Oct 04
Steve goes on a shopping binge
When Steve gets something on the brain, it’s stuck there like flies on sticky tape. I’ve been a witness (victim?) of this many times, because when inspiration hits him in the late day, this means my phone will be ringing all night as he continually wants to discuss his new thoughts/ideas/discoveries. “Just one more thought, Denise.” “Oh, sorry to bug you again, but…” “You know, I was just thinking…” “Ok, this will be the last time I’ll call.” “Ok, really, for real, this is the last time I’ll call.” (Thank goodness his bedtime is usually around 9pm.)
I actually don’t mind. Most of the time it’s a good source of amusement.
But I confess that I am relieved when he gets what I call “Post Pounder-itis” early in the day, because I know that while he will continually approach me all day with his latest thoughts/ideas/discoveries, my phone should, for the most part, remain quiet that evening.
Our digless vinyl fence is installed by pounding pipe into the ground with a manual post pounder, and we currently had one in our line, which is a lot nicer than most out there.
But one day Steve was struck with the epiphany that perhaps he didn’t do enough research on post pounders, and this realization is what infected him with Post Pounder-itis. To someone as fanatical about product development as he is (and darn good at it too), this didn’t bode well with him and he went into overdrive. After a bunch of research online, he subsequently ordered every single post pounder he could find online. The poor UPS drivers were delivering pounders for days. It was like Christmas here with metal pounders instead of gift baskets and chocolates. It’s not like we had a “Post Pounder” line in our budget, either.
The Basic Betty Post Pounder
The Big Bertha Post Pounder
The Springy Suzy Post Pounder
Fortunately because we’re small we can react quickly to new ideas and endeavors. Within one week, two more pounders were introduced to our line. Ben had to go crazy with drawings and renders. We had to get the drawings to China so they could manufacture them. We needed to market the pounders, so called up our video guy and asked him to shoot a video demonstrating the differences (watch it here). We needed to retune the website to make room for these changes. We got logos done for all the pounders. We named them zany WamBamy names (The Basic Betty, The Springy Suzy, and The Big Bertha). I decided to go way out and put lips, noses and eyes with big eyelashes on them, but reigned it in after deciding that Post Pounder-itis doesn’t need to be contagious.
Between Steve’s online binge and our own offerings, we now have enough post pounders around here to win a nunchuck-style battle should our competitors ever send the fencing mafia our way.
But hey, it’s for a digless vinyl fence install. Nothing wrong with giving our customers options to make an easier way to install fence even easier, right? It’s WamBam’s digless vinyl fence designed for the do-it-yourself market.
Last Friday I flew to Detroit with about 20lbs of paperwork to renew my working VISA in the US. I’m not gonna lie- I was a bit nervous despite the fact that my lawyer assured me that everything should be smooth as a freshly paved highway (something not too common in Detroit). Still, having grown up in a border town and crossed US customs hundreds of times, I have learned that a customs officer having a bad day can make your life miserable for no apparent reason.
.
Upon landing in Detroit, I get into my rental car and drive to the Detroit/Windsor crossing like my lawyer told me to. I cross into Canada (legally required for some reason) and then turn right around to cross back into the States and pull up to customs.
“Citizenship?”
“Canadian.”
“Purpose of your visit?”
“I’m here to renew my L1 VISA.”
“Hmmm…the guy who processes those isn’t here today.”
Uh oh. I know the guy because he processed my VISA last year, and just processed Steve’s a couple months ago. My lawyer has dealt with him for years and years. He’s familiar with our case. I should also note that you can’t make appointments with these guys.
“Shall I come back on Monday?” I ask.
“There’s no guarantee he’ll be there on Monday. You need to go to the next border crossing.”
So I turn back around and go back into Canada. I drive to the next border crossing and go back into the States, sighing at the long line. I have the brilliant thought to call my lawyer to ensure that this is the right course of action. Voicemail. I leave a message telling him of my intentions.
