White Chicks Sitting Around Talkin' 'Bout Backyard Bizness

Yesterday, I talked about dispelling myths about the livin' large day-to-day of the Baroness. Today is a little diversion from that particular party line, but c'mon.

Ya love me. Ya know ya do.

How dull would I be, were I not a study in contrasts?

It's kept the Baron on his toes for 25 years - dude still can't get a handle on me.

So, the other day, me and my home-grrrls were sippin' lattes and carping about how we can't find a single, solitary spa in this god-forsaken Sleepy-Hollow-esque community to give us a decent pedicure. Wah, wah, wah.

It's always something. If it's not the price, it's the problematic service. If it's not a technician making your cuticle hemorrhage into the sink without word one of an apology, it's one of my lady friends convinced the local in-and-out nail bar(no booking required) is a front for a prostitution ring.

In the middle of all of our grousing, as we simultaneously stopped moaning long enough to sip our bevvies, one of the more lucid of the women said, "Listen to us! How precious are we? Here we are, stay-at-home moms, complaining about our spa experiences".

OK, we so deserved that reality bitch-smack upside the head.

But here is my point, and it has nothing to do with the good life, or beauteous tootsies.

It has to do with good business.

I'm all for supporting my neighborhood economy - if I were ever to avail my fabulosity to the community at large, I would expect my fellow 'burbanites to respond in kind. I really want the little guy to succeed.

But I gotta tell you, local business establishments of mine - if you want me to shop in my own backyard, you better damn well step up your game - something fierce.

Thanks to you, I am willing to pay extra to travel to another suburb, where not only does a living, breathing receptionist answer the phone, she can actually manage to write down my name correctly, and have the humility to ask me to spell it if they're not sure.

I am willing to invest the extra time out of my day to go somewhere where the service is world-class, and I know without a doubt that things will always go without a hitch. The services rendered jive with the amount due, and there will be no hiccups, no technician error, no double-booking, no snarky staff.

You see, dearest idiots, the secret of a good spa is to make the customer feel pampered. I can slap a coat of polish on myself any old time. I want to feel special. And I'm willing to pay for it. What I'm not willing to do right now is pay for you.

What I don't want is, after I mention I was a little surprised by an extra charge I wasn't initially informed of, to be asked "What do you want me to do about it?".

By.

The.

Owner.

This is just not good backyard business sense.

Don't use your answering machine as a receptionist. This has got to be the most ridiculous scam going. Let's see - I like what I've read about the services you offer, I want to come to your shop, I want to make an appointment.

What I don't want to do is leave my number so someone can call me back. What I don't want to do is hope that my message doesn't get erased. What I don't want is to leave you an e-mail, when no one there really has the time, knowledge or inclination to read them (Computer? Whoa, man - way too space age for me!)

Hire staff. If you can't afford to, either bite the bullet and learn some freakin' manners and how to use a computer, or don't even bother going into business until you can afford someone with skills.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it. You're an artist. You're not a businesswoman. Pul-eese. You've been chuffing the nail polish remover. Again.

If you have administrative problems, hire someone who can do this. Expertly.

Like me.

I'll work for trade.

And this will be very good for backyard business.

Because I'm all about the little guy succeeding. Always.

And having pretty pink toes.

Always.