Advertising in Italy: Not for the faint of heart

Anyone who has followed my blog knows that every so often...I come across a delicious ad campaign that I can't pass up.  But honestly, I never caught this one until one of my peeps @ABroadBrush pointed out the irony...
So here it is, my first entry of 2015 of ad campaign fails of the Bel Paese.  
This one, properly translated, states Switch over to WIND (mobile phone carrier).
Literally translated is...Pass to Wind ... if you get our drift...Well, actually, scratch that...you won't want to find yourself anywhere near our drift...
It's no wonder they use English so much in their ads. 

You actually could have some fun with their little vignettes...
Like...he who smelt it, dealt it!

Or...like this one...starts you wondering about those poor astronauts out there in Outer Space

For more fun posts on Italian adverts...try here!

Italian Fashion: Dressed to the Nines

Lately, I've been giving a lot of thought to what's changed in Italy - for better or for worse - since I first landed over twenty years ago. Sometimes, it's hard to say if anything truly is worse (although Italians & economists from all corners say it is).  Perhaps I simply hadn't noticed issues when I was younger and too busy traveling for both business or pleasure.  
With these thoughts constantly ferreting through my mind, I got a chuckle from a certain Dory on Twitter - when she posted @DFindingDory:

some bitch: omg you wore that shirt the other day me: yeah well in my house we have this amazing thing called a washing machine

It reminded me growing up in the U.S., you could never be caught dead wearing the same clothes two days in a row.  I swear in U.S. corporations it is still cause for dismissal.  So when I first arrived in Italy, I would be stunned to see those impressive men and women impeccably dressed, right down to magnetic blue high heels to match their acquamarine tailleur. I am still in awe whenever I see that mix. They were memorable.
So much so, that I believe large part of the rage against FIAT head Sergio is less about moving his profits to Holland and closing factories than his insistence on wearing sweaters instead of the mandatory stunning Armani business attire of his fellow countrymen.

Coming from the country that invented "leisure suits" - "sweat suits" and "casual Fridays, you'd face your coworkers, duly impressed.  But then, waltzing into the office the next day, you'd be struck by some bizarre déjà vu episode.  You could swear that that classy woman in the fabulous hot pink ensemble would be wearing the same thing again, going about her business as if nothing was amiss.  I would wonder if it was some sort of code of honour, basically spelling it out lest we glaze over its rich symbolism: "Wow--Did I have a whopper of an evening last nite! What day is it, again?"  When in reality, it was probably nothing quite so tantalizing. They just slaved over their outfit with a handy iron - something that I believe Italians are trained to use as soon as they are out of diapers.  And that's so they can iron their underwear.

Find the Canadian.

Over time, I, too, would adopt the practice of repeat dressing -- sadly, with or without the wild nights prior (okay, okay, mostly without).  And now I find it's a regular part of the repertoir.   But try as I might, it just comes off appearing more like homelessness than anything else.  That's because my outfit -- would be tossed mindlessly over a chair the night before.  As for Italians, much to my chagrin, they will look classy no matter how many times they put on the ritz - wearing the same thing as before.  Maybe it's that their clothes -- are wrinkle-free.

A Day in the Life of Italy-Customer Service Edition

March may come in like a Lion…but in Italy, it’s September that comes in like a jackal tearing its innocent victim apart, piece by piece, making sure to rip the flesh right off the bone.  And that’s not because you just returned from a fab four-week holiday in one or another gorgeous hilltown or seaside resort and feasted on figs & prosciutto until you could no longer breathe. No. 

It’s due to the rude awakening, after a lazy summer of virtually no traffic, little pollution, few beggars (if you avoid the tourist traps) and general sun-kissed bliss peppered by near-nightly fireworks displays, just celebrating summertime.  Suddenly, as you're standing there at the foot of what seemingly appeared to be a kind and gentle castle keep, you are met with the onslaught of hot oil poured out from every opening until you’re buried in burning tar.  The cars nearly running you down before double-parking you in, the trash strewn around your every pathway, the spit blobs and dog doo lining your once-pristine sidewalks.

For me, despite rejoicing each morning in the company of my amiable tribe of nearly everyone I meet at the dog park, exchanging pleasantries and wide smiles with the local retailers & restaurateurs and even my neighbours - heck - even the crusty ol’ nuns and lunatics planted on park benches always look up to crack a smile of hello (well, okay, both the nuns and the insane will only do it sometimes).  But this September was different.  I had the misfortune of having everything in my orbit simply break. All at once.  Perhaps it was the earth’s magnetic shift, or those gorgeous Super Moons, who can tell.  All I know is…I was suddenly that prey that nearly everyone I came into contact with wanted a piece of.

We don't really need who-knows-what
Grande Thing, or who-knows-which Great Men.
What we need is just more honest people.

