Get in front of story, acknowledge the error, let them know how you will fix it. If necessary offer something to soothe egos.

I ticked this off my fingers, I know this protocol by heart. But this moment it means nothing to me. I’m so mortified this mistake happened. And now I understand the resistance of my clients when I suggest these steps to them. There’s something in the ego, that even if it’s a simple, innocuous mistake like the wrong mailing list, it feels like a moral failing.

I sat and just breathed for a moment. I needed someone to talk me down. I closed my eyes and went through my options: Deedee would turn this into some HR horror story and I’d feel worse, Abby would laugh at me, and tell me to call Ari. Ari, of course Ari. Ari would listen and try really hard to be there for me, make me feel better even if he has no clue what I’m dealing with or feeling. I felt a rush as oxygen flooded my body to my fingertips, as though proper access had been blocked as I sat in tension.

I reached for my phone and left to take a walk outside, I didn’t want Linda listening in. It was brisk outside, the wind was strong and whipped my sheitel into my face. I ducked to the side of the building to avoid the wind. Ari picked up on the second ring, I told him what happened. He chuckled.

“I’m just imagining these people opening an e-mail suggesting Swarovski chandelier earrings and another suggesting the rainbow-patterned jellied bracelets.”

“The jelly bracelets are in the catalogue?” I was distracted for a moment.

“Yeah, but you have to be really young, or use really quirky language for the algorithm to suggest it.”

“Oh, okay,” I said, only understanding in the moment how much thought and consideration went into the cataloguing. “But seriously, this is mortifying.”

“I hear that.” Ari echoed. “But it’s not like you actually did something wrong, or offensive. It’s a very human error.”

“Yes, but I don’t do basic human error.”

“We all do. And you want to be a superwoman.” Ari said. And I couldn’t read his expression — serious, sarcastic, jesting? “But you want to know the truth? No one likes supermen, or superwomen. They just make the rest of us feel inadequate. We like people who are people, who sometimes get food stuck in their teeth. Other people’s little mistakes make us feel better.”

And he said it so casually, that the depth and implications took a moment to resonate. Was he suggesting what I thought was my biggest asset was not attractive at all — except maybe to a client.

“So what should I do?” I asked, and for once sincerely meant.

“Tell the truth. The same thing you’d tell your clients. Be honest, be human, it was a mistake, it won’t happen again — can you believe I do some charity work on the side.”

His last words had me laughing. So true. I thought it was only Abby who saw right through me, and still liked me.

I inhaled, bracing myself.

“Okay. I’m gonna try.”

“Keep me posted,” Ari said.

“Of course.” I replied, and again for the first time, meant it sincerely. I wanted to tell him, didn’t just feel I should tell him.

Back inside, seated behind my desk, I started typing with purpose. It took a lot longer than I thought it would. Vague phrases like “a community-minded endeavor was misapplied,” kept popping in. Finally, I sat back to review my final draft before sending it off for the world to judge.

Hello,

Many of you have reached out to me regarding the e-mail I sent last night that offered jewelry recommendations. I apologize profusely for wasting your time. It was a misfired e-mail. I accidently inserted the wrong mailing list in the send field.

For those curious as to what my involvement in jewelry is and who the intended recipients were, I founded what can be described as a jewelry library servicing my local community, where people can borrow pieces of jewelry free of charge (just a small, refundable deposit) for a week at a time. I recently upgraded my software to include jewelry recommendations, and that’s the e-mail you received — my attempt to send it to my frequent library patrons.

I apologize for the confusion, irritation, and inbox clutter. I will be more vigilant in the future when addressing my e-mails. And if you’re so inclined, feel free to utilize my jewelry “library.”

Sincerely,

Shifra Pollack (nee Kahan)

It looked good, checked off all the PR crisis protocol boxes. My eyes lingered on my closure. I used Pollack for the first time professionally.

I closed my eyes tightly for a moment, finger hovering over the key, and hit send. My next move was to text Ari — Sent!

Not five minutes later I had three responses. Hastily I clicked on them.

Apology accepted, what a wonderful concept a jewelry library! Wishing you much success — Dana Rhays

And she only roasted me a few hours ago. Phew.

Been there, done that. Happens to the best of us. Nice pieces you have! —Harold Plinbas

And a simple,

Got it, thanks for the clarification.

What do you know. Ari was right. Not just that PR works, but people just want people and honesty. I forwarded the e-mails to Ari and called him,

“Check your e-mail!” I said when he answered. He crowed on his end.

“Crisis averted!”

“Thanks to you,” I said. I could sense his blushing on his end.

“Listen Shifra,” his tone shifted. “Let’s go out to eat tonight, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

My joy fizzled, my first thought was that he must have remembered Purim…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 641)