How to Handle a Client

How to handle a client (c)

By Michael Casey

A client is like a girlfriend who you wine and dine, and hope she’ll marry you. If you keep that idea in mind then the business relationship will work and pay dividends. If you treat a client like fast food you’ll end up getting gas, which is not what anybody wants.

It leaves a bad atmosphere literally. remember if you do good you’ll get x 4 more customers. 

If you do bad then you lose x 10 customers. Also you must change the sales pitch to fit each individual customer. It makes more work for you BUT the results are better.

A salesman must be a cross between a priest and a hairdresser, somebody who can be confided in. You are not selling burgers at a Red Sox match, you are inviting your customers to be part of the family.

And I don’t mean joining the Mafia either. That kind of close relationship, means your calls are answered and even looked forward to. If nobody is taking your calls then you’ve got it wrong.

Michael Casey

p.s. my play Shoplife “teaches” customer service, by showing you what NEVER to do.

Street Clock

Street Clock  ©

By

Michael Casey

I  love watches, I’ve told everybody this before, but today I want to talk about my Street Clock. A what? A Street Clock. What am I on about, I’m talking about my street clock. It’s not mine really, it’s my small daughters. The street clock tells us are we on time for school.

So is it a speaking clock in the street perhaps? No, its how the street tells us the time. In ancient times seamen looked to the skies to tell them the time and their destination. We have Stonehenge here in England, and it is an astronomical clock. Then you have the Mayan calendar and wasn’t it supposed to be the end of the world recently? Or did somebody overwind the Mayan clock?

No my Street Clock is how me and my daughter know we are on time. First we see the blue jaguar going into the works at the bottom of the road, it’s a car not a strangely coloured wild animal.  Then  there is my old workmate, we see him at the bottom of the road taking his small ones to school. Then there is a lady and her dog just before the zebra crossing outside the library.

These events are regular events, as regular as the day itself, we know if we are on time or not, just by how far along the road and how far on our route we have travelled. So no need to take our gloves off to peer at our watch, the street itself is our watch.

There is a steep bit next, slippy  with fallen Autumn leaves, but once past that piece of road it’s not too steep. We see the old man warming up his old car, we wave hello as we pass. In the distance we can see Mrs Mum and her son, depending how far up the road we are we can gauge the time. They are going to one school while we go to the big school on the hill next to the woods.

Then we turn right and meet the main road, which is more like a slide at a funfair as it bends and weaves down the hill so much. We see Mr Old Smoker, he must be 75, he has a funny walk and always has a roll your own cigarette between his fingers.

Then there is another bit of hill, Mrs Three Children appears, she has a pushchair and 2 older kids with her. We are nearly at the zebra crossings and Mrs Murphy the lollypop lady. All is well, now finally I take off my glove to show my daughter the time. We are  early.

Sometimes we are just in time, because of this or because of that. But we know the time already, because our Street Clock has told us we are running a bit late or not. The school bell rings, I watch Mrs Murphy stop the traffic and my small  daughter enters the school yard. I wave goodbye as my daughter enters the school. Now  time to go home for my breakfast, its all downhill now, downhill to my breakfast.

Is this a photo os a YETI footprint in  our garden?

From Shakespeare to the King's Speech

From Shakespeare to the King’s Speech ©

By Michael Casey

Today was a good day, a very good day indeed. I recorded 5 more of my Shorts plus a Silly Song and put them on www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com  Then as a reward I finished watching Shakespeare in Love, and later on I finally watched The King’s Speech.

The day had started with Mass and my confession to the priest about my arthritis, his reply was “its good,isn’t it.” And so it is, as you enjoy the good days and suffer the bad days. It’s not as bad as childbirth women will say, but you have epidurals, and I can only use gel. Though since the hip procedure things have improved.  But I’ll shut up about my weaknesses.

