The customer is always right . . .

 . . . but when they’re not, you have to tell them they’re wrong in a way that lets them think that they’re right. If you can’t, then just keep your mouth shut or risk losing your customer.

“It’s a good thing I signed up for your service.” Mrs. Dickinson smelled like lavender which made me think of the flowering vine on the side of Alana’s neck. “I don’t know what I would have done otherwise. Come with me, the computer’s in my sewing room.”

“No problem, Mrs. Dickinson. Technically . . .” I had to be careful here, and saying it to her back as I followed her down the dark and narrow hallway seemed like a less hostile way of setting her straight. Family pictures covered both walls. “My service is really for things that fall just below the level of an emergency.”

“Like what?” She stopped suddenly and turned to face me.

“Like, uh . . .” Her liquid blue eyes filled with accusation. Careful, Hudson. “Like, for instance . . . say a stranger knocks on your door and you don’t feel safe answering it. You could call me, and I could come by to make sure no one’s hanging around, scoping out your house or something.”

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Dickinson’s face went white with fear. “I’d never thought of someone knocking on my door to case the place. Do you think that’s what they’re up to? A young man came by just last week wanting to know if I needed my gutters cleaned.”

I didn’t want to scare her, but I needed to set boundaries.

“I’m not saying that people who knock on your door are all bad. But if you feel nervous about anything.” I tried to think of a less scary example of my services. “Let’s say you go to get in your car and find the tank is empty. You could call me, and I could come by with a can of gas to get you to the nearest station.”

That wasn’t exactly what I was thinking when I came up with the idea for my business, but it was the first thing that came to mind.

“But I have AAA for that purpose.”

This was wasn’t going well.

“Or if you’re feeling sick. Maybe you have the flu or something. I could go to the store and bring you medicine.” That seemed easy enough, and people didn’t usually get the flu more than once a year, if that.

“I suppose so.” She flipped the light switch and the dark hallway lit up so I could clearly see the family photos. “But if my email isn’t working I can’t speak to my children and grandchildren,” she motioned her hand towards the wall where children and grandchildren surrounded us. They smiled down at me like I was the only thing standing between Mrs. Dickinson and no email.

“You’re right,” I knew when I was beaten. “You’re absolutely right. This is very important and qualifies as something . . . just below the level of an emergency.”

She smiled, and I followed her into the sewing room.

“Now you take all the time you need while I go look for a phone number. A gentleman I met at the Senior Center is interested in your services. I told him all about you.”

Two minutes later, I went out to look for Mrs. Dickinson and found her rummaging through a kitchen drawer.

“I know I put it here.” I could hear the frustration in her voice. “Darn it.” She looked up at me. “Did you fix my email?”

“Yes. The problem was you had your Caps Lock on, and your password is case sensitive. If it ever happens again just press the Caps Lock key again.”

“Wait a minute.” She pulled a sticky pad from the kitchen drawer and wrote in flowery cursive, her hand trembling ever so slightly.

If email password doesn’t work, check Caps Lock button.

“I’ll put this on my computer.” She peeled the purple sticky note from its pad. “Now what was I doing here?”

“Looking for the phone number of the gentleman who wants my services?” I was proud of myself for remembering to say gentleman instead of guy or man.

“That’s right. I don’t know what I’ve done with it, but I’ll keep looking. He’s new at the Senior Center, so maybe I’ll run into him there again if I can’t find it.”

“I appreciate it, Mrs. Dickinson.” Lady, the cocker spaniel, was lying on a pillow in the corner of the kitchen. She lifted her head and thumped her tail against the pillow when she saw me. She seemed pretty lazy, but maybe she was just old.

“Hi, Lady girl!” I walked over and gave her a few friendly rubs behind the ears to get Mrs. Dickinson used to the idea that Lady and I were friends. I’d wait for the gentleman’s phone number before I asked for Lady’s business. “And Mrs. Dickinson? You should change your password. It’s a bad idea to use your name.”

“But it’s so easy to remember.” She looked as hurt as if I’d just slapped one of her grandchildren.

“That’s exactly the point. If it’s easy for you to remember, then it’s easy for someone else to guess. Someone who could possibly hack into your account.”

“Oh dear.”

There went the scared look again. I’d have to remember with Mrs. Dickinson it was a balancing act of getting her to do the right thing without destroying her peace of mind.

“It’s okay for now. Let me know when you want to change it, and I’ll come over and help you.” I thought about the online tutorial I read about entrepreneurship . . . always ask for the business. “And please give me a call when you find the gentleman’s number.” I hoped the when as opposed to if would plant it more firmly in her mind. “Bye, Lady!”

Lady thumped her tail politely in response before collapsing once again into the soft pillow.