Customer Service at Its Best, Or....

    I needed to make a call to Georgia Power about our electricity at the condo in St. Simons. Our tenant had moved out and cancelled his service, and I needed to make sure we had power in the days ahead.

   Making a call to the Ga. Power office, I waited a reasonable time for a customer service agent to come on the line, then proceeded to begin my request for a resumption of service tomorrow.

   "First let us verify your account information for this request", the agent stated.

   She took down my name, address, phone number and email address, then asked for my date of birth.

   "Five twenty-two Thirty-six", I responded.

   A pause ensured then she was back with the question, "NINETEEN Thirty-six"?

   My response, without thinking, "that is correct", I replied.

   "My goodness", she said, "I've never talked to anyone that old before".

   I had her on the speakerphone, and Carolyn nearly fell out of her chair. Neither one of us could stop laughing.

   After a few moments to regain my composure, I politely replied, "Thank you young lady, you have just made my day".

   Realizing she might have offended a customer, she hurried back with "I just meant that I wanted to sound that good when I am as old as you."

   I wanted to tell her the story of the man who did not want to quit digging the hole he had got himself into.

   "Throw away the shovel and quit digging".

   But I just said "Thank You" and hung up.

   

   

How Can It Be?

 Backstory: Fifty years ago, when Carolyn and Bruce built their home, Woodlane, they took out homeowner's insurance from a large nationwide insurance company. This company has held the policy in force for all the time the family has lived here. It has been a one-way street, premiums paid in and never a claim on the policy.

   Realizing that the premiums have been rising most every year, we decided to get another quote on the policy coming due this month. Taking the old policy, we gave the particulars to a prospective new insurer so we could compare apples to apples.

   Now, the results.

   The renewal policy cost from our 50 yr. insuring company came in at $3,400, and the policy cost from the new insurer came in at $1,400.

   Can that be right?

   A $2,000 saving using the same parameters. Is that reasonably possible?

   A no-brainer, I guess.

   When we told our old company our decision to go with the new insurer, the reply was "We'll be sorry to see you go."

   And a wondering: How much could we have saved over the years?

The Rest of the Story...

   The really good news is that I did not fall off my bike.

   Dateline September 11, 2021

   Location: Strawberry Plains, TN

   Event: Tennessee Senior Olympics 

               State Championships

               Age Groups 6 Men and 4 Women (divided into 5 year intervals)

               20 Kilometer Road Race

   I signed up for this event on a lark. Having won the 85-89 age group in Pickleball when the opposing player failed to show, I figured maybe I could compete is this cycling event. Surely there could not be too many in my age group and I could qualify for the Nationals in both events, (Pickleball and Cycling)

   Carolyn and I drove up in the early afternoon for a 4PM race time. The weather was great, not much wind, temps in the low 80s, a good day to be out there.

   No. 111 is registered and has the tee shirt.

   Looking around the group of men and women in racing attire and their bikes, I noticed there were none with toe clasps on the pedals, no other straight handlebars only drops, and none with iPhones on the bars. My bike had all three and looked like a VW Bug in a Ferrari race.

   The race is about 12 miles in length through the rolling countryside of East Tennessee. The course is a loop, on public roads, but with little traffic. No spectators lined the roadways, and the cheering was pretty subdued.

   There was a one lane tunnel, under the railroad, pretty tight for one car even, so we followed a motorcycle for the first 0.8 of a mile till we went through, It had been a neutral start, with the riders in a pack till the tunnel, and then the real race began. The pack pace was faster than my race pace, so I never saw the pack in motion from the beginning. Needless to say I never saw the real racers until we all received our medals after the race.

   Most of the time I rode a solo race, hardly ever seeing a biker the whole way around. There were not many of us who were dropped by the peloton at the beginning, maybe 4. We never rode together, I passed no one, was passed by one and beat the other two to the finish.

   Even though there were no other cyclists in my age group, I wanted to see how I could do on a new course, with unfamiliar hills and roads. Turns out my time was 55 minutes, about 10 minutes faster than my training rides of equal length, so I guess I got a PR.

   I saw few people out on the course. Probably 4 cars in all, and only the marshals who pointed out the way to go at each intersection. No one jumped out of the crowd to take a selfie with the riders going by.

   Cresting the last hill, 2 police cruisers pointed the way downhill to the finish. I probably would have raised both arms in triumph except that it is never a pretty sight when a biker crashes going over the finish line in front of everyone. I just smiled.

   My race time was 55 minutes and the winners were in around 31. To me that says that they finished, when I was halfway. I assume these fast guys went home for a shower and bite to eat before coming back to the finish line to see us stragglers glide across the line.

   At the medal ceremony the 85-89 age group was called first. Only one name for a medal, mine, and as I walked forward to a round of applause, one rider stepped out of the "crowd", looked me in the eye and said, "You know I hope when I get old, I can be just like you." I took that as a compliment, smiled, and accepted my gold medal. 