I finally get through the line and enter the secondary customs area and go to sign in where I am told to, but there is no pen. There is a lady dressed in a customs uniform on the phone, and she doesn’t look happy as she barks at the person on the other end. Someone’s having a bad day, I think to myself. Finally she gets off the phone and with a scowl hands me a pen. I ask if I should fill out the rest of the form and she snarls, “No, of course not.”
Sorrrrrry.
I am told to wait for my name to be called, so I sit with my magazine in the next room. I am engrossed in an article when I hear someone bark what sounds like my name. I startle, but I think I must be hearing things. It sounded like an almost inhumane growl.
“Denise!” Again.
I jolt up and say, “Yup, right here!” as I go to the counter where I see the snarky woman. Uh oh. She appears to be the one processing my paperwork. Once again she doesn’t smile or greet me, merely holds out her hand for my paperwork. She grabs it and starts to go through it. I want to greet her or ask her how she’s doing but I am afraid she will think I’m sucking up (maybe I am) and she seems like the type who wouldn’t be down with that.
But I’m a little nervous. All my paperwork should be there. I mean, my lawyer has been doing cases like mine forever with a flawless track record. Still, this woman’s sour demeanor alone puts the fear of God in me.
She continues to go through the paperwork and when she sees the marketing material for our parent company, manufacturer of beautiful arbors and trellises, she pauses. She goes through the brochure slowly and mutters, “Wow, this is nice stuff.”
I exhale. Finally, some common ground. I milk this for all I can and start talking to her about the product and ask what kind of decor she has in her yard. I end up hearing about her gardens and landscaping and murmur the appropriate amounts of sympathy and rage when she tells me how the neighbor boy poisoned the beloved goldfish in her pond. No wonder she’s so hostile. (I suggest one of our privacy screens and she tells me she just might look it up online.)
I am feeling better about this now that she has warmed up to me considerably. But my confidence is over-optimistic. After our small talk, she informs me that I’m missing a piece of paper and that some numbers are wrong on another form. I am perplexed that my lawyer seems to have dropped the ball. She assures me that once I have that sorted out, my case will be fine. This causes me a small measure of comfort; after all, I can certainly get what she’s after, but it’s still a pain because I’m in Detroit needing to retrieve paperwork that I don’t have.
I get to my car to a voicemail from my lawyer that goes something like this: “Do not go to that border crossing. She will not approve your VISA because she requires paperwork that you don’t have because it’s not legally required. I would suggest waiting until the other officer is around, even if you have to stay in Detroit for a couple of days.”
Phew!
I sigh and head to Port Huron, MI where I cross yet another border into Canada to visit my family for the weekend. On Monday morning I leave early and cross back into the States to drive to Detroit, then go back into Canada only to turn around back into the States, vaguely aware that I have just blown over $30 in border crossing tolls over the past couple days. Much to my relief, the officer I need to speak to is there. He greets me with a smile, asks how I like living in the States, reviews my paperwork, asks me a few questions pertinent to the business, and then approves my 2 year VISA with another smile as he says, “Welcome to America!”
The process takes 20 minutes.
So I’m still here legally, much to my relief. The red tape of being a foreigner here is pretty inconvenient, but it’s worth it, because we’re changing the world of do-it-yourself digless vinyl fence. With our vinyl fence you don’t need to dig holes or pour concrete. It’s WamBam fence, the only fence that’s fun to install.
Joe is the mastermind behind the digless fence concept
Every once in a while someone comes up with a revolutionary idea that really changes things. Usually these ideas are so radical that they are met with resistance at first. After all, it takes time to start a movement.
Meet Joe. He is an idea man, an inventor- the sort of wild-haired guy who does crazy things. He’s cycled across North America, resided in Cuba off and on for years (no, he’s not a communist!), written a book and invented a solar-powered oven utilized in third world countries where power is scarce.
Joe is a hard working guy who loves to putter. A professional fencer by trade, a dozen or so years ago he was having a few issues installing vinyl fence. One, it took too long and was too messy. Two, the cold in Manitoba Canada was so intense that even if the posts were put in cement footings 3-4 feet into the ground, the frost would often heave them out of the ground.
