“Yes, Jake, work together with your team and you’ll do great,” said Mom.
“With a daily quota, you’ll soon discover who the slackers are and which team members you’ll need to fire!” said Dad.
“Really, honey? Is that what you want to teach your son?” asked Mom. “Jake, there is nothing wrong with being a nice boss.”
Dad shot Mom a look of disgust. He only knew one way, and it CERTAINLY had nothing to do with being nice. Dad didn’t believe in smiley faces, gold stars, or participation trophies. He only respected hard work and results. I think Dad would really like Ms. Cane. Maybe she could join his bowling team.
“Okay, Jake. Pop quiz! You’re a general in the army, leading a team of soldiers into battle. Would you rather be feared or respected by your troops?” asked Dad.
“I don’t know? Am I going to win? Do we have enough food? I need to know the exact scenario,” I said.
“It doesn’t matter!” yelled my dad. “You’re at WAR, son, and you need your soldiers to perform. So which is it? Fear or respect?”
I was stumped. I had no idea which was better. How about NONE OF THE ABOVE? Because it really didn’t matter, anyway. Whatever I said would be wrong. And then, being wrong, I’d have to hear the lecture. There was always a lecture from “teachable moment” Dad.
I decided not to play his game and sat there in silence. Suddenly, the tension was broken.
“FEARED!” answered Alexis.
So she speaks after all!
“Very good, sweetheart. You’re correct,” answered Dad.
WHAT! So THIS time there was a right answer. Not fair. I was about to say “FEARED!”
“You see, Jake, even if you are respected, those around you, even a family member, might still decide to stab you in the back,” said Alexis as she coldly looked right through me.
“It’s better to be feared. I learned that the hard way. Sorry, but can I be excused?” asked Alexis as she got up to leave the table. “Obviously, I need to go and work on my fear game.”
We weren’t used to seeing Alexis walk calmly away from the dinner table. No fork tossing, no thrown-down napkin? Everyone was a little shocked by her lack of explosiveness.
“Good night, Alexis! Have fun with your ‘fear’ homework. Don’t worry, though—I already think you’re terrifying!” I laughed. “I fear you’ll show up at my house twenty years from now and want to live on my couch. I fear your bad breath after you devour a plate of tacos. I also FEAR for the little kids in the neighborhood when you get your driver’s license!” I yelled.
Mom gave me the “enough” look. Time to shut it down.
Yet another fun night at the Mathews’ dinner table. Who knew what Alexis the Terrible was cooking up for me? But I didn’t have time for her attempt at intimidation. I had a team to run and customers to find.
“What the heck’s a QUOTA?” asked Banderson.
“It means you need to try harder,” I answered.
I quickly explained to the team they were each now required to make at least twenty calls a day. But before they got started, we had to review the new script I had written that morning.
Fur Cuttery, Inc., Call Center Script:
(Make Sure You Are Nice!)
Dial . . . Ring . . . Ring . . . Call Answered.
Victim: Hello!
You: Good morning/afternoon/evening, my name is XYZ. How are you on this glorious day/night? (Wait for answer.) By the way, do you have fleas?! (Wait for outrage . . . NOW, hit them with the funny!) KIDDING!! I meant to say: Does your dog or cat have fleas? A matted coat? Stinky breath? Gross toenails? If so, I have your answer—FUR CUTTERY, INC.! We’re a pet-grooming business 100 percent run by kids from Kinney Elementary School. Sounds great, right?
(CLOSE THE DEAL) So, what time would you like us to come over and groom your cat/dog?
“I don’t like it,” said Tanner Scales. “Why would I say ‘Good morning/afternoon/evening’? And I don’t think too many people own cat/dogs these days? I’m pretty sure they are extinct.”
Tanner was immediately reassigned to a different task, and I moved Naomi Sinclair into the call center. She seemed to get it right away. Soon all the Customer Service Jedi were off and running, bothering whoever they could think of.
That morning I set up the company’s Yelp and Google Review accounts, which soon would be filled with five-star comments. All we needed was that first customer.
