Frock sales at the old Bridal Barn have slowed down considerably. We're in that season in between seasons. The majority of the brides getting married this summer or fall have already purchased their gowns and those with 2010 dates aren't quite ready to buy. We are working on the "pebbles and sand" sales as my boss likes to call them. You know, those little sales that are suppose to add up, i.e. veils, slips, shoes, bustiers and tiaras. Tiaras. Now there's a purchase every girl needs to make. Matter of a fact, we should bring the tiara back and just wear them around town with our street clothes. Wouldn't that make us all feel like princesses? Personally, I think my head was made for a tiara. Ask any of my five brothers and I'm sure they would agree.
In an effort to boost sales for the meager number of brides-to-be that do walk through our doors, I thought I'd do some research on what makes people, i.e. women, buy.
My boss advised me to always ask three personal questions about themselves. I do!
1. What kind of work do you do? (Gives me ideas about my own possible career change and network in the process.)
2. Where did you meet your fiance? (Gives me some ideas about where to meet men in this town!)
3. Where are you going on your honeymoon? (Also, gives me some ideas about where to plan my next vacation when I find myself, yet again, between jobs and needing to "get away from it all.")
During my internet search on marketing to women I found dozens of books available on the subject, but none that would just give me the answers I was looking for with a few clicks of my fingers. I'd have to actually march down to the book store and peruse the aisles and do the research. I just really don't have that kind of time. I keep searching.
I find out realtors use tricks like the smell of home baked cookies, a coat of fresh paint, and bouquets of flowers to make a home feel warm and cozy and a potential buyer eager to make an offer. The scent most appealing to men is, apparently, vanilla, so you'll find a hint of vanilla fragrance in many perfumes and lotions on the market today.
I learn some of the most marketable gifts for Valentine's Day are champagne, chocolate and flowers. Unfortunately, we don't have a liquor license down at the Frock Shop, but the other two are options. So last Saturday on my way to work, I picked up a bouquet of soft pink tulips (there is some positive mumbo jumbo with the color pink, but I can't remember now what it is) and chocolates (dark chocolate - it's a health food nowadays) placed in a pretty candy dish my mother left me.
What was the outcome? Well, within my last four days at work I sold one wedding gown, one pair of shoes, the flowers are now wilted and the chocolates are gone.
I read somewhere that techniques such as building trust and rapport, telling personal, yet positive stories, and creating a connection might also work. Sure, they'll work. Over a glass of champagne.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
And Justice Prevails
My neighborhood Cat Burglar was nabbed this past weekend and that just warms my heart. Apparently, Mr. CB, barely missing a beat after my confrontation with him, continued his life of crime just blocks away. After two failed attempts, he was picked up and arrested by police on Saturday.
I received a call from the police on Sunday, letting me know they thought they'd captured my guy. On Monday, two detectives came to my office to show me a serious of pictures and take my statement.
I was a little concerned about picking this guy out of a lineup. I didn't really get a very good look at his face. He kept his back to me and his head down. In the past, I've always said I'd be crap at picking a guy out of a lineup. I never even seem to be able to recognize famous people, whether they are local celebrities, politicians or Hollywood starlets. I went to the Sundance Film Festival one year and my friends had to keep pointing out the movie stars. If I did see someone who appeared "Hollywoodesque", I'd ask "is that someone?"
So I wasn't real confident that my identification abilities would do much good. Unless they had a good shot of his hairdo, I'd be screwed.
Also, I didn't figure they'd have five guys who look totally different, i.e. a redhead, a blond, a bearded fella, a 400lb dude and my CB, making is easy for me to choose. As I suspected, the detectives showed up with six photos of clean shaven, dark haired fellas. However, only two had that thick, dark, curly hair and luckily one of those two had the jawline of the guy I had pinned to my front door. I actually picked the right guy! How excited was I when the officers told me that was, in fact, Mr. Cat Burglar.
As I suspected, my laptop is probably long gone. Having been swapped for some quick cash, it has probably changed hands twenty times by now. Minor detail, really. Justice prevails and Mr. CB will spend some time in the "big house" and in some wee way, I feel like I helped put him there.
I received a call from the police on Sunday, letting me know they thought they'd captured my guy. On Monday, two detectives came to my office to show me a serious of pictures and take my statement.
I was a little concerned about picking this guy out of a lineup. I didn't really get a very good look at his face. He kept his back to me and his head down. In the past, I've always said I'd be crap at picking a guy out of a lineup. I never even seem to be able to recognize famous people, whether they are local celebrities, politicians or Hollywood starlets. I went to the Sundance Film Festival one year and my friends had to keep pointing out the movie stars. If I did see someone who appeared "Hollywoodesque", I'd ask "is that someone?"
