What are they thinking of? not me!

While Zen Shiatsu Society runs a fascinating series of articles on how to find and keep clients, Healing NLP, not to be outdone, offer something even more illuminating: how to lose them, with case studies and detailed instructions on how to embarrass, insult, ignore, betray and generally bite the hands that feed you.

What makes this so very interesting is the realisation that we can initiate almost all these disaster-scenarios often with just a word or a phrase - and without any training whatsoever! The possibilities are boundless, from the slide of an eye that loses potential interest, to the phrase that can destroy years of trust.

These proven techniques work equally well for losing friendships.

This story helped me avoid the traps, or at least be aware of them, and their relative importance, e.g "I can forgive a man insulting me in my own home, but not being served lukewarm soup in his."

*

Embarrass Them

I stood behind the bar of the French Resistance in Earls Court waiting for the lunch-time crowd and, that day, having fired the cook, a thief, and her lover the night before. My clientele were mostly waiters and chefs from local restaurants and hotels and there was a body of opinion that my winebar should really have been named the Spanish Succession.

Anyway, first in was an early Englishman, handsome grey-haired man with good teeth and years of experience in the catering trade. He had built a business in consulting, advising people like me running their first venture on the do's and don'ts. Some months before he was a regular, in every day about this time to take a glass of sherry and tapas. Now he came up to the bar with a big smile across his face.

"Long time no see," I greeted him, "usual?" reaching for the Manzanilla.

John nodded, smile shrinking a little. I didn't pay much attention as, mind on lunch, I thought here's the very man to help me out now. He did, and more than I'd expected. I told him about the cook.

"Good," he said, "her food was ... well, what you'd get in one of those places where they go down Macromart for a dozen duck-in-orange boil-in-the-bag."

Yes, I agreed, but she was the expert and I'd never cooked anything more sophisticated than an egg. John rummaged in the cupboards, fridges, freezer.

"I'll do Drunken Sausage for you." He put on the apron and set to. I hear the tones of Galicia upstairs at the bar, and went up to serve Paco and Manolo.

"Ay, Crispy (what they called me), where the tapas?"

"Not today," I said. "John's cooking Drunken Sausage for us."

"Eh?"

"Salchichas borrachos."

I explained why and they politely finished their drinks and went next door to the Duke of Richmond. Roz, the barmaid and aficionada of all things Spanish arrived. I went back down to John.

He said, "I stopped to buy a paper on my way here. The newsagent said he hadn't seen me around for a while, where'd I been, man? I told him abroad. I didn't like having to explain myself. How did he know I hadn't been in the Priory - or Belmarsh. Or divorcing - or any of the things people don't want to be reminded of? "

"Oh come on, he probably just missed your happy smile!"

"At catering college they told us always greet every customer like a friend, but never ask anything more than how are you. Act like you saw them yesterday."

I had a fleeting thought he maybe felt embarrassed when I said Long time no see, then shrugged. "Oh, well," then to change the subject, "Mind if I take a look at your paper?"

John grinned.

"I didn't buy one."

*

Funnily enough, a few weeks after we moved the Zen School of Shiatsu to a new location, August 2006 it was, I happened to be passing the sweetshop where I would buy my after-lunch KitKat when we were based in Phipp Street. The man behind the counter said "Hey! Long time no see!" I explained we had crossed to the other side of Great Eastern Street, the traffic, etc etc.

I didn't go back again after that. I felt embarrassed at him noticing I hadn't been there. And my mind shot back thirty-five years as I remembered John.

We humans, aren't we all a little bit sensitive? In all senses of the word. Or is it just me? And if you think its just me, imagine if any, or how many, of your clients are 'just me!'

NEXT WEEK: Insult them!

© Kris Deva North

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