The fellow with the word processor files called again. In the middle of my vacation time. Luckily for him, he got the voice mail and not me, because he wanted to come by tonight and have me print his files. He emphasized again that he didn't want them converted to DOS format anymore. He didn't mention money this time. He did offer to play phone tag with me for the rest of the day, saying he'd be in and out. Since it's vacation time, and he has already displayed a bad attitude, I didn't bother returning the call.

And I'm about to go into full Southern Mother Mode with him. It's easier to give an example than to explain what I mean by that.

I once had to deal with a client who was a wonderful Southern gentleman, but who couldn't get his act together if he had to. In meetings, he'd be the one who left the crucial document on his kitchen table. Or he'd lock himself out of his car and have to stay with me till the locksmith could show up. You're getting the picture, aren't you?

Well, one day he was supposed to show up for a meeting and didn't. After an appropriate length of lateness (about an hour), I tried calling him. Got the machine at his house, and left a polite message asking him to call.

A few minutes later he called. As soon as I realized who was on the phone, I said "Where were you? I was worried!" Scolding, if you will, but leaving him room to have a plausible answer. Notice here there is no threatened punishment. The Southern child will immediately know that the punishment will come if the answer is not a very good one. The rest of you may have figured it out, too.

It seems he had come early for our meeting, realized that he was too early before coming to the door, and had gone away to run an errand. During the course of the errand, he had a flat tire, in a shopping center parking lot. He managed to get the tire changed, then (and only then) realized he was late to the meeting. So instead of calling from the tire place, he drove across town and used his home phone.

I, of course, told him I was sorry about his troubles, but reminded him that he should have called me from the tire place, since I knew they would have let him use the phone for a local call. I didn't have to say anything about his wasting my time. I didn't need to. The use of the word, "worried," conveyed that loud and clear.

Not a word was said in terms of what would happen if he ever made that mistake again. Because he knew that whatever it was it would not be pretty.

And if the fellow with the files needs to get a dose of Southern Mother, well, I'll deliver. But not before the first of the year.

If you want to see Christmas in Beckyland, click here.