   I did not feel like any role model, but gladly thanked God that he had blessed me with a healthy body that could still ride. Who said you could not outlive your competition?

   A man came up to Carolyn and I after the medals were given out and wanted to know if he could interview me about being fit at any age. He did for a few minutes, which was kinda fun, and he told me about his web site on aging, but I did not write it down. I don't think he was from USA Today, but I'll post the interview if I ever see it anywhere.

   Good grief, where will this all end. Photographers in the driveway?

   It was a fun day

If You Can't Outplay the Competition, You May Be Able to Outlive Them

   Picture in your mind a patriotic parade, or event, celebrating the end of war. When the organizers present an honoree, you might see an older gentlemen, dressed in an old uniform, either in a wheel chair, or walking unsteadily on a cane. He may be the last surviving member of some outfit from the prior conflict. 

   These men and women (mostly men because the use of women in prior wars was limited to non-combatant roles) may not have been leaders back when, maybe not even have been well known, but they have outlived the ones who served with them, and are still alive to be honored.

   Back in the 1980s, I ran a lot of 5K and 10K races around the Chattanooga area, even a few half marathons and one marathon. I ran for fun, and just to try and improve my times in each of the distances. Even though there were age group categories, I could not hope to win any trophies. I was SLOW.

   Half jokingly, I confessed to my fellow-runner friend, Earl Marler, that the only way I could take home any hardware was to live longer than those in my age group. Earl, who had a closet full of age group trophies, and who knew my lack of speed, just laughed and agreed with the diagnosis.

   Forty or so years later, here we are in a new era, and perhaps my time has come.

   I'm still playing games for fun, different types of competitions for sure, but now, all of a sudden, there seem to be fewer people in my age group. The odds are better. Attrition has taken place in the ranks of participants.

   Return with me to the State Pickleball competition. Normally I am not State Finals material, but in those contests I was awarded one gold and one silver. Gold in the 85-89 singles event when the other competitor failed to show up for the finals, and one in the doubles where Jack Painter and I had a record of 2-1, having beaten two other teams and lost to one. We deserved that Silver.

   This coming Saturday, 9/11, I will journey to Strawberry Plains, TN to compete in the Tennessee Senior Olympics State Finals 20 Kilometer Road Race. There will be about 55 or so competitors in that race, and we are divided into age group categories. These are 5 year groupings beginning at 50-54 and extending to 85-89. There are quite a few in the lower levels, with the numbers diminishing as the ages in the groupings   rise.

   As you might guess, I will win the gold medal in the 85-89 as there are no other entrants.

   I am not comparing my honors at cycling and Pickleball with those veterans being honored for service in a war. There is no comparison in the deeds, but there is considerable difference in the importance of the honor.

   I am happy and blessed to be healthy and mobile, and I will gladly walk up and receive my gold medal, but know that my medal will not be for courage, but longevity.

   And hopefully, for not falling off my bike.

The Intersection of Supply Side Economics and Real Life

    One of the several magazines I receive comes from the Haslam School of Business at the University of Tennessee. In one of the last issues the graduate PhD program in Supply Side Management was featured. Now I had heard of this major, but did not know that the program had made it to the PhD level. It was not even heard about just a few years prior.

   Anyway, to begin this little story of the intersection of supply side economics and the real world of living, there is a little background. 

   Some few months back, Carolyn and I traded in her Buick Encore. One of us decided that we needed a tad more room, and so we opted for a new Buick Envision. It has been a great car. Good ride, good mileage and plenty of room for an old couple. 

   One Sunday, as we were coming home from church, the Envision had an altercation with an older Honda. Our passenger side front door was struck by a driver's side mirror, resulting in a fair sized dent in said door.

   The Good Hands people gave us the name of a fixer for our problem, and we made an appointment to have it looked at. The man at the shop, Chris by name, said they could repair it by replacing the dented door, just take the old one off and put a new one on, then paint to match.

   Then supply side economics came into play. We had bought an American car manufactured in China. Doors were apparently plentiful in China, but rather scarce on this side of the Pacific.

   We could get the door, but the question became, When?

   The only thing we could count on, according to Chris, was the fact that my door was on a ship somewhere, packed in a container, but with no date for arrival in the US. The only piece of information Chris could promise was that he would let us know when his supplier gave him a firm date for the arrival of my door.

   All of a sudden all those stories about the numbers of container ships sitting loaded in ports waiting for the go ahead to take to the seas, or those who had already made it to their destination and were awaiting a dock to unload, became important. 

   My door was being held captive by the logistics of the supply chain. I had been interrupted by Covid, and my dent was only a wounded statistic, unable to find restitution.

   But at least my Envision had company. 

   My lonely Ford Ranger, a 2007 Ford model, which I had purchased a couple of years back as is, also sported a dented passenger door, which we had decided not to repair as it did not compromise the use of the truck. 

   My truck has a friend now, and for how long, we do not know. These vehicles can commensurate with each other, but their owners are left holding onto a piece a paper written in Chinese.

