yes, sorry about that, do you think they might be the small cooking chorizos?”  

C: “Yes, those are the ones.”  

J: “OK. That’s fine. How many do you want?”

(Barbara has passed back to husband.)

C: “Who?”  

J: “How many packs of the chorizo do you want?”  

C: “Yes, chorizo, that’s what she said.”  

J: “HOW MANY?”  

C: “BAAAAARRRRRRRRRBBBBSSS. How many do want? (Barbs’ voice is heard in the background). Enough for 4 people.”  

J: “Well, it depends on whether you’re serving it as a starter or main course. It could be one or two packs.”  

C: “Oh god no, we only want one pack.”  

J: “OK, anything else?”

(Silence on the other end of the line. After 1 or 2 minutes waiting, it is clear that the call has been cut off. After 5 minutes, the customer calls back.)

J: “Hello, how can I help?”  

C: “Who’s that?”  

J: “This is Jonathan – you were talking to me 5 minutes ago.”  

C: “No, I was speaking to a nice young lady.”  

J: “No, you were speaking to me. Would you like to order anything else other than the chorizo?”  

C: “No.”  

J: “OK, that will be £2.99 plus £5.99 delivery.”  

C: “Oh dear. That’s terribly expensive. Can you not deliver it for free?”  

J: “I’m afraid you order is for only £2.99. We couldn’t possibly deliver it for free.”  

C: “Can I get a discount then?”  

J: “No.”  

C: “OK – let’s go ahead.”  

J: “OK – I just need to take your details. Can I have your name please?”  

C: “It’s J F W G Flanarghloughsly-Weinhartstatten”  

J: “Could you spell that?”  

C: “Spelt as said – with a double ‘t’.”  

J: “Sorry, I’m going to need you to spell it.”  

C: “What?”  

J: “Please spell it.”  

C: (Through a crackly line, customer painstakingly spells his name, whilst coughing and spluttering. He forgets where he is and starts over 3 times.)  

J: “Thank you. And your address?”  

C: “It’s in Pontllanfraith near Ystrad Mynach.”  

J: (i resist the strong temptation to gauge my eye out with a biro). “I’m going to need you to spell it please.”  

C: (Another 15 minutes of l’s and y’s, coughing and faults on the line.)  

J: “Thank you. How would you like to pay?”  

C: “Thank you. See you soon.”  

J: “No, I’m going to need you to pay for the order.”  

C: “Right, of course, let me go and get my wallet.”

(I listen to every painful wheeze as the customer retrieves his wallet from the third floor of his mansion and returns to the phone.)

J: “Can I take the card number?”  

C: “Oh the numbers are so damn small, I’m going to need my glasses. Can you just wait a minute.”

(Customer returns, painfully, to the third floor to retrieve his glasses. Ten minutes later he is back on the phone.)

J: “OK, what were those numbers?”  

C: “57 (break and crackle on the line) 743 (crackle) 4 (break) 45 (crackle)”  

J: “I’m sorry. I didn’t get that. Can we try again?”

(After 4 attempts and 15 minutes, I manage to take down all the card details)

J: “I’m sorry, that card has been rejected.”  

C: “That’s impossible, there’s plenty of money in that account. We’re seriously wealthy you know.”  

J: “I’m sure there is, but the bank has rejected it.”  

C: “Oh silly me. There are two cards stuck together here and I’ve given you the security code from another card.”  

J: “OK, so can you give me the correct security code.”  

C: “Damn, these numbers are so small. I’m going to need my other glasses.”

(15 minutes, 3 flights of stairs, wheezing and coughing)

C: “Right, let’s see. Oh bloody hell, they’ve been rubbed off. I can’t read them. This is too much bloody trouble. Can I send you a postal order?”  

J: “No, we stopped accepting them in 1984.”  

C: “What about a cheque?”  

J: “1998”  

C: “Well we’ll just have to leave it then I’m afraid. Your service is disgraceful. Good bye.”

If cultural observation is one of my favourite sports, then there is no better arena than the dining table. 

Travellers' tales are full of eating-related anecdotes. How many times have you heard the story about the visitor who offended his or her host by burping, or not burping, by putting his or her elbows on the table, by arranging cutlery in a cross rather than parallel - the list goes on and the potential pitfalls for the culturally ignorant diner are numerous. 

Eating in Spain, as you can imagine, is steeped in tradition, culture, habit and simple everyday repetition. Even so, the possibilities for causing offence are probably less prominent here in Spain than in other, more sensitive, cultures (unless you should dare start eating before everyone has their food - that's a big faux pas). 

So, rather than an etiquette guide, this is more like a list of observations of the Spanish in their natural habitat - enjoying a good meal with friends and family. They are small, mostly completely insignificant details - points I've picked up on over the years as an Englishman living in Spain. If you're sensitive to national stereotyping and stuff like that, perhaps don't read on - this is lighthearted stuff, meant for a laugh and a bit of discussion. Nothing more.

Read more