A brief summary of the conversations over the last month:

Me: “So, how much of your data do you need to migrate?”

Client’s Head of IT: “Should just be some person records, some company records. That about right [Operations Manager]?”

Client’s Operation Manager: “Yeah, not even. Just a subset of that.”

Me: “So it’s just flat data? Like one row for one person, no linked tables?”

Client’s Head of IT: “Correct. And we don’t even need much there, just the basic name, address, phone number, etc will do.”

Me: “How clean is the data? Are you sending all of it and expecting us to clean it, or are you sending just the stuff you want to keep?”

Client’s Head of IT: “Oh, we definitely don’t want that in the new system, so we will just send over the parts we want.”

Me: “Are you sure? Are you absolutely doubly sure? Pinky promise, no take-backsies?”

Client’s Head of IT: “Yeah, but tell you what, let’s have a call next week with our data guy.”

Today:

Data Guy: “Yeah, so we have two unique databases we need to merge, one in India and one in England. Hundreds of thousands of people and client records, millions of contact log records. For each worker, there will be around a hundred unique fields that need to be mapped, and for each worker, around a thousand records for previous work history and communication logs, an unknown amount of documents, but let’s say at least 20 PDFs per person. There are around two hundred directly relevant tables, but a lot more that could be useful.”

Me: “Do you want some of this or all of it?”

Data Guy: “…yes? Obviously everything. We need this import so that you can perform a data cleanse, fix duplicates, fill in missing info, sort it properly, etc., as we don’t have the capacity to do it ourselves.”

I should know better at this point, I fall for it every time.

I was working as a sign painter’s apprentice years ago, and we did a bunch of hand lettering work for a local church, the main sign out front, their van, and on their main glass doors.

My boss slams down the phone and, red in the face, spins around in his chair.

Boss: “That was the minister. He says he’s not paying. Said there’s nothing we can do about it.”

Me: “After three months of excuses? Seriously?”

Boss: “Oh, there’s something we can do about it. Are you willing to meet me here tomorrow at 2 AM?”

Me: “Uh… I’m getting paid?”

Boss: “Of course!”

Me: “Then yes.”

The next night, it’s quiet; the whole village is asleep. We ride our bikes under the cover of darkness, backpacks clinking with supplies. We stop in front of the church, the van glinting in the streetlight, the proud glass doors gleaming with the hand-painted lettering we’d worked so hard on.

Boss: *Pulling out four cans of Easy-Off.* “God may forgive, but oven cleaner won’t.”

We spray everything. Every careful brushstroke, every letter, until the paint bubbles and melts. Then we rinse it all down with a weed sprayer. By the time we’re done, the signs look like blank slates, as if we’d never been there at all.

Me: *Chuckling as the paint washes into the gutter.* “Guess he was right, there’s nothing we can do, but we can undo.”

Back at the shop, we crack open a couple of beers and lean back, watching the clock tick past 4 AM.

Boss: “That’s that. If he calls, I’ll tell him to pray on it.”

He never did call. Six months later, the local paper carried the headline: “Minister Charged with Embezzlement, Removed from Position.”

A couple of years ago, I was an art director at a local creative agency; branding, digital campaigns, websites, the usual. One of our bigger accounts was a well-known travel site (let’s call them Big Travel Co.), and my point of contact was their country marketing manager.

One afternoon, my phone lights up.

Client: “I looked at the mock-ups, and the colors are all wrong. Especially our core brand color, the [main brand color] is completely off!”

Me: “Got it. Could you send me the mock-up you’re looking at so I can check?”

I’d built that mock-up myself. I was certain I pulled the exact RGB/hex values straight from their brand guidelines. Still, I open the file, sample the swatches, compare against the guidelines, and even cross-check their website and recent campaigns. Perfect match.

I call her back.

Me: “I double-checked. These are precisely your brand colors; same values as the guidelines, same as your site.”

Client: “No, they’re wrong. I’m looking at them right now. They look… off. Like, washed out.”

Washed out? A terrible suspicion starts to form.

Me: “Could you check your monitor settings?”

Client: “I don’t know how to do that.”

We spiral into a long, circular debate about color, where I (patiently) troubleshoot and she (confidently) implies I don’t know my job. My creative director drifts in and out of the conversation like a concerned weather pattern. Eventually, we agreed to meet in person.

A couple of days later, she arrives at our office, sets down an ancient, battle-scarred ThinkPad, and opens the file.

Client: “See? The colors are all wrong!”

I glance at the screen. It looks like the 1990s called and asked for its VGA palette back.

Me: “Your display is limited to a very narrow color range. That’s why everything looks washed out. On a modern monitor, the [main brand color] renders exactly as specified. Here—look at it on my screen.”

She peers at my monitor. The <main brand color> is bright, brand-correct, and blissfully not-sad.

Client: “…I see.”

We delivered the full campaign shortly after. Feedback was minimal.

When brand colors are “wrong,” sometimes it’s not the branding. It’s the time machine you’re viewing them on.

This is an email conversation with a client about logging in to the service my employer offers. This happened long ago, when automatic password changes were not yet so common.

Client: “I cannot log in.”

Me: *The same day.* “What happens when you try to log in? If you get an error message saying ‘Incorrect username or password’, please contact your administrator for password reset.”

Two days later:

Client: “I still cannot log in. The password is correct.”

Me: *The same day.* “Can you please describe in detail what happens when you try to log in? Does the page freeze, or do you get some error message? If you get an error message saying ‘Incorrect user name or password’, please contact your administrator for password reset. A reset is the only way to get around this error message.”

Three days later:

Client: “I’m still unable to log in. My work is piling. The error message says ‘Incorrect user name or password’, but the password is correct.”

Me: *The same day.* “The only way to get around the error message saying ‘Incorrect user name or password’ is to contact your administrator for a password reset. Even if you are writing the password correctly.”

Two days later:

Client: “Okay, I’ll try that. But the password is correct!”

I work with damage claims. I am the one who decides if your claim is valid and if you get money. I am allowed to pay out a claim in case of leniency. Up until a four-digit payout, I do not have to discuss it with anyone, and I make sure I write down everything. If there is a payout, I can say why, what, when, and why again.

A client hands in a claim. A machine my company placed broke down, unexpectedly, and it needed to be fixed. We paid for the technicians, but it needed two visits before it was fully fixed. There were no damages, but the client claims extra use of electricity. I ask for proof, though according to our contract, we are not obligated to compensate anything in this specific case.

What the client sends me is a bar graph, with no actual numbers or usage, just bars that end between numbers like 0 – 27 – 54… not even sensible numbers. I do my best and estimate that the client used 48 kWh extra. Let’s pretend that it is 50 euros. I offer 75 euros, just to be on the safe side. 

The response to the offer?

Client: “This is much too low! According to my electricity company, it is 52 kWh! I demand you compensate me fairly.”

Me: “I recalculated the extra usage. It would come to about 55 euros. I could transfer that amount to you, but since that is less, I re-offer 75 euros out of leniency.”

Client: “We still think it’s too low, but we decided it is not worth our energy and time, so you can transfer 75 euros to our bank account.”

Some people are just so ungrateful.