Ducking my head back into the call center, I saw Banderson on the phone AND texting at the same time. Wow! That was dedication. Unfortunately, after listening to him, it was clear he was talking to his mom about what was for dinner.
“Noooo! I HATE ravioli. Why can’t you make meat loaf again? Okay . . . cool. No, I’m really bored!” said Banderson while he chatted with his mom and played Flappy Bird on his phone.
“Banderson! Who are you talking to?” I demanded.
“Sorry, Mom! Got to go . . . it’s Buzz the Beekeeper. Love you, too!” said Banderson as he hung up. “Whaaat?!”
“Are you kidding? You called your mom about dinner?!” I asked.
“Big deal! You said I had to make twenty calls. I crushed that number. I’ve made twenty-six calls,” answered Banderson.
“You’re supposed to be calling people with pets! And trying to get them to hire Fur Cuttery,” I said.
Apparently, everyone else followed Banderson’s lead and just made random calls. Everyone except Naomi Sinclair, who suddenly shouted: “I GOT ONE!”
Jumping up and down, Naomi ran over to me (it all seemed to happen in slow motion, just so you know) and handed me a piece of paper.
“Jake. I did it! My neighbor has an old beagle named Oscar, and he wants us to wash him. Our first customer!” screamed Naomi.
Suddenly, Ms. Cane came stumbling through the curtain like a bull through a matador’s cape.
“What?! Did we get one? Seriously! WA-HOOO!” bellowed Ms. Cane. “Thank goodness!”
She hugged Naomi and spun her around, and they both did a little dance. Ah . . . excuse me, Ms. Cane, I’m pretty sure that’s my job.
Once Ms. Cane figured out where Naomi’s neighbor lived, she hopped in the van and rocketed away from school. I’m surprised she didn’t put a siren on top of the truck. What was the hurry? Oscar was still going to be dirty and smelly by the time she got there.
With Ms. Cane gone, the whole class relaxed. Work came to a grinding stop. DW III watched a movie on his iPad, Banderson called his mom back—he now wanted tacos instead of meat loaf—and Ajit started freestyling—which was never a good idea!
Yoooooo! MY name’s Ajit,
and I’m the accounting Grandmaster,
Protecting Fur Cuttery cheese,
preventing financial disaster.
I handle all the cash, credit, and accounts receivable,
I also spit rhymes that are statistically unbelievable.
As I began to kick back and enjoy our first customer accomplishment, I got a text from Michael:
“MEETING NOW . . . MY OFFICE”
Ajit and Lesley received the same text, and within minutes all of us were sitting at Ms. Cane’s desk while the rest of the class goofed off.
Sweet! Management meeting!
“I thought it important that we all meet. How’s everything going? Anyone have any questions, problems? Is this thing going to work?” asked Michael.
“Dude, relax. This is definitely going to work!” I assured Michael.
“Are you sure, Jake?” asked Michael. “Are you sure everything is okay?”
“Yeah, cuz! I’m ready to count those dollars. But the cash river be dry like the Kalahari, yo!” yelled Ajit, turning his hat to the side acting all gangster.
Maybe this wasn’t the brain-trust get-together I expected. It caught me off guard. Suddenly, I started to feel a little thre
atened by Michael’s lack of confidence. Time to come out swinging.
“WAIT a minute! It’s very easy for all of you to point fingers at me. I have the hardest job!” I insisted. “You think it’s easy getting Banderson to do anything?
And none of you have done anything to help. Oh, I’m sorry, Lesley, you did clean the brand-new truck. That must have been really hard!” I yelled.
“And you. Mr. CE-YOOOO! What do you do all day? Besides text your new best bud, Jason. Look, we ALL know you made the A team, but that doesn’t mean you’re better than the rest of us. You have to work, too,” I said.
WOW. That didn’t come out right. Kind of wish I hadn’t said that. #awkward
“Hey man, you asked to be Buzz Lightyear, not me. If it’s too hard, then why don’t you ask for help?” asked Michael, completely ignoring my lacrosse jealousy.
“The REALITY is it’s tough finding people who want to have their pets groomed. We tried friends and family, but lots of them don’t even have pets,” I said.
