Everyone's a Creative

During a recent and sudden storm that blew through the neighborhood in a matter of minutes, a trash can was blown over on the side of the house. It fell in just the perfect way that it sheared off an outdoor spigot at the wall, so water was gushing all over the place. I shut off the main and went about searching for a plumber. Now sure, I probably could've fixed this myself. Eventually. I'm not above a little home repair and enjoy learning new things, but when you don't have water and you can't flush toilets or take a shower and it's 95 degrees outside, time is sort of against you if you're going to make a few runs to Home Depot in between checking forums and boards on how to fix this thing you've never tried to fix before. My trusty iPhone was fairly useless in finding a plumber but I'd long ago trashed all my Yellow Pages, certain they were bulky relics of another era, like encyclopedias. iPhone's first recommendation was very near to me, but they were new construction plumbers exclusively and wondered how I'd even found them. They recommended someone else. I called that recommendation who long ago got out of the plumbing business but recommended someone else. Turned out third time's the charm and they could fix this thing. "So the hose bib broke off?" asked the dispatcher. Uncertain of what a "hose bib" was, I pretended to know and said, "Yes."

Soon after, a large man with flowing white hair and a huge, matching beard appeared in a white van. Sort of a Santa Claus plumber, and I'm sure he gets some part-time gigs around the Holidays. He was the rare type of contractor who doesn't mind the homeowner looking over his shoulder as he explains what he does. Usually that will piss a guy off, but Santa was in a jolly mood. He said he could fix this thing with ease and he rummaged through his van for a long time. It wasn't long before I was starting to think, "This dick is trying to milk this job, taking way longer than he needs to for a simple 'hose bib.'"

He eventually explained, "I could've put a simple hose bib on there down where it broke off, but then you'd be thinking, 'That guy charged me for an hour and he hardly did anything.'" He went about connecting pieces and adding fittings, clamping this and cutting that as he continued, "See, if I just did the minimum, then you don't even get to see my talent." He said that word with pride. "Might as well give you your full hour's worth." He fashioned a nice little bunch of right angles that went up the wall above where the old spigot sat and locked it all down with anchors and brass, assuring me no silly, errant trash can would ever fuck with this bad-ass spigot again. As he was leaving, he said he does it that way so that when it comes time to replumb this old house (and that time is coming) I might think of the guy who took the time to do the job right rather than just what was needed to get it done. He can rest assured that I will. They call that Customer Service. It's a dying art.

It made me think of all the out-of-work creatives looking for work in a steadily dying industry. Or the struggling agency or consultancy wondering where the new business is. Maybe when we eventually take work outside of our chosen profession, we will still approach things with creativity, not resentment, finding the joy, and dare I say it, "art," in something as simple as stacking the clean dishes or sweeping a floor, finding the satisfaction in doing a job right. You don't have to make pretty, eye-catching designs or write compelling, witty copy to be considered "creative." And come to think of it, no one is going to edit this plumber's work. There will be no re-dos.

Guy's name was John. He was a creative.

Previously in Everyone's a Creative:

Production By Committee

Tree Trimmer Artists

Not Exactly Mom & Pop - But Better Than a Big Box

It's almost summer, so yard work and home repair are picking up. Some ceiling fans on the back porch needed new blades, sagging after too many humid summers spinning. So naturally, like a dumb American, I went to Lowe's and bought two sets of blades for $25 each, the red-vested salesman assuring me that they were "universal" and indeed the packaging indicated the same. "Only ones we have and they should work," he said. Get them home and they don't line up with the brackets that hold the blades. Take them back to Lowe's. Get a refund. Go to Home Depot across the street. (Lowe's and Home Depot always do this, just like Walgreen's and CVS like to set up new stores at opposite corners of a busy intersection.) This time I brought the bracket to avoid the same mistake. Fan department guy says, "No, don't have that size. But you can buy a set of brackets along with the blades, but by the time you do that, you may as well buy a whole new fan." Sensing my reluctance to do that, he said, "You know where you should go? Dan's Fans up the street." "Think he's open Sundays?" I asked. "He'd better be if he wants to make any money," said the orange-aproned man.

Dan's was open, spinning fans in the window announcing that fact before I ever saw the neon "Open" sign. The parking lot of the little strip mall was fairly bare, and upon entering, I now made up the entire clientele of the store.

Two hundred fans hung overhead, at least a third of them spinning, and yet there wasn't a sound from one of them. Blades in hundreds of styles hung from the walls and I knew the guy at Home Depot had sent me to fan heaven. I suspected the prices were going to be extravagant, noticing one beautiful model that had two heads that spun sideways like propellers marked at over $1,000.