So Joe put on his inventor hat and started to tinker.
First he started experimenting with driving pipe into the ground. It worked quite well, but there was a critical problem with this: it was virtually impossible to get every pipe perfectly straight into the ground, which resulted in slightly crooked fence posts.
Joe went to the drawing board and came up with a couple of simple devices that would compensate for the slightly crooked posts. What Joe came up with was not complicated or outrageous. It actually was really simple. But it worked, and worked well. In short, he invented a simple adjustable post collar to sleeve over the pipe so the fence would be easy to make straight and level.
Within a short amount of time, Joe was installing fence a new way. To old fencing friends who had invested in expensive equipment and were accustomed to installing fence the traditional way, this new concept seemed absurd. But when Joe’s fences went up much faster than theirs and performed just as well, his competitors eventually had to embrace the concept to keep competitive. Plus his reputation soon grew so that this new system was used to replace heaving fence posts that were concreted in the ground.
It’s now been 12 years and there’s a growing movement across Western Canada. Most professional fence companies are installing fence this way. We think it’s such a cool idea that we want to help spread the word.
Sure, it’s only fencing. It’s not going to solve world hunger problems or help mankind live on Mars. But time is important to everyone, and this idea is so clever that it will save homeowners a lot of time and hassle. In short, we’ve been lucky enough to stumble on a movement and we want to spread the good news. We want to change the world of do-it yourself vinyl fence.
The WamBam Sandbox
Steve doesn't know he's about to encounter a bit of a snag...
First samples have arrived from China, horray!
We take our new treasures to the WamBam sandbox, which is actually just a piece of land down the street that we have rented from John, an 80 year-old businessman. We haggled with John to let us use a sliver of his land for grass roots quality control.
We show up to work in grubs, load up the pickup truck, and start WamBaming pipes into the ground. I want to try out the product myself, and despite my disciplined gym routine, it’s clear I need to pump more iron if I want to drive the anchors into the ground as quickly as Steve. It must be painful for him to watch because after a while, he says, “Give me that thing” as he starts WamBaming the anchors into the ground– quite effortlessly, I might add.
After one particularly successful blow, he remarks, “That’s easier. I must have just gotten past a rock.”
And within seconds we’re standing in a rapidly growing puddle. And it’s only getting bigger.
We’re really hoping that he hit an oil well, Beverly Hillbillies style. Visions of instant retirement with a lifetime of luxury without all the hard work of an endeavor like WamBam start flashing through my head. But then we realize with dismay that it’s water.
Yup, Steve broke a water line. (For the record, he did call the locates prior to driving the anchors and was given the clear.)
Water is gushing everywhere and we have to find John to confess our misdeeds. Things need to happen to rectify the situation: Turn off the water to the property. Dig up the ground to get to the pipe. Call a plumber. Write him a check.
A couple hours later, it’s all fixed.
I will say that I am impressed with our fence system. Sure, the anchors require some muscle to go into the ground. But it was pretty cool to see in practice, and the posts looked as even and white as a used car salesman’s smile. Yup, maybe I’m biased, but our digless vinyl fence system is pretty cool, innovative, and fun to install. Just as long as the water lines are kept intact.
It’s probably a combination of a bunch of things. Steve is a little larger than life and tends to live life by the mantra “go big or go home”. Or maybe it’s the influence of his Dutch father who survived the war and raised him to appreciate food because “you never know when you’ll go without.” Or maybe it’s the thrill of Sam’s Club, which must still be a novelty coming from a town where there are no wholesale clubs.
Whatever the case, whenever Steve goes to Sam’s Club to stock up on “lunch food”, it’s a little scary. The sheer amount of groceries he hauls in is enough to feed a small army. Plus, that means there will be no available fridge space for a couple weeks at least.
