Judy’s hair working its way from brown to
gray.
Two
pictures. The same shot, taken at different times, of the same sunset at
St. Vrain State Park.
On this day in
2006.
Stop by a
fast-food shop and you’ll probably find a kiosk screen where you can put in
your order. We find them a bit of a pain to use, probably because we
don’t use them very often, but if there is a long line at the counter and no
line at the kiosk, then it makes sense for us. For the store, it’s a way
to move the ordering process from a paid employee to the customer, saving the
store money, unless of course purchase and maintenance of the kiosk system
costs them more than what they’re paying the person at the counter taking
orders. I have read that the main reason stores like these ordering
kiosks is because they never forget to ask if you’d like to upsize that or
order something else to go with it. Upselling. That triggers more
purchases, a higher average sale, in the same amount of time, so a win for
them.
I just recently
encountered this same thing with my most recent visit to a car repair
shop. The last several times we’ve had a car in for an oil change, or
something else simple, they automatically do an entire vehicle inspection then
text you a message listing everything they found that you should do to your car
to make it just right, complete with a handy check box for each item that you
can approve right there on your phone. Upselling. We had an oil
leak in our little Mazda 3, so we sent it to the shop. The inspection
text message we got back was alarming. When I talked with the service
manager I pointed out that the tech had just listed $8,500 worth of work for a
car I could probably sell for $8,000. Did that make any sense? After
starting to explain, then stopping, starting again, stopping, he acknowledged
that maybe the tech got a little carried away. I want my car back in good
running shape and no serious safety issues. He gave me a price for fixing
the oil leak and said I’ll be fine with that.
Automated
upselling. A higher average sale with no extra effort. It’s just a
matter of marking things down on a computer screen, and you don’t even have to
look the customer in the eye while you’re doing it. (Unless the customer
protests, then you can always backtrack and blame it on someone else.) I
see this practice migrating from fast food to auto repairs so far. It is
probably finding its way to other venues as well and is likely already
happening a lot more than I realize yet.
Back in Wyoming, there was an elk.
He refused to look our way and pose for us,
but still, A heck of an elk.
I’ll try my
12-second toothbrush theory out on my dentist to see what he thinks about
it. I’ve been meaning to abuse him anyway. When we first got here
to the Rio Grande Valley, I got my teeth cleaned in Mexico to see what that was
like. A lot of people get their dental work done south of the border for
a fraction of the cost of doing it on this side. I would describe the
experience in Mexico as more like waterboarding than dentistry. As part
of the package deal though, $25, I also got a full checkup included, and they
found five cavities. I declined any more work and returned to my regular
dentist without saying anything about that experiment. I’m not so sure
this stateside dentist is all that good though. All these years later, he
still hasn’t detected those five cavities.
Crimson
King. Autumn Blaze.
I identified
Becky’s tree as a Crimson King Maple. It’s not. Crimson King is
purple in the summer and yellow in the fall.
Becky’s
tree is an Autumn Blaze Maple. Green in the summer, red in the fall.
Big difference.
Who do I turn to
with such a question? McKee. He’s a design engineer so we know he’s
well versed. He’s also a sculptor, so we know whatever solution he
proposes is going to be elegant. This is the guy who has a motto
emblazoned over an elaborate oak and stained-glass hobbit door on his house
that reads: “Never make anything simple and efficient if a way can be found to
make it complex and wonderful.”
Our problem had to
do with the couch/bed in the van. There is a certain lack of logic to how
it functions. It’s primarily a jackknife couch, with an additional
stationary piece on one end. To convert from a couch to a bed is
easy. Lift up in the front edge of the couch seat and the parts (couch
seat and couch back) separate and lay down flat for a bed. To
reconstitute the couch, however, is not quite so easy. With the whole
thing laid out flat, the leverage is gone. There is not enough advantage
to just lift the front of the couch seat and have everything pop back into
place. It takes more power than I possess. The combined effort of
Judy and me together, lifting from the front, can get it done, but that didn’t
feel sustainable as a long-term solution.
I thought about
this for weeks and came up with a couple solutions myself that should have
helped, but they didn’t. So, I turned to McKee. “Leverage and
mechanical advantage” he said. “I can deal with that.” We drove to
his house. I demonstrated the difficulty. I got the couch part-way
up and left it in that position so he could examine the mechanism. He
took a long look from every angle. He muttered. He disappeared to
his garage and came back out with an improvised tool. He directed me to
the leverage point on the frame. “Stick this in there and lift up
here.” I did. The front of the bed lifted right up, and the rest
was easy. Exactly the power assist we needed. And here it is, the
elegant solution.
A four-foot long
2x4 board. (Sanded and rounded so we won’t get splinters.) Elegant
in its simplicity. Stows on the floor slid-in next to the bed.
The McKees.
Such good friends for so many years (50).