So I wasn't real confident that my identification abilities would do much good. Unless they had a good shot of his hairdo, I'd be screwed.
Also, I didn't figure they'd have five guys who look totally different, i.e. a redhead, a blond, a bearded fella, a 400lb dude and my CB, making is easy for me to choose. As I suspected, the detectives showed up with six photos of clean shaven, dark haired fellas. However, only two had that thick, dark, curly hair and luckily one of those two had the jawline of the guy I had pinned to my front door. I actually picked the right guy! How excited was I when the officers told me that was, in fact, Mr. Cat Burglar.
As I suspected, my laptop is probably long gone. Having been swapped for some quick cash, it has probably changed hands twenty times by now. Minor detail, really. Justice prevails and Mr. CB will spend some time in the "big house" and in some wee way, I feel like I helped put him there.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Sleepless In Seattle
Three years ago, when I found my Seattle apartment, I was so excited because I had a great view of the Space Needle and downtown, and even a bit of the sound from my balcony. It's on the third floor, which is actually four stories up since my building starts with 'G', rather than 1. As a single woman living alone, I was specifically seeking something off the ground floor. Something that felt safe and secure.
My building is a security building, the locks on my doors are substantial, my windows double pane, and my neighbors generally watchful. I've always felt safe. Naturally, I'd leave my windows and balcony slider door open during the nice weather. Who would shimmy up four stories to climb into my apartment? You can see the balconies from the street. For three years I barely gave it a second thought. I'd leave for days with my slider unlocked.
However, that over confident feeling of safety finally caught up with me when last Friday morning at 7.30 I was greeted by a real live "Cat Burglar" in my apartment. I had gotten up, gone to the bathroom (with the door wide open as single people who live alone do) and walked out to my living room to find, squatting next to my television, a man dressed in black. I could only make out his silhouette, not his facial features. It wasn't quite bright enough yet.
Flabbergasted and baffled at first I began asking questions, "What the hell?" "What's going on here?" "What are you doing?" Mr. Cat Burglar was silent and unmoving. I then very firmly and steadily said "GET OUT" enunciating the T's. And then more urgently "Getout! Getout!" Attempting to comply with my request, he slowly stood and turned toward the balcony carrying something in his arms. That's when I lost all sense of reason and began shouting "hey, wait, what do you have? What are you taking?" and chased him out onto my balcony hitting him, screaming, pushing him against the railing and trying to grab the item (which turned out to be my laptop). I continued this madness trying to convince him to drop it, asking him what else he had and swearing at him with a mouth like a sailor. I was basically having this complete conversation by myself as Mr. CB was not speaking to me.
He began to climb over my balcony rail onto my neighbor's, but realized this would pose a problem. He could not retreat the way he came with his arms full of my possessions. He backed out and blocked me rushing back into my apartment. I continued to charge him. For one split second we both stopped short. I was suddenly aware of my vulnerability standing there in my flimsy bathrobe and wondered if he'd pull a gun. He, apparently, realized his predicament of being somewhat trapped in this wild woman's apartment. His goals were to keep his face hidden, his hands on the loot and get out unscathed. He ran for the door and I charged after him continuing my kicking, hitting and screaming routine yelling for him to get out, but not exactly making it easy for him to do so. I still wanted my laptop and whatever else he had taken.
Mr. CB was trapped against my door trying to fumble with the multiple lock system. It was at this point I was considering grabbing his curly dark hair and ramming his head against the door. But something inside me finally snapped. I suddenly became aware of this fella's size, strength and ability. He did, after all, climb up the side of my building. I can't even do a chin up.
Once he managed to get out of my apartment I chased him down the hall and yelled for help. My neighbor from downstairs ran up and asked if I was okay. Said she was going to call the police, but thought I was having a fight with my boyfriend. Of course she'd think that, at no point was I yelling "Help!" or "Police!" I considered this early morning, it's not like I had my wits about me.
Upon telling my little tale to others, everyone has some suggestion about what they would have done if this had happened to them. Is this suppose to make me feel better? "I would have gotten a knife!" one said. Yeah, I've got time to go to my kitchen and fish around my drawers for the one sharpish knife I own.
"I would have kneed him in the balls," was another. Mr. CB made sure his back was to me at all times. Besides, I've heard that doesn't really work because he'd be facing me and have all the control.