“Okay. So, what we need to do is find a certain type of person who really wants and needs our services,” said Lesley.
Ajit started jumping up and down. I wasn’t sure if it was a new dance, if he had to go to the bathroom, or if he had something to say. Just then, he transformed back to the nerdy scholar we knew him to be.
“Precisely! Identifying a narrow target market is critical. Jake, your team can no longer be random in its calling. We need a certain group of people who love pets, are easy to contact, and who will appreciate a company run by kids,” stated Ajit, as if he were some kind of supersmart college professor.
Rising to his feet, Michael smacked me in the arm. “Got it!” was all he said as he dropped down behind a computer.
Quickly logging into Facebook, he went to his . . . grandmother’s page?
“Look. Check it out. She belongs to all these dog groups.” Michael pointed at the screen.
Oh no! Michael was right . . . AGAIN! The perfect target market. They love pets, are always home and easy to contact. I don’t know one who didn’t love talking to kids.
Yes . . . the answer was old people! Grandma, Nana, Gramps, Bubbe, Mimi, Pop-Pop . . . you know, the people that get to boss your parents around. They were the answer.
How had I missed them? I was supposed to be the Facebook wizard? I was also supposed to be a lacrosse star? What was wrong with me? The only thing I could come up with was that Michael was somehow secretly stealing my AWESOMENESS. That had to be it!
But I had no time to worry about that, because staring back at me on the computer screen was the mother lode of pet-grooming opportunities. Tons of groups, and many of them local:
Howard County Barks and Geezers
Grays with Greyhounds
Retired & Retrieving
Old Fogies and Yorkies
Senior Boxers Association
Veterans Bowwow
Maryland Matures Love Mutts
Old Friends, New Dogs
Time-Challenged Tail-Waggers
And there weren’t just a few members in each group. There were hundreds!
“YES! Perfect. Jake, this is all we need. What grandma is going to turn down a kid?” asked Lesley.
The answer was NONE. Not one. It was time to get to work.
Great moments in history are easy to identify. Edison with the lightbulb. Caveman with the fire. Neil Armstrong walks on the moon. The day Fur Cuttery, Inc., figured out old people would buy anything from kids.
Think about it—where does the $50 million per year in Girl Scout Cookies sales come from? Grandmas and grandpas, of course!
Those shifty little sash-wearing marketing machines totally target the elderly. When Girl Scouts show up at my house and see me, their smiles disappear and they walk away in disgust.
By stalking the elderly dog-and-cat Facebook groups, we soon were finding hundreds of potential customers every day. Before we knew it, Fur Cuttery, Inc., was rolling. Ms. Cane was in flea-and-tick heaven.
In no time, Ms. Cane turned from wicked stepsister to fairy godmother. With the money pouring in, she was all Hershey’s Kisses and cookies. Seriously! She stocked the Beehive’s shelves with whatever candy/treats we wanted.
Ms. Cane was smart, and she knew how to keep the worker bees buzzing. The twenty-call quota quickly became forty, and nobody complained. Candy . . . the breakfast of winners!
Soon enough, every kid wanted to be in the Hive. We were the rock stars of the company.
Ms. Cane never turned down a grooming opportunity—she’d even take multiple appointments at the same time. Once she had all the dogs collected, Ms. Cane would call Lesley on her cell and whip her truck into the back parking lot, where two or three of the Clean Team would be waiting. Within seconds, the kids were walking the pets into the building as Ms. Cane hit the gas and lit the tires. NASCAR teams had nothing on Lesley’s well-coordinated “pet stop.”
Lesley’s team had washing tubs and special cutting/grooming tables, and the sound of blow dryers could be heard constantly. On some days, the hair on the floor was as deep as the hay in a barn.
The Clean Team got so fast at grooming, we usually had a bunch of dogs and cats just sitting there, probably wondering, WHY am I in an elementary school?
Of course, dogs and cats don’t really like each other. Now put a whole bunch of them in a classroom filled with unsupervised sixth-graders. We had all the makings of a dog-cat–brawl disaster. But even the toughest dog or most vicious hissing cat was no match for Lesley the pet whisperer.
