Maggie Rants [and Raves]

Do Not Resuscitate

by Maggie Franklin | May 22, 2015 | Bookmark +

I have a “DNR” list. It technically stands for “do not rebook.” We all have one — a blacklist. Filled with the names and phone numbers of clients who done us wrong. Clients we never want to see or hear from again.

I know a lot of techs who have their “oh, I’m soooo sorry, I just don’t have anything open right now” speech at the ready should one of these undesirables dare to call.

I — I’m sure y’all are shocked — like to dare the Universe to send one of these poor folks my way.

Do people really not think I keep track of this stuff?

Blacklister: “Hi Maggie! Do you remember me? I’m SO glad I got ahold of you! I wasn’t sure you were still doing nails. I know it’s been a while but I really want to start coming back to you. When can you get me in?”

Me: “Oh hi! Of course I remember you! Unfortunately, you missed your last appointment without notice so you’ll owe me $___ before I can rebook you.”

Blacklister: “Umm...oooookkkkkkk. Uh. When was that?”

Me: “Tuesday, September 26, 2012 at 4 p.m.”

That’s usually sufficient to get a sudden dead line. Sometimes they stammer some more and say something like, “Oh. OK. I’ll make sure to get that to you.” Then I never hear from them again.

Of course, standing me up is actually a pretty easily forgiven transgression — just pay me and don’t do it again.

Then there are the people who got in a fight with another client in the salon. Racial slurs will get you permanently excused from my business. And, naturally, treating me like crap.

I actually enjoy bluntly telling someone that I’m not interested in doing business with her anymore because I don’t need her money badly enough to put up with her attitude.

Don’t tell me I have to kiss your butt to earn my living. This is not a butt-kissing business, this is a nail salon.

Don’t treat my other clients poorly. Don’t treat my coworkers poorly. Show some respect for my neighbors in the building.

And, if you’re behavior was bad enough that you were afraid to come back to me two years ago, expect that it was bad enough that I remember it now.

For reprint and licensing requests for this article, Click here.