Clayfolk day 2: Country roads
Nov. 22nd, 2015 08:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
offcntrIf anything, the line outside the door Saturday morning is bigger than Friday night. Less rushed, though. They've got a whole day, not just an evening, to get through the show.
I start the day by driving away. Denise had a customer so flustered by the sales lines last night, that he just gave her cash for a dinner plate, and his address, and asked her to send it to him. I don't want to spend money on postage if I can help it, so at 10 am, I go through the line, buy my own plate, and then drive it out to his address.
He lives west of town, at the end of a narrow lane and a long gravel driveway, surrounded by stables and paddocks, horses, donkeys, alpacas, three very friendly black labs, none of whom bark at me as I walk up the sidewalk. Recognize the face when he comes to the door--I've sold pots to him before.
After lunch, I'm back in the hot seat. Nina, the sales chair, trusts me to handle the stress. She's even taught me how to void transactions (a skill needed because occasionally, someone forget to type in two zeros for the cents column and charges 50ยข for a $50 dollar pot). This is high trust indeed, as the new VISA machines have a Void All option, so it's possible to nuke a whole shift's transactions with an ill-considered click.
It's not as crowded this afternoon, but still steadily busy. Chris Borg is my wrapper, and will often start pulling stickers for the next customer while I'm finishing paperwork with the current one. We sell a lot of his little oil lamps, which makes him wish he was in his booth, restocking, but it never gets slow enough that I can send him away for a few minutes to do so.
I start the day by driving away. Denise had a customer so flustered by the sales lines last night, that he just gave her cash for a dinner plate, and his address, and asked her to send it to him. I don't want to spend money on postage if I can help it, so at 10 am, I go through the line, buy my own plate, and then drive it out to his address.
He lives west of town, at the end of a narrow lane and a long gravel driveway, surrounded by stables and paddocks, horses, donkeys, alpacas, three very friendly black labs, none of whom bark at me as I walk up the sidewalk. Recognize the face when he comes to the door--I've sold pots to him before.
After lunch, I'm back in the hot seat. Nina, the sales chair, trusts me to handle the stress. She's even taught me how to void transactions (a skill needed because occasionally, someone forget to type in two zeros for the cents column and charges 50ยข for a $50 dollar pot). This is high trust indeed, as the new VISA machines have a Void All option, so it's possible to nuke a whole shift's transactions with an ill-considered click.
It's not as crowded this afternoon, but still steadily busy. Chris Borg is my wrapper, and will often start pulling stickers for the next customer while I'm finishing paperwork with the current one. We sell a lot of his little oil lamps, which makes him wish he was in his booth, restocking, but it never gets slow enough that I can send him away for a few minutes to do so.