More Pickleball @ TN Senior Olympics

    Day 2 at the Chattanooga Convention Center

      Friday was Men's and Women's Singles for all age groups.

      Saturday was Men's and Women's Doubles for all age groups

      Sunday will be Mixed Doubles for all age groups

   I wrote about the Friday session yesterday so today's will cover Saturday. My partner, Jack Painter and I were playing in the 80-84 age group, which consisted of 4 teams, playing a round robin, with the best record winning gold.

   Teams were designated ABCD, and Jack and I were A. We had three game sets, best 2 of 3 wins the set. We began play against B, then played D, then C. We looked to be evenly matched, except for D, whose 2 players were both rated at a higher skill level.

   We won a sloppily played first set against B, then dropped behind 1-9 in the second set, but rallied and won that set 12-10.

   Playing the second round robin against D, we lost in straight games, 2-0. Our scores were on par with the higher rated players as we lost 11-5, 11-6. We were fairly competitive but lost.

   At this point, the scores were:

      A 1-1

      B 0-2

      C 1-1

      D 2-0

   Moving on to the third round, we were matched against C. They beat us the first game 7-11, then we rallied again and won the last two games of the set, 11-4, 11-3.

   So the final scores and medal placement.

      First: D 3-0 Gold Medal

      Second: A 2-1 Silver Medal

      Third: C 1-2 Bronze Meda

      Fourth: B 0-3

   This was a fun day. Playing some good Pickleball against players from other areas of the state plus winning the Silver.

   Another thing, and this I think is the reasoning behind the senior events. The games are friendly competitions and challenge senior adults to stay in shape and keep moving.We had around 350 men and women registered for the games, and Pickleball is only one sport of many. By the times these games are completed in September, no telling how many people will have participated in the different sports.

   Unlike the just completed "Big" olympics in Tokyo, there is no formal team designations that players compete for. 

   But I want to give a shout out to the men and women who play at the BX center of Brainerd Baptist Church. We play Tuesday and Thursday from 8:30 to noon. We not only play together and fellowship together, but we support each other. 

   Maybe 15 or so of our people played in the event, but just as many came to support Team BX as they played their matches. It was not unusual for 15-20 people to be behind a court, cheering their friends and fellow Pickleball players. People  came early and stayed late. They could be heard all over the arena.

   It was great to see friendly faces around Court 2 as Jack and I scored the last point and won the match that gave us the Silver. As we looked around, I noticed there was only one other match still playing and everybody else had gone home except those 4 ladies, and the volunteers whose job it was to run the event on those 21 courts. 

   So it was a good day.We had played 7 games, won one medal, been there for over 5 hours with our wives, and got to watch, and cheer for our friends in many more matches.

   Doesn't get much better than that.

   

Back Story on Gold Medal

    When I left you yesterday with a really brief post about the TN Senior Olympics and my gold medal in the Singles competition, I did not have time to tell the complete story.

  

   We played at the Chattanooga Convention site in downtown, 21 courts in the Trade Center exhibit area:

   There were four singles players registered for the event in my playing category, three in the 80-84 group and one (me) in the 85-89. They put us all together, two players in Division 1 for the higher ranked individuals and two in Division 2. Each division would be awarded two medals, gold and silver for the winner and runner up (loser).

   When it came time to assign a court to each match, I found out that my opponent had failed to show and I would automatically win the forfeit game. That is the story of the gold medal, but there is another story here also.

   While waiting for the organizers to figure out what to do with me, I noticed another older man having the same problem. His opponent had failed to show also.

   After hearing this, and realizing that neither of us had to play a match, I asked him if he would like to play a few games, just to get some practice in. He agreed, and we approached the lady in charge to see if we could get a court. We did and moved to it to begin.

   As we readied ourselves to play, this 75 year old man, mentioned that this would be his first time to play Pickleball. How in the world had a person who had never played got in the Tennessee finals, I don't know?

   After we hit a few practice balls, I realized he was truly a novice. What to do now? 

   We were out there, we were ready to play, we even had a scorekeeper. Let's go.

   It was an interesting time:

      He had no backhand shot.

      He did not know the rules.

      I spent the 3 games we played playing to his forehand, and he even missed a bunch of these.

      He got one point in three games, and that was a shanked ball that barely cleared the net.

      The scores were: 11-0, 11-1, 11-0 and I never hit a hard ball.

   He said he enjoyed the games, but I seriously doubt either of us was happy about it.

   I never found out if I got the gold medal for the 85-89 grouping or for winning the lopsided one I had played. 

   I'll opt for the outright forfeit in my own age group. 

   Sounds better, anyway.

   Our scorekeeper, with the gold medal presentation. You might remember Sally from a blog post some weeks past. She was my employee back in the latter part of the 20th century who had come to play at the BX one day. We reunited there, after a long period of time, and here she was again at this tournament as a volunteer. 

   A strange day, all in all.

   And now you know the rest of the story!