I could talk about pain, but I want to talk about words. Shakespeare’s and the scriptwriter’s. Shakespeare in Love was such a joy to watch, the rhythm in the words and the bounce of the script and the film itself. It reminded me that Shakespeare is so good, I used to understand all the old English. I even studied Shakespeare  at 3^rd level Open University, I got 74% for my 1^st essay, my tutor said I sounded like Shakespeare’s agent.

The joy of words, the power and love that is in words, all could be enjoyed in Shakespeare in Love. The King’s Speech was an eye opener for me. IF events were close to what was shown in the film, then I have a new found admiration for the Queen Mum, and I can understand why she hated Wallace Simpson’s guts, I heard this not directly from the film itself.

The King’s Speech shows the importance of words. Nowadays we’d switch off any Royal or Politician, but back then, the King would be listened to. The King’s speeches were an event and of great importance. The majesty of words is so important, and no I’m not making a joke. We all know of the power of Churchill’s words, but as a figurehead the King at that time, and at a time of war was so very important.

Enabling the King to rise to the occasion, to use words to spit in Hitler’s face if you like, to show the indomitable spirit of the British people in time of war and of great mortal peril, this was of such great import. So the speech therapist helped the King to use words as weapons.

The line I liked and my daughter noticed too, as she climbed the stairs to bed. I may not have the paper but I have the experience. Who does that remind you of?  You Daddy, was her reply.

So what of words? There is power and poetry in words, words can give us courage when we have none. Words can woo a maiden to our bed. Words can comfort the sick, and console the dying. Words can spit in the face of tyranny, I may die but my spirit will come back to haunt you. There is such power in words, there is meat in words.

Watching those two films tonight, reminded me of my deep love of words, well I do call myself a writer after all. Love of words means you experience them more deeply. Words come off the page to kiss me, to slap my face, words leap and bound from the radio to box my ears.

Words slip across the room from the speakers to gently touch my cheek to tickle me. Words from a film or from any source can bring tears to our eyes, to remind us we are not blocks of wood or made of stone. Words are our pulse, our very heart beat. Words are made from our very breath, but as breathing denotes life, so a word can bring death.

A word written down can condemn a man to hang, to the electric chair. Words have such power, words should not be used lightly. Words have so much beauty. Poets are dangerous, they hold your heart in the palm of their hand.

Go to www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com to HEAR 20 new stories with my new microphone 120 in total

hello I've just uploaded 20 more short stories to my typepad account  www.michaelgcasey.typepad.com   Thats 120 in total

So just bring your ears thanks

Christmas Kerry

Christmas Kerry ©

By Michael Casey

I got my first Christmas card today from a cousin in Ireland. 

It brought a tear to my eye.

It reminded me of all the good times I had in Ireland at that cousin's house.

It reminded me of my aunty who drove me there.

It reminded me of all my cousins in Ireland, of all my uncles too.

 The Christmas fun I had in Ireland, getting lost in and out of Tralee.

The beach at Ballyheigh, mum's own beach at Cromane.

Puck fair and dancing in the street at Midnight.

Going out to the pub at 10pm, to drink fizzy pop and an occasional beer.

All the kindnesses from all those uncles and aunts. They are all gone now, all lie still in their graves.

But their memory I always have in my heart. I can see them dancing, I can hear them laughing.

I can see the mountains of food they fed me. So much love and laughter almost like a Leo Sayer song.

All of them so big and strong, farmers and sons of farmers. Laughter constant laughter, that’s what sings in my soul.

 All the good people of Kerry.

So yes a card brings a tear because of all the love it reminds me of.

Past Present and Future, but always Kerry.

Christmas on a bus

Christmas On A  Bus ©    By            Michael Casey

 On a bus coming home the Christmas Story revealed itself to me, ordinary events on a cold  Winter’s evening.

 There was a large man squeezed into a seat sitting crossways as he was so large, I squeezed in next to him, the two of us like boulders abandoned.