"You should have kicked him with your heel on the top of his foot," insisted another. Ummm....please be reminded that I was barefoot and he was wearing heavy duty climbing shoes. Even as I considered how I could hurt him, I realized my current half naked state didn't provide me with a lot of ammunition. Which is why I had to just get him out of there before he decided to hurt me instead. He'd gotten away with my laptop and wallet. Could have been much worse.
Afterwards, a policeman came, then his lieutenant came, then the burglary squad came. Fingerprints were lifted (probably mine), photos taken and statements made. On Monday a follow up policewoman came out to talk about safety tips and commended me for my efforts. Later her sergeant called and sent an email regarding the mess the fingerprint dust made on my carpet. By this point, I was expecting the Mayor himself to pay me a visit.
There has been a rash of similar burglaries in my neighborhood lately. Hopefully they'll catch the guy. Although I never saw his whole face, I definitely would recognize that hairdo of luscious curls and am keeping my eyes peeled.
In the meantime, I'm keeping my slider locked like a good girl, and I still feel pretty safe overall. Just needed to be reminded that this is, in fact, a city and I need to treat it as such.
My building is a security building, the locks on my doors are substantial, my windows double pane, and my neighbors generally watchful. I've always felt safe. Naturally, I'd leave my windows and balcony slider door open during the nice weather. Who would shimmy up four stories to climb into my apartment? You can see the balconies from the street. For three years I barely gave it a second thought. I'd leave for days with my slider unlocked.
However, that over confident feeling of safety finally caught up with me when last Friday morning at 7.30 I was greeted by a real live "Cat Burglar" in my apartment. I had gotten up, gone to the bathroom (with the door wide open as single people who live alone do) and walked out to my living room to find, squatting next to my television, a man dressed in black. I could only make out his silhouette, not his facial features. It wasn't quite bright enough yet.
Flabbergasted and baffled at first I began asking questions, "What the hell?" "What's going on here?" "What are you doing?" Mr. Cat Burglar was silent and unmoving. I then very firmly and steadily said "GET OUT" enunciating the T's. And then more urgently "Getout! Getout!" Attempting to comply with my request, he slowly stood and turned toward the balcony carrying something in his arms. That's when I lost all sense of reason and began shouting "hey, wait, what do you have? What are you taking?" and chased him out onto my balcony hitting him, screaming, pushing him against the railing and trying to grab the item (which turned out to be my laptop). I continued this madness trying to convince him to drop it, asking him what else he had and swearing at him with a mouth like a sailor. I was basically having this complete conversation by myself as Mr. CB was not speaking to me.
He began to climb over my balcony rail onto my neighbor's, but realized this would pose a problem. He could not retreat the way he came with his arms full of my possessions. He backed out and blocked me rushing back into my apartment. I continued to charge him. For one split second we both stopped short. I was suddenly aware of my vulnerability standing there in my flimsy bathrobe and wondered if he'd pull a gun. He, apparently, realized his predicament of being somewhat trapped in this wild woman's apartment. His goals were to keep his face hidden, his hands on the loot and get out unscathed. He ran for the door and I charged after him continuing my kicking, hitting and screaming routine yelling for him to get out, but not exactly making it easy for him to do so. I still wanted my laptop and whatever else he had taken.
Mr. CB was trapped against my door trying to fumble with the multiple lock system. It was at this point I was considering grabbing his curly dark hair and ramming his head against the door. But something inside me finally snapped. I suddenly became aware of this fella's size, strength and ability. He did, after all, climb up the side of my building. I can't even do a chin up.
Once he managed to get out of my apartment I chased him down the hall and yelled for help. My neighbor from downstairs ran up and asked if I was okay. Said she was going to call the police, but thought I was having a fight with my boyfriend. Of course she'd think that, at no point was I yelling "Help!" or "Police!" I considered this early morning, it's not like I had my wits about me.
Upon telling my little tale to others, everyone has some suggestion about what they would have done if this had happened to them. Is this suppose to make me feel better? "I would have gotten a knife!" one said. Yeah, I've got time to go to my kitchen and fish around my drawers for the one sharpish knife I own.
"I would have kneed him in the balls," was another. Mr. CB made sure his back was to me at all times. Besides, I've heard that doesn't really work because he'd be facing me and have all the control.
"You should have kicked him with your heel on the top of his foot," insisted another. Ummm....please be reminded that I was barefoot and he was wearing heavy duty climbing shoes. Even as I considered how I could hurt him, I realized my current half naked state didn't provide me with a lot of ammunition. Which is why I had to just get him out of there before he decided to hurt me instead. He'd gotten away with my laptop and wallet. Could have been much worse.
