This post is part of The Margin of Madness — excavating meaning from complexity through disciplined intellectual inquiry. Read more about Margin of Madness HERE>>>
Today I took a Xanax over a $15 blanket. A blanket that grew feet and walked out my front door. To be clear, I do not care about the blanket. It wasn't about the blanket but rather a theme of owning a brick and mortar business. Things disappear. That's life.
But after three straight days of working the front desk while my employee is on a well deserved family vacation, my brain was completely fried, and somehow this stupid blanket became the emotional breaking point.
First of all, let me say that I am thrilled my employee is taking time off. She works hard, she deserves it, and I hope she's having an amazing time. At the same time, spending three consecutive days doing her job has reminded me exactly why I hired her in the first place.
I don't actually enjoy being customer facing.
People are usually surprised when I say that because they've seen me networking or speaking at events. They assume I'm outgoing. The reality is that I'm just passionate about business. Ask me about marketing strategy, cash flow, SBA loans, or why I think month to month office space is the future, and I'll happily talk your ear off for two hours.
But social interaction for the sake of social interaction? Reading subtle cues? Navigating awkward situations with strangers? That does not come naturally to me. There is a reason I have two mechanical engineering degrees. My brain likes systems, processes, and rules. Human beings are significantly more complicated than spreadsheets.
The funny part is that I know this about myself.
I'm awkward. I've always been awkward. I've simply learned to disguise it with enthusiasm. I also replay embarrassing interactions in my head like they're Olympic highlights. I'll be brushing my teeth five years from now and suddenly remember something weird I said to someone in 2019 and physically cringe. Meanwhile, that person almost certainly forgot I existed thirty seconds after we talked.
So with that context, let me tell you about the blanket.
Many of my clients are therapists, which means I also get to know many of their clients. We see the same faces every week or month. Some people are anxious. Some are chatty. Some never make eye contact. Some wave every time they come in. After a while, they become familiar.
Today, one woman came in for her appointment and immediately wandered past the front desk with her five minor children in tow.
"Can I sit in your kitchen?" she asked.
"No," I told her. "That's reserved for members."
No problem. I directed her back to our waiting area, and everything seemed perfectly normal. Well, as normal as possible for someone bringing five extra bodies to a professional office space for her therapy appointment.
Now before the internet comes after me, let me clarify something. I have three children of my own. I know childcare falls through. I know life happens. Parenting is hard. But my immediate internal reaction was, "Who the fuck brings five other people to a therapy appointment?"
Two of the children were tiny, still in car seats attached to a stroller, so she wheeled them into the therapy room with her. The other three stayed in our waiting area.
To her credit, they were actually incredibly well behaved. Two quietly entertained themselves with their phones. The third was a high spirited four year old and behaved exactly like every four year old I've ever met, which is to say they had approximately forty-seven thoughts per second and all of them required movement.
There wasn't chaos. There wasn't destruction. There wasn't even much noise.
But there was a problem.
Our Member Service Agreement has always prohibited unattended minors. Not because we dislike children and certainly not because we're trying to make parents' lives more difficult. It's because we're a professional workspace.
Therapists are seeing clients. Attorneys are meeting with people. Businesses are being built. Financial information is discussed. Corporate teams are working. It's simply not designed to function as a daycare.
From an insurance standpoint, what exactly am I supposed to do if something happens? What if a child gets hurt? What if they start wandering the halls? What if another member says something inappropriate? Am I supposed to discipline someone else's child while simultaneously running the business?
That's not a fair position to put anyone in.
So while I sat at the front desk with three children waiting outside for nearly an hour, I knew I needed to remind my client about our unattended minor policy. I sent a simple email referencing the Member Service Agreement.
Reasonable. Professional. Necessary.
The story should have ended there. Instead, it got stupid. Later that afternoon, I noticed one of our throw blankets was missing.
Here's something I've learned after owning a business: things develop legs. Forks disappear. Spoons disappear. Coffee mugs disappear. Space heaters disappear. Fans disappear. Phone chargers disappear.
At this point, I'm convinced somewhere in Metro Detroit there is an Airbnb furnished entirely with things that used to belong to me.
Normally I laugh about it because it's overhead. I literally bought new forks and spoons today because apparently my current silverware has chosen a better life elsewhere.
But after three straight days of being "on," my brain decided this particular blanket mattered.
There had been five kids. I have kids.
My kids routinely acquire objects that were not part of our original inventory. I can be halfway across the mall before noticing one of my twins proudly carrying an umbrella they picked up at Macy's that we absolutely did not pay for. Children are tiny raccoons. They collect things. They don't mean anything by it.
So I called my client.
I tried to frame it carefully. I explained that my own children accidentally walk off with things all the time and wondered whether perhaps the blanket had accidentally gone home.
To her client's credit, she immediately said no. She had folded it up and put it back exactly where she found it.
Fantastic. Problem solved. Except it wasn't. The second I hung up the phone, I knew.
You know that feeling when you send a text and immediately wish you could reach through the phone and unsend it?
That's exactly how I felt.
I wasn't accusing anyone of stealing. I genuinely thought maybe a child had accidentally grabbed a blanket. But intent doesn't matter nearly as much as impact. What I intended as a simple question could absolutely have landed as an accusation.
Later, when I spoke with my client, she explained that one of the people I believed was an unattended minor was actually eighteen and about to turn nineteen.
Immediately I felt better.
"Oh! Perfect! Thank you for clarifying."
Because my concern wasn't that there were multiple people waiting. My concern was unattended minors. But by then I had already spent the day mentally replaying every interaction.
Should I have called? (Nope)
Should I not have called? (Correct)
Should I have just bought another blanket? (Yep)
Why am I like this? (You're human.)
The answer, I think, is that customer service is emotional labor.
People think running a business is strategy and spreadsheets. Sometimes it is. Sometimes it's financial forecasting or marketing or negotiations.
But sometimes it's swallowing your pride.
Sometimes it's admitting you handled something awkwardly.
Sometimes it's recognizing that you made another person's day a little more uncomfortable than it needed to be, even though your intentions were good.
I called my client and apologized. I told her if this woman comes back, I'd be happy to apologize to her personally because my job is to make my clients look good, not create awkward moments that make their jobs harder.
One of the hardest lessons in business is understanding how your bread is actually buttered.
My bread is not buttered by blankets or forks or coffee mug.
It's buttered by relationships and trust and referrals and renewals, and people feeling comfortable enough to come back.
A $15 blanket means absolutely nothing. A damaged reputation means everything.
I still think bringing five people to a therapy appointment is objectively insane.
And I still think our unattended minor policy is the correct policy.
But I still think I handled the blanket poorly.
All three of those things can be true at the same time.
That's another lesson business ownership has taught me. You can have the right policy and the wrong delivery. You can have good intentions and create awkward outcomes. You can be passionate about your business and still be socially clumsy.
I'm far from perfect. I mess up all the time. I replay embarrassing moments in my head with a level of commitment that should probably qualify as a hobby. I have entire conversations with myself in the shower where I explain to imaginary people what I should have said three weeks ago.
But if I'm going to make mistakes, I'd rather make them, apologize sincerely, learn from them, and buy another blanket than spend the rest of my career pretending I'm flawless.
Besides, somewhere out there, someone is probably eating dinner with one of my missing forks.
And honestly?
I hope they're enjoying it.