 A small African child was singing a carol to her mum who was weighed down by worry and a carrier bag  larger than  the child, behind a bigger child was swinging her feet off the seat.

 In front of me a child with  a large bright pretty ribbon in her hair was talking excitedly to her nan. Her nan was all wrapped up against the Winter weather, she was more like a parcel than a person She was giving sage advice to her granddaughter, don’t expect too much this Christmas.

 There was a pretty teenaged too, she was  moving her ankle in her new clean boots, perhaps Christmas boots, she was speaking confidently to her ugly friend, pretty girls always have either a fat or ugly best friend, its Nature’s balance.

 The African family got up it was their stop at the bus stop, I told the child to hold on tight to the rail as she moved forward only she was too small to understand fully.  My children are about their age I said to the child with the ribbon in her hair and her nan.

The large man squeezed in next to me started doing sign language to me, it was only then that I realised he was deaf and dumb. So I signed back to him. A few stops further on the dumb man as big as Gabriel himself got up as it was his stop, we exchanged goodbyes, “Good Luck” I said, he got off and waved goodbye from the street.

 I heard a voice on a mobile, “we’ve got to go then or the graveyard will be shut, I want to give mum some flowers for Christmas.”

All this represents Christmas,your Christmas, My Christmas, Everybody’s Christmas. So take time out to speak  to the deaf, to share a smile, to remember your mum, for Christ is Born.

Stand Up Writing

Stand Up Writing ©

By

Michael Casey

I read a few minutes ago on Linkedin that there would be a writing competition, a kind of XFactor for writers, you read for 2 mins, then you are judged. So what do you think of that? Me, I think writing is more than bubble gum that you spit out when the flavour goes. However I do think that writing can be like chocolate, something almost as good as sex, that you enjoy and then you get back to day to day reality.

So how would the show go? Would it really be the writer with the best blurb who’d win? Would it just be battle of the blurbs? Writing is so subjective. I bought Shadow of the Wind and I really wanted to read it, because of the blurb. Sadly I did not like it at all and then I stopped reading it ½ way through, and there are not many books I’ve dropped in my life. Then there is The Book Thief, which I regard as one of the best books I’ve read in my life, it’s so poetic, so touching, I cried as I read it, I even think it should be on schools’ book lists.

My own first novel is a slow starter as there is a large cast, however it is a rattling good read once the cast is introduced. So at Book X Factor should I read a blurb, or should I stumble as I flick to the climax. We have  starters and soups, then the main, and finally dessert, with a coffee and mint we finish the meal. Then arm in arm we leave the restaurant and head home for play, only we are so full of food we both fall asleep on the sofa. So much promise but no fulfilment.

Books are such fun, it’s really great when we discover a new writer. I can remember being introduced to Tom Sharp maybe 25years ago, before he was on tv. Then 5 years ago I can remember the IT guy at the Law Firm  saying how he’d just discovered Tom Sharpe. Books and Writers are candy for the mind, they do open our mind to laughter and tears and hope. The Book Thief is one such book, but would it win on XFactor for Books?

I can remember  my History teacher, Mr Trout, he said try Don Camillo. I did and I loved Don Camillo, I have an omnibus edition  in the bookcase behind me, next to the piano. Would Don Camillo win the XFactor for books, probably not, but it is a book you can reread over and over.  The spirit  in Don Camillo is the thing. Don Camillo may argue and fight with the Mayor, but they are still brothers.

Sorry you won’t be going through to the next stage of the competition. Not enough sex, nor violence. Great description of a sledge called “Rosebud” but it’s just not commercial. 500 or 600 pages for a first novel, 160,000 words, I think we’ll run out of ink if we try and publish it. No could you just take a few characters  out, could you miss the bit where somebody saved the undertaker’s son’s life. And you know the bit where……

It would be like being asked to save only one member of your family when the ship sinks. Words have meaning, words have power, and if you remove your false teeth your words have no bite.