One wag of her tiny finger or one loud SHHHHH! from her scrunched-up, annoyed face was all it took for Baxter and Mittens to be scared straight.
And if they didn’t behave, it was off to doggie jail.
One afternoon, I walked through the Hive and saw Banderson on the phone. He was frantically motioning for me to come over.
“Of COURSE, Mrs. Larson. We are expert groomers. We love all pets!” assured Banderson as he made funny faces, mimicking the caller.
“A gibbon? Huh? Really? Why not?” said Banderson.
Waving my hands and mouthing NO, I tried to hang up the call. Banderson blocked my way.
“Yes! We’ve groomed hundreds, if not thousands of monkeys,” lied Banderson. “Not a monkey? Oh, it’s an ape. No problem,” assured Banderson.
“No, no, I get it. If I was a gibbon living in Maryland, I’d be a little unfriendly, too,” said Banderson.
“We look forward to meeting you and Zeus tomorrow morning. Have a great day!” said Banderson as he hung up.
“Yeaaaaahhh! I DID it! I broke the record. Nine appointments confirmed in one day!” screamed Banderson. “Ms. Cane is going to freak out!”
“Do you think she’ll freak out before or after she’s mauled by an unfriendly Zeus?” I asked.
“Are you kidding? She’s going to LOVE IT!” said Banderson. “Besides, what gibbon could possibly take Ms. Cane? Unless his name is King Kong, my money is on our pink-haired prison guard. Good luck, Zeus!”
There was a part of me that wanted to send that appointment confirmation over to the Clean Team. Maybe Ms. Cane would love it? In the end, I had Banderson call back and cancel.
Fur Cuttery, Inc., was taking over pet grooming in Howard County. But we still had our limitations. The next day, a new sign went up at the entrance of the Beehive:
NO EXOTICS . . . ESPECIALLY APES!
Meanwhile, Alexis was still going with the whole silent routine at dinner. Evidently, her FEAR game was a work in progress. I felt like an only child at times. All Mom and Dad did was focus on me. They loved hearing about all our crazy success at Fur Cuttery, Inc.
“Jake, I’m so proud of you,” said Dad. “This is going to look great on your permanent record.”
“Honey, he’s in sixth grade. I don’t think he has a ‘recor
d’ just yet,” said Mom.
“Sounds like you really love your job, Jake,” said Alexis.
“WHOA! What was that?” I asked, pretending to be shocked. “Did you guys hear someone talk?”
“Very funny. Maybe I’LL get a job at Fur Cuttery,” said Alexis.
“Maybe NOT! We run a full background check on all employees. Sorry, no toilet-papering felons allowed,” I said.
“Really. Doesn’t say anything about that here in the ad,” said Alexis as she pushed forward a colorful flier. I could see the Fur Cuttery logo all over it.
I snatched up the flier and read it quickly. How did I not know about this? Apparently, Ms. Cane was looking for middle-school kids to help out in the afternoon. She was offering service hours as credit.
“What’s the matter, Jake? You mean Ms. Cane didn’t share this with the Boss of Buzz?” asked Alexis. “I guess you’re not that important, after all.”
“Of course she did!” I said. (I was lying.) “Actually, it was Michael’s idea. He told me about it.”
“Sure he did. Oh yeah, I hear Michael has a new best friend. Mom, can you believe Michael is best buds with Jason from across the street?” asked Alexis.
“Really? Jake, you and Michael aren’t friends anymore?” asked Mom.
“Of course we’re friends. It’s just that Michael needs to bond with his A team, and I totally get that,” I said.
“And are you bonding with your fellow Bee teamers?” asked Alexis. “Maybe you guys can buzz around together.”
Alexis was still raging over the whole no-sleepovers punishment—AND the fact that such lawless behavior got her kicked off her school’s eighth-grade lacrosse team.
“You know what, Alexis? On second thought, I think working at FCI would be great for you. The Clean Team is complaining about all the hair and grossness they have to deal with,” I explained.
“With Ms. Cane working late, the truck is a complete mess in the morning. Lesley and her team hate cleaning it. YOU could be the answer they are looking for!” I said.
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