You think I’m exaggerating. But I promise these pictures were taken more than a week after his last excursion to Sam’s Club. Check it out:
The Cupboard Above the Fridge
- 2 “family size” bags of Tostitos
- 3 cans of Pringles
- 1 bag of Doritos
- 60 envelopes of hot chocolate in one big box
The Fridge
- 2 5lb bricks of cheese
- 1 “family size” bag of bacon bits
- 3 1/2 lbs of butter (or 3 boxes and 2 sticks)
- 3 jars of Tostitos cheese mix
- 1 jar of salsa
- 2 large jars of olives
- 4 boxes of grapefruit cups for a total of 32
- 2 “family size” bottles of salad dressing
- 3 extra large tubs of cottage cheese
- 1 large bag of clementines
- 1 large tub of spinach leaves
- 2 quarts of mushrooms
Main Cupboard
- 39 cans of soup
- 1 extra large jar of pickles
- 2 bags of chips
- 1 large jar of mixed nuts
- 3 boxes of fruit cups (48 cups total)
- 7 boxes of crackers
- 2 boxes of ice tea mix (for a total of 48 gallons of ice tea. He insists this was purchased in error- he thought it was regular tea.)
- 3 boxes of baked beans (24 cans total)
Bottom Cupboard
- 1 2.5 lb. bag of croutons
- 5 boxes of cereal
- 1 assorted box of apple cider packages (36 packages total)
I’ll stop now, but there’s still the freezer and the door of the fridge and a couple more cupboards.
When I raise my eyebrows and ask if all this food is really necessary, he replies, “If there’s ever a storm or war, you’ll thank me, Denise.” And in fairness to him, he is very good about sharing.
But just to reiterate, unlike me, he doesn’t usually eat all his meals at the office. He eats breakfast and dinner with his family at home. This is lunch food only.
And yet again, what does this have to do with fence or vinyl fence or privacy fence or do-it-yourself fence installation? I haven’t quite figured that out yet, but if you have any ideas, let me know.
Contrary to popular belief in their new middle school, Steve's kids never lived in igloos
Have you ever heard of Michael Jackson?
Do you have computers up there?
Do you speak Canesha?
And of course, the classic: Do you live in igloos?
These are questions that Steve’s 10 and 12 year old daughters actually get asked in their first couple days of school by new wide-eyed peers who have just found out that they are from (gasp!) Canada.
We practically think of Canada as an extension of the States, perhaps to the chagrin of Americans. But it quickly becomes apparent that many Americans think Canada is as foreign as Timbuktu.
Some stereotypes are true. Yes, we do say “eh” and get busted for the way we pronounce “about” all the time. And sure, we love hockey and I will echo the claims that our beer is far less watery than domestic American brands. Indeed our health care really is free and we like it that way.
But honestly, we don’t live in igloos. We get hot summers. And by hot, I mean it can creep up to 100 degrees. We’re really not that backwards.
At least Steve’s kid’s peers now know that Canadians don’t live in igloos, are aware of Michael Jackson and they do use computers all the way up there. And the primary language is English.
And hey, I admire his daughters for upping and moving to a new place so readily. They have adjusted remarkably well.
What does this have to do with digless, do-it-yourself fence that is fun to install? Not a whole lot. I guess I got a little off topic.
So Steve and I have worked within feet of each other—literally—for more than 7 years now. We get along really well.
But I have to confess that arguments occasionally erupt. There are three particular points of dissension between us that just won’t seem to go away.
#1 Office Disagreement
Hand’s down, office temperature. Steve is always hot. I’m always cold. He tells me to wear more clothes. I tell him that an undershirt and sweater should be sufficient for me and that clearly he needs to forgo his undershirt given his naturally high body temperature. He marches to the thermostat to turn it down. I sneak over and turn it up, then make myself a cup of tea and wrap a blanket around my shoulders, figuring I have only about an hour until he clues into the thermostat change. But it’s a nice, warm hour, until the process is repeated once again.
