Drivel

Monday, January 31, 2005

Squishy Mushy Sentimentality


Chocolate Truffle a la mode DanielPosted by Hello
Disclaimer: The following post will read like it was made by some gushing schoolgirl, but quite honestly, formal (or even semi-formal) stoic writing has its place and time, and this is not it. Besides, cooking and baking always brings out the feminine me, so I may as well live the moment.

Oh I made my first cake-like truffle! Isn’t it absolutely divine, and so sweet! Actually, my friend made it for his Special Other, but I taught him how to do it. *basks in delusional glory* I think heart-shaped chocolate truffles trounces a cake. I mean it’s more thoughtful, less passé, and not to mention that chocolate is an aphrodisiac. The only problem is that the dessert’s sinful, absolutely sinful---there’s nothing in there but chocolate, cream, and sherry.

All in all, we spent 8.5 hours on this creation, but I think even protracted slaving over the stove in a hot and stuffy oven is worthwhile, just as long as it makes that special someone happy. OH NO!!! What am I saying? Sigh, I think the old stolid Daniel melted away months ago, and is destined never to return. Ah well, who am I to tempt fate?

I think I’m now a whole lump of squishy mushy sentimentality (try saying the last three words; it has a nice rhythm).

Sunday, January 30, 2005

Sales Techniques

I just realised why books teaching selling techniques have so many detractors --- the techniques might have been used successfully by the authors of the books, but transferring them from paper to actions is no easy feat. However, some critics may go too far in their slamming, for while one may not be able to use the skills immediately, it does provide one with the necessary framework and knowledge which will enable one to learn faster.

Let me explain my point through a deal I botched because I committed a cardinal error: trivalising a customer’s concern. I was trying to convince a mother to send her son down to my tuition centre. The deal was going perfectly until she voiced concern about our scholars having inadequate knowledge. Moot point, I thought to myself, since after studying for A Levels, O Levels becomes really simple. Not to mention that my tuition centre is manned by scholars; scholars may often be regarded as being too bookish, lacking street smarts, being too muggish, having no entrepreneurial inclination, etc, but something which people do not deny is that we do well for examinations (no representation of intelligence though).

Thus, I replied as tactfully as possible that it was a non-issue, spelling out just how qualified we were. Well, at that point, she seemed relatively satisfied with my answer, and I moved on, dispelling her other concerns. At the end of it, she agreed to enroll her son, and asked me to call her once I confirmed the classes.

I called her two hours later and I found an apologetic parent who told me that she had decided to renege on her promise. The reason: after much thought, she decided she would prefer an experienced teacher instead, and that as much as we were scholars, our two years of teaching experience was insufficient. This was a worry that she did not raise during our conversation though I asked her repeatedly whether she had any other issues.

In retrospect, I attribute this to my trivalising her concern about the teaching ability of scholars. I’m guess her doubts were not adequately quashed, and started festering, leading to the ignominious ending.

Lesson: Never patronise, trivalise or brush away concerns. Listen carefully and empathise. There is no point listing out all the benefits of a particular product or service if there are some lingering objections; always solve it before continuing.

So how does this lead back to my point? Without such books, introspection and post portem would be rather useless since I wouldn’t know where I went wrong.

Proof? I just got off the phone: I managed to get a parent who had similar reservations to sign up for lessons.

Sunday, January 23, 2005

How Ironic

I sometimes wonder why one should bother to blog. What does one seek to achieve by writing a quasi-autobiography? An emotional mouthpiece? Hardly, as one has to practise self-censorship unless one particularly wants to trample on other people’s feelings. In this respect a blog pales in comparison to a personal diary, where the word personal actually means something. A literary canvass? Perhaps, but not everyone is endowed with such talents (in particular, I’m having trouble with even a coherent blog entry). A complete and all-exhaustive daily account of what one did? Possible, but shouldn’t recording and archiving be left to bespectacled librarians and historians? Fundamentally, a blog is very much linked to self-exhibitionism, a virtual stage of sorts, where one shouts “look at me.” Thus for the longest time I wondered, and still wonder, about the sanity and utility of keeping a blog.

But the aforementioned points are moot since they are contained within the very subject they seek to criticise; in essence akin to Adam munching on an apple while commenting that he shouldn’t be doing so. I can imagine what Colin, my Literature mentor, would say: “How ironic.”