Afterwards, a policeman came, then his lieutenant came, then the burglary squad came. Fingerprints were lifted (probably mine), photos taken and statements made. On Monday a follow up policewoman came out to talk about safety tips and commended me for my efforts. Later her sergeant called and sent an email regarding the mess the fingerprint dust made on my carpet. By this point, I was expecting the Mayor himself to pay me a visit.
There has been a rash of similar burglaries in my neighborhood lately. Hopefully they'll catch the guy. Although I never saw his whole face, I definitely would recognize that hairdo of luscious curls and am keeping my eyes peeled.
In the meantime, I'm keeping my slider locked like a good girl, and I still feel pretty safe overall. Just needed to be reminded that this is, in fact, a city and I need to treat it as such.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Text Me When You've Googled Him
Upon scrutiny of my last T-Mobile bill, I decided it might serve me to step into the 21st century and pay for the text message service. I was resisting previously because I didn't want to add any more money to my bill. I had 1000 calling minutes with free nights and weekends for $39.99 (make that $49.99 with tax, fees, tips, excess unknown charges etc.). Still, fifty bones I was willing to pay. But when my last bill came in at nearly $70 I sat down to take a closer look.
Because others not only have text message service, but also use it almost exclusively, I was automatically drawn into this little web of communication. I would regularly tell friends "I don't use text" explaining that, yes, while I do recognize the benefits and convenience of using text messaging (I lived in Europe for 3 1/2 years, remember? That's ALL anyone does there.) I don't want to pay anything extra for it. I get tired of everyone telling me how things only cost an extra few dollars for this or that. All those 'extras' add up.
Regardless of me advising friends and family that I don't use text messaging, new people would inevitably send me messages via text. I am not controlled or stubborn enough to ignore these messages, so I'd open them and read them at 25 cents a pop. And then I'd respond! Another 25 cents. It doesn't take long to rack up an additional "few dollars" with just a small exchange with one or two people.
I marched myself downtown to visit the folks at T-Mobile to find out 1. how to stop these text messages from even coming across my path or 2. how much it costs to join the band wagon.
Needless to say, it turned out to be cheaper to join the band wagon. So now, for approximately $55.00 per month (yes, only $5.00 more) I have 400 or so opportunities to send and/or receive a text message.
Fine. I'll enter the world of text messaging communication. No problem. But I still refuse to use the word 'text' as a verb, i.e. "he keeps texting me," "I texted him yesterday," or "Text him and tell him we're on our way." The actual verb is "SEND", people. As in, "he keeps sending me text messages," "I sent him a text yesterday," and "Send him a text and tell him we're on our way."
"Google" is currently listed in the dictionary as both noun and verb. At this time, text is still just a noun. I realize this is soon to change, but I'm fighting it tooth and nail.
Because others not only have text message service, but also use it almost exclusively, I was automatically drawn into this little web of communication. I would regularly tell friends "I don't use text" explaining that, yes, while I do recognize the benefits and convenience of using text messaging (I lived in Europe for 3 1/2 years, remember? That's ALL anyone does there.) I don't want to pay anything extra for it. I get tired of everyone telling me how things only cost an extra few dollars for this or that. All those 'extras' add up.
Regardless of me advising friends and family that I don't use text messaging, new people would inevitably send me messages via text. I am not controlled or stubborn enough to ignore these messages, so I'd open them and read them at 25 cents a pop. And then I'd respond! Another 25 cents. It doesn't take long to rack up an additional "few dollars" with just a small exchange with one or two people.
I marched myself downtown to visit the folks at T-Mobile to find out 1. how to stop these text messages from even coming across my path or 2. how much it costs to join the band wagon.
Needless to say, it turned out to be cheaper to join the band wagon. So now, for approximately $55.00 per month (yes, only $5.00 more) I have 400 or so opportunities to send and/or receive a text message.
Fine. I'll enter the world of text messaging communication. No problem. But I still refuse to use the word 'text' as a verb, i.e. "he keeps texting me," "I texted him yesterday," or "Text him and tell him we're on our way." The actual verb is "SEND", people. As in, "he keeps sending me text messages," "I sent him a text yesterday," and "Send him a text and tell him we're on our way."
"Google" is currently listed in the dictionary as both noun and verb. At this time, text is still just a noun. I realize this is soon to change, but I'm fighting it tooth and nail.
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