#2 Office Disagreement
Music. He likes to play classical music on the radio. I always thought I was cultured and appreciated classical music, but after several hours of Mozart droning me to sleep, I can’t do it anymore. I have learned not to comment on it, because every time I do, it’s a license for him to pull out the remote, conveniently within inches of his reach, and crank the screechy violins with an evil glint in his eye. Most of the time I just put on my headphones and play high energy music for the sake of productivity. When he’s not around, I throw my iPod in the stereo and blast it. Of course when he walks back into the office he gives me a strange look and says, “You wacko! Do you actually call this music?!” as he marches over to turn it down so low it might as well be off.
#3 Office Disagreement
The last thing we disagree with is my social life. Steve is an introverted morning person, which is completely my opposite (meaning I’m a highly extroverted night hawk). Now that it’s just the two of us in the office, he knows too much about my social life and thinks I am completely whacked to go out as much as I do.
“Why not sit at home and read a book tonight?” He asks.
“What?! On a Friday night?! You have got to be kidding me!”
I remind him that even after going out, I’m usually more functional in the morning then he is in the afternoon. He can’t dispute this fact so we share a laugh and get back to work…until he asks me if I have plans that evening and I give a squeaky little “yes” in response.
It’s all in good fun and if these are the biggest brawls we have, I think we’re quite lucky.
How can I bring this back to fence that’s digless and therefore fun to install? I really can’t, so I’ll just leave it alone.
Note to Steve: Don't call your graphics designer's wife a stooge
Steve sometimes says things without thinking. And other times things come out the wrong way. This is always a great source of amusement to me. For instance, yesterday he was talking to our graphics designer, Sid, on Skype.
Steve is talking to him about our instruction manuals. I hear his side of the conversation and it goes something like this:
“You know Sid, these instructions have to be really good. They have to be designed for the end user who doesn’t know a lot about fence. We need a total stooge to proofread them. You know, someone like your wife…”
From my end of the table: uncontrollable laughter followed by, “Um, Steve, do you realize what you just said?”
Of course Steve doesn’t think Sid’s wife is a stooge. He was just trying to communicate that he wanted someone who knew nothing about fencing to read our instructions to see if they made sense. But it came out all wrong.
Fortunately Sid is still doing work for us.
And those instruction manuals? They are all about fence. Digless fence. Do it yourself fence. Fence that’s fun to install. You know the drill.
Gotta Represent the Homeland
First twinge of homesickness since I got here. It’s Sunday afternoon and it’s an important day. It’s the gold medal hockey game between the Americans and Canadians.
Despite my lack of cable TV and friends who have any desire to watch hockey, I simply can’t miss this historical event.
What many Americans probably don’t realize is that for Canada, this game is at a whole new level. It’s just not just about winning. It’s about winning at our most prized sport. Hockey is practically a religion in Canada. Our national identity is pretty much at stake with this game.
So with a self confidence I do not feel, I walk into a bar heavy with blaring TVs and plop myself down in a bar stool. Everyone is watching the game intently, and it takes only seconds for me to get into it. It’s clear that despite the fact that I’m in North Carolina, a state not generally known for it’s love of hockey, there are some diehard hockey fans in the place.
It feels a bit strange to be what feels like the only one in there rooting for Canada, but I’m determined to support my country. After the first good play by Canada, I notice some happy exclamations two people down, and I realize there is indeed another Canadian fan in the bar, and a female one at that. We are instant friends.
Fast forward to the last 30 seconds of the 3rd period. It’s 2-1 Canada. It looks like we have won, but I remark to my new friend that you can’t always trust hockey. Things can change quickly.
And they do.
The wild cheers of “USA! USA!” from the Americans as their country ties up the game with only seconds to spare is depressing. My new friend and I put our heads down on the bar and groan. We’re anxious and nervous. The intensity is killing us. We simply can’t lose!
When Sidney Crosby scores the winning goal in overtime, there is a quiet, upset hush over the bar as everyone grows quiet and somber. Everyone, that is, except the two Canadian girls. We stand on the foot rests of our bar stools, and clap and cheer for our homeland, shamelessly and probably obnoxiously.
