You’re Important To Us
Wednesday, February 28th, 2007 by ArLynnYOU’RE IMPORTANT TO US.
I was swept away. My heart fluttered dangerously, my mind raced, my fingers trembled as they scanned the words. You’re important to us.
But I digress. We on the North Shore think of ourselves quite well. We were raised by “good” parents, although we might suggest otherwise in the privacy of our therapist’s office. We know exactly where our alma mater ranks in the Newsweek list of best colleges and if we didn’t go to a “good” one, we would never admit to it. We pride ourselves on our taste in wine, food, clothes, and hostas. We will tell you our children are wonderful in that coy backhanded way as in “it was as much of a surprise to us as to anyone else when Hermione graduated first in her class at Harvard because she’s never really focused on academics as much as athletics”. Still, we sometimes forget the basis of all civilization and act like jerks. And then we get so accustomed to other people being demanding, abrasive, inconsiderate jerks—and those are our friends!
So today, I opened the mailbox to find the usual catalogs, bills, statements, and magazines and amongst them was a small, dainty white envelop. The sloping handwriting was decidedly masculine. It was a PERSONAL NOTE. That sort of thing doesn’t show up in a girl’s mailbox all that often—I can’t remember the last time it happened to me. I tore open the envelope. Inside, a card with a watercolor of a cobblestone bridge over a gentle stream, daffodils and tulips blooming on the banks, and the words YOU’RE IMPORTANT TO US.
Opening it, well, the script said it all:
“Customers like you are the foundation of our business. It has been a pleasure serving you, and we want you to know we appreciate your business. Thank you.”
And it was signed “FREDS”. As in Fred’s Winnetka Service, Inc. As in the gas station on the tri-corner of Chestnut, Spruce, and Green Bay Roads. As in Fred Majewski, Owner of.
I’ve never met the actual Fred. I know Fatih, who roars through town in his reconstructed blue Camaro that he takes up to Wisconsin for the informal stock car races. I know the three brothers R.J., C.J., and A.J.—each of whom has confided in me that they are the smartest and most handsome of the brothers and so I shouldn’t have so much trouble keeping them straight from their other two siblings. And there’s George, easily the suave-est of the bunch.
George will come find you and your car any time. Just call 847/571-8185
I had a problem with the window of my Landrover. It wouldn’t close. The chill on my left shoulder as I drove on the highway was quite something. I called the dealer who scheduled an appointment sometime in the next Bush adminstration and so on a whim I had taken the poor baby into Fred’s where I always bought gas and the occasional candy bar. No, they couldn’t give me a “loaner” car like the Landrover dealership would but one of the brothers (which one?) drive me home? But still, they didn’t offer free lattes and bagels like they serve in the Landrover dealership kitchenette, but Fatih did ask me if I wanted a piece of gum as he was breaking out a pack. And no, there wasn’t the faux adventure décor of the Landrover dealership. In fact, Fred’s has absolutely no décor whatsoever.
But I have a thank you note. A real note signed by a human being with a pen. Although the FREDS is most baffling and I suppose is meant to convey a sense of the gratitude of the entire auto service crew as opposed to any one individual. Still—I’m enchanted. I’m not sure I can ever take my business elsewhere because, somehow, the note has made me feel special, necessary, and connected.
There are companies that create thank you notes. Townproud is one. Crane’s for the upper income. And anybody can go to Kinko’s and create several hundred notes. But the handwritten aspect, the individual address—it makes a difference. The thank you note is the basis of civilization and just as you can train a grandmother to send you fifty dollar checks every birthday and Christmas by sending one, you can train a gal like me to bring in her ‘Rover the next time something goes wrong.
Oh, and you’re welcome, FREDS.
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the dawes house looks great for my surprise birthday party!