I just did the most small-town thing ever.
As I was flipping through my spam filter, looking for anything that was falsely flagged–well, you never know–I came across an invoice for “The Other Karen.”
“The Other Karen” is a lady from the state next door, who happens to have an email address that is one character different than my personal email address. Sometimes I get her e-mail, and to be honest, her strays are usually more important than my strays. I forward her stuff, and she forwards mine. If it’s important enough that there’s a phone number on the invoice, I call her.
We don’t actually know each other, but I’ve been to her town, and I know the company that sent the invoice by reputation. It’s not spam… but it gets filtered because it’s not mine.
So, I call her. Karen, your beef has been processed. Go pick it up.
Not often. But more than once. It’s half a favor for her, and half a favor for the meat processor. (Who is in the very back depths of my mind as someone who’s willing to take deer. Blech.*) Never mind. It’s a small-town, homegrown business. That’s worth a little consideration.
So, this time, I called the meat processor directly. They’ll resend the invoice, and maybe give The Other Karen a call to be sure that she gets it. And with luck… fix the email in their computers before next year. It was a nice chat.
Go pick up your beef.
*There are reasons why a lot of processors just don’t do deer. Just take my word for it. Blech. (It also means that you hear about the ones who do, whether you actually, personally, hunt or not. I do not hunt.)