My cell phone rings. It’s an excited Steve calling. We Canadians have to share the moment, right? My phone lights up like a Christmas tree with text messages from elated friends back home.
Our cheers are not totally appreciated. Most people ignore us. Some shake their heads at us. A few give us dirty looks. One guy jokes that he is going to have us deported from the country. I find it amusing as I update my Facebook status from my phone: “Surrounded by bitter and angry Americans and loving every minute of it!” (Had the tables been turned, I surely would have been a bitter and angry Canadian, so no ill will towards my new American friends.)
It certainly isn’t the celebration it would have been back home; actually, quite the opposite. This makes me a little sad. But I am happy to make my own personal celebration in a sea of morose Americans as opposed to drowning my sorrows in their celebrations.
And not only are we up a gold medal, but I’m up a friend too.
Go Canada!
Oh yeah- this is supposed to be a blog about fence, right? Specifically digless fence and do-it-yourself fence and fence that’s easy to install. Well, our product is all that and more. I’m sure Crosby would endorse it given the chance.
Singing Wishes
First business trip. We’re going to walk the annual fence show in Orlando. It’s 5am when Steve picks me up and we’re giddy that we can get to the airport in 20 minutes. No customs! No chance of bad weather! No driving through Detroit traffic! No 1.5 hour commute! We’re excited about this small pleasure in life.
Everything goes as smooth as Johnny Walker black on the rocks.
When we land in Orlando we’re parched and make a pitstop in one of the over-priced airport shops.
I plunk two bottles of water on the counter and after the smiling, middle aged man at the counter gives me my change, he looks me in the eye and belts out loudly in song:
“Thank you for the business, I hope you have a great day!”
His sing song voice rings through the quiet store like church bells and Steve and I are completely amused.
He looks at Stephen right in the eyeballs and repeats his song.
We’re loving it. I encourage Stephen– who enjoys breaking out in a bit of song himself, much to the dismay of his children—to return the song-like favor to this cheerful man who has just brightened our day. So there goes Stephen, standing in the airport store, singing this man a good-day wishes in a loud and slightly-strained baritone.
Rules Were Made to be Broken
In the interest of exercise and taking advantage of the Florida sunshine, Steve, our coworkers from our sister companies and I decide to walk from the convention center to the hotel after the trade show. Ironically we bump into our supplier who is driving a shiny Tacoma pickup truck, stuffed with a load of people in the cab.
He rolls down the window to say hello and someone jokes about scamming a ride from him.
“Hop in the back,” he says.
So the 7 of us in our business clothes throw our briefcases in the back of his truck, hop in, and get whisked around Orlando. The responses vary according to personality. For example, there is Guy, a rule abiding man, who is concerned about the illegality of the scheme. “We’re going to get fined, or worse, Denise here is leaning on the back of the tailgate. This is a Toyota! What if it’s been recalled and the latch comes loose and there she is, lying on the pavement? I’m sweating bullets, and there you are, loving this, aren’t you?” He asks me. My grin gives away my delight and the wind whips through my hair.
The latch stays intact and not long after we unload from the back into the hotel, thanking our ride and apologizing that his shocks might have just taken a bit of a beating.
More Singing
The next morning we take a cab to the convention center and our driver is a jovial African American man who loves to let out hearty belly laughs. There is a Bible on the seat next to him and Stephen asks, “Do you actually believe that book or is it there just for show?” With the confident orating ability of a black preacher, he enthusiastically replies that yes, he is a God fearing man and wouldn’t have it any other way.
Somehow him and Stephen get to talking about hymns. Within minutes they are belting out a hymn in unision, the black man singing and laughing at the absurdity of it. He is loving it. I’m loving it too, purely for entertainment value. These two characters sing their hearts out as we get dropped off at the convention center.
And um, yeah, let me try relating this back to fence, whether privacy fence, vinyl fence or just privacy vinyl fence. It was a fence trade show we attended. Promise.