The only other person in the store was a white-haired man who was on the phone behind a counter. He eventually approached me. I held out my dirty old bracket. "Need a couple sets of blades that'll fit this." He examined it and offered that while it was an unusual size and rightly guessed that it was from an outdoor fan, he could sell me some new blades that came from units that they'd sold but the buyers wanted different blades. "Not plastic like you should use for outdoor," he added, "But they'll last you five or six years." I noted to the gentleman that there wasn't a sound in the store, even with all these fans running. "Dan's fans aren't like other fans," he said, going on to give an explanation about dual motor bearings that I half-understood.


He disappeared into the back of the store and returned with two sets of the orphaned blades, still in their packaging.

Eight dollars per set. Paid with cash. Hand-written receipt. A Sunday afternoon time warp.

Long live Dan's Fan City.

A Fan Story

"You don't control the message," we tell the client these days, because one stupid blogger with a beef against you can do damage to your brand in a single post. I don't have that kind of blog power, but Home Depot is starting to piss me off.

I love a good fan. When I’m at Home Depot, I like to look at those giant fans on wheels that stand about four feet high. I’ll imagine how easy it would be to clean an area with that thing on top speed, blowing away everything that isn’t fastened down. But mainly, I just like a nice breeze.

Up until this week, I had a “commercial grade” fan from GE that ran pretty much 24/7. I’m a fan of GE stuff and this rugged fan served me faithfully and quietly. Any motor that runs nonstop for seven years is pretty good, so when it died this week, I determined to replace it with a similar fan, hopefully even the exact same model. Kind of like if a faithful dog died unexpectedly, you might be inclined to replace the pet with one just like it.

A trip to my not-at-all-friendly neighborhood Home Depot (you people have such attitudes) resulted in the purchase of the closest thing I could find. Boxed, there was no way of seeing what was inside, but by the drawing on the box, it seemed to be roughly similar to my recently departed GE fan.

Out of the box, this fan revealed itself for the poorly made Chinese piece of crap that it is. On the lowest speed, it sounds like a small plane is buzzing the house. What passes for metal in China is apparently just shiny chicken wire. And I should’ve been tipped off by the very silly name “King of Fans®.” I can now picture the prototype being tested at the factory. A group of engineers hit the “on” switch and marveled at the noise and the gale force wind. “This fan is the King! It is the King of Fans!” they congratulated one another. Then they named their new company King of Fans. “It will tell of the majesty and glory of this fan, and we will sell them to Americans through their Home Depot. Oh, and don’t let them see inside the box before they purchase.” Then they rounded up some local children and put them to work in the factory so Americans could have cheap fans.

King of Fans® is now a garage fan. Pissed at the Depot, I tried Lowe’s, who had absolutely zero fans in stock, as they apparently think it’s winter season and people don’t need fans now. Idiots. So I had to go back to the Depot, where I purchased an oscillating Pelonis™. All plastic, with a freaking remote control. If I ever use a remote control for a fan, just shoot my stupid, lazy, American ass right there on the spot. Same price (roughly $35) as King of Fans®, but quiet and with a relatively normal name. Oh yeah - and made in China.

Verdict: Not all Chinese fans are the same. And Home Depot sucks. Still.

Whatever Happened to Customer Service? - Pt. II

Mrs. Jetpacks and I went to the local Home Depot last week to purchase our Indoor Holiday Evergreen (read: "Christmas Tree," all you PC anti-Christmas crusaders). We've found in recent years that the Depot's trees are healthy, long-lasting, and pretty affordable.

My experiences in recent months within the Depot have been less than satisfactory. While they are currently using the "You Can Do It - We Can Help" slogan, I've discovered that finding someone within a Home Depot actually willing or capable of helping is pretty tough. A vague wave of the hand indicating the general vicinity where I might find an item is about all I've come to expect from the orange apron-clad "helpers."

So it was odd to meet an aging hippie named Duffy out in the Christmas tree tent in the parking lot. Smiling, almost dancing to the carols emitting from the speakers mounted in the corners of the tent, Duffy seemed like a man who had upped his Zoloft or Xanax dosage without his doctor's permission. He engaged us in small talk as he tied the tree to the roof of our vehicle, talking about the upcoming shuttle launch and how he and his wife were going to a friend's house on the beach to see it. He smiled and made eye contact. He thanked us for our purchase, telling us what a great tree it was. Waving, he wished us a Merry Christmas as we took off. We drove away from the Depot agreeing that, "That guy was WEIRD!"

About a quarter mile later it occurred to us just why Duffy was so weird. He was nice. He wasn't surly, uncooperative or dismissive.

And since when, we wondered, is "nice" abnormal?

Previously in Whatever Happened to Customer Service?