Archive for the ‘customer service’ Category


always feels magical when you walk around the room [while teaching this practice] & see everyone bent over their paper, quietly writing. there’s a reason you can help this happen.

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happy to take time to post Glimmers after writing yesterday. continue to feel that’s well worth the time & of service to whoever might find them.

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do not take any of this personally, dear one. all you can do is give them the best product possible.

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she was trying very hard to be helpful. very good, clear example of how annoying that can be!

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“Helping others doesn’t help you.” thinking that means selfishness, but helping others = avoiding us/being our own ‘worthy cause.’

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stop blaming and start enjoying. your being relaxed will help everyone.

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My financial situation continues to be dire, even with help from my family. One day I had a mental image of myself crawling across the desert with my arms outstretched toward an elusive money-laden mirage.

So you can imagine that putting a budget together for this month wasn’t something I was anticipating with joy. Quite the opposite: I knew it was going to be totally depressing. I’d been on the phone for hours the day before and had been able to negotiate some good financial outcomes. But not in all cases, and I’d just found that somehow I was missing $200 in what’s left of my checking account.

I kept putting off doing a budget or spending plan and instead let fear take over. Yesterday I said aloud — the dogs are always a receptive audience — “This is squirrel-cage behavior.” So I did an alternate handwriting session.

Remember how my alternate hand/right brain told me about being ok right this minute (see previous post) and how I thought it was almost predicting the future? Well, it happened again. My dominant hand manically described my money situation: “Since I don’t have enough (well, I know: so far I don’t and no, I still haven’t done a spending plan, but I’m pretty sure I don’t)…”

My alternate hand cut to the chase and simply wrote: do spending plan knowing Loving Kindness will help. I waited, thinking it would write more, but that was all I got. So I sighed and pulled out my Spending Plan notebook.

About a half hour later I wrote, “Huh. I keep thinking I’m forgetting something, but going over numbers several times (natch), it looks like I’ll have enough and $200 extra. Even paying that extra bill. Huh.”

It was true. And I’d recalculated that my checking account was short $80, not $200. I still had a cushion. I couldn’t believe it.

AH wrote, never good to come from fear. Then it listed all of the successes I’d had on the phone the day before and congratulated me for each one. It wrote: you earned all of this by being politely tenacious & patient & deserve to feel proud. just remember we’re not in control. doesn’t mean we don’t have to try, do our best. doesn’t mean we can’t celebrate/don’t earn successes. we can & do!

I celebrated by going to the bank and making my house payments. Then I took a nap. Then I fixed myself a healthy meal and toasted myself with a nice glass of wine.

Today I got a call from the wine-tasting company. They insisted that they wanted to make an immediate deposit into my checking account. ($60, not $80, but I’m not quibbling.)


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While I was writing about Sixteen Tons I flashed on the old Hipp’s Bubble Room in San Antonio. Gone but not forgotten, now a parking lot. It was so small I think they got about 8 parking spaces. Talk about paving paradise.

Each booth had a table-top juke box and I played Sixteen Tons every time I sat down. Cattle Call was also popular with the clientele, as was anything by Patsy Cline or Aretha Franklin. Miss Kitty, the waitress with the eyebrows like Spock’s, once told me sternly to put my shoes on. I immediately complied and slipped back into my Dr. Scholls. You didn’t mess with Miss Kitty.

Hipps was named for its bubble lights, the original ones from the ’40s. No one else still had them. They also had a decorated Christmas tree up in a corner year-round and a Lionel train that ran along a track above the bar. Their ice cold mugs of gimme draw beer were worth the trip, but their specialty was a huge garlic steak. Miss Kitty would haul out the platter of the still-steaming meat, then prop open the front door to let in some fresh air.

It was a wonderful, funky little restaurant, a safe place for young women to hang out and not get hit on. No funny business tolerated by you-know-who. There were men in business suits alongside cowboys, hippies and guys who’d obviously left their hard hats in their trucks. Women wore outrageously short skirts and shorts or matronly dresses and pant suits. You could carry on a conversation in a normal tone of voice.

I loved their shy polk eggs, corn tortillas topped with mozzarella and cheddar cheeses melted into the shape of a fried egg. There was a jalapeno hidden under the cheddar. I’ve never seen them anywhere else.

I’ve never seen a place like the Bubble Room anywhere else, either. Completely unpretentious, comfortable with its eccentricities and steadily providing outstanding service. Worthy attributes  for any enterprise, don’t you think?

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