It started with my washing machine leaking water all over the bathroom floor.  In a wild case of Cognitive Dissonance, I went online to the nearest repairman in my neighborhood.  Called & booked. He came the same day.  Efficient.  Friendly.  Taking one look at my old machine (and I mean, one look - he opened up the cover, nothing more), he said it couldn't be fixed.  Seeing I paid for the visit, I asked him about my dishwasher.  It just doesn't clean dishes. He got on the floor, opened the machine and said, "It'll work like a charm now - I pushed a special button down there."  To amuse myself, I asked him to show it to me...Assessing clearly I am from the 'weaker sex', not braun, but brain power, he said, with a straight face, "Oh no, there are far too many electrical wires there - I can't possibly allow it."  Charging me 80 euro for his trouble. 

So, my dishes were still dirty and my washing machine was still unusable. Until I recounted the event to my lovely tire guy, who sent over his elder brother, who got the whole thing working again, after spending over an hour in blood, sweat and tears...for all of 15 euro.

Seeing that the website of Repairman no. 1 screams, "Repairs guaranteed or your money back!" I thought I'd humour myself to see what, if anything, would happen if I called them on it.  Naturally, they lied. The man at the other end said he never heard of the repairman (whose name was on my invoice), that I could have called any one of millions of 800 numbers, and so on...My call to the repairman himself was met with, "I'll call you back" or, "I'll drop by in 15 minutes to discuss this." Yeah, right.  Before adding, "I've got a nice bridge to sell you." 

On the upside, I had enjoyed washing my clothes at the relatively rare laundromats, meeting the locals, bantering with the Bangladeshi, having a coffee with someone across the way. It was like being back at University again, without cramming for exams.

Next up (or down, rather) was my car battery. I end up replacing about a battery per year, at cost (since no one will uphold the mandatory 2 yr warranty).  That is, except for the time the amazing people at Bosch (Germany) intervened and got their fab Roman distributor to open his doors on a Sunday morning and install a proper battery that lasted 5 whole years.  After that, I (stupidly) trusted the repairmen at Honda-Papalia, whose father & son team got the banter down to such an art form, I swear they perform in updates of Stanley & Ollie in Trastevere after closing. So, before installing my third battery in 3 years, I asked for the Bosch battery - admonishing them not to install the one for compact cars.  It simply doesn't do the trick.  Naturally, that's what they installed.

Sig Papalia the Elder telling me (and I am not making this up), "They don't sell any other kind" followed by, "This one is just as good" and so on.  After going online to check what battery I truly needed, and after repeated calls to my Bosch Guardian Angel, Junior refused to make the change.  His excuse? "I don't care what they say in Germany and the USA - we're in Italy."  [Clearly, code for "Suck it Up."]   Calls to the Bosch people in Milan, proved...fruitless. With the guy up there saying he didn't even know about my Angel guy working the Rome market, and he'd been in the business for 30 years -- For good measure, when I asked him to please tell the Honda repair guys what battery would be ideal for my car, he fed me the first full sentence that Italians utter at about 10 months of age, and on a weekly basis for the rest of their long lives: I can't be held responsible.  When you get that line, you know the Case is Closed. So I hung up and went back to my excellent Bosch Officine repairman (near Eataly). And I am now the proud owner of a terrific battery that makes my car run well, and an extra battery perched neatly on the floor of my car.  Total charges: about 144 euro (for a 66 euro battery) plus the 107 euro on my new battery.

[On a positive note, my tire guy Giorgio, who brings me my free papers each morning, fixed my flat tire in no time at all].

Falling for it again - and again
- and again.

Then, there was my cool Samsonite suitcase rip, the mark of a marvelous month 'on-the-road'.  And with it, of course, brings back images of Gorillas back in baggage claim [although admittedly, in Italy, the Gorilla is lurking inside your bag and comes in the shape of terrific taralli from Puglia, luscious green olive oil, and a bottle of 'quattro gocce' aceto balsamico].  Three year Global Guarantee.  And that's why I love Samsonite.  Until...Italy, that is. In Italian, "warranty" is synonomous with "fat chance".  Straight to the Samsonite store, I was told (after producing the receipt - the warranty in multi-languages - and the bag) that, "That's what you say...we don't have to do anything" followed by "It can't be repaired..." and another dozen barbs dusted off for the occasion.  Usually, I would take my bag to London and call it a day. But this time, I put into practice, my First Rule of Life in Italy: Never take 'No' for an answer.  Begging, pleading, cajoling...The guy took the bag.

But then, something strange happened.  He called me the very next day to tell me it was ready.  In fact, it was too good to be true.  Using it one week later, it ripped straight down the side of the original tear, but a whole lot worse. 

So, I contacted Samsonite directly, to try to preempt further discourse.  True to form, the website email Contact Sheet didn't work (no one's ever tested it).  But a tweet did, and I got a phone call from a wonderful customer service person within minutes.  

Duly impressed. Until she started in on the "We don't know what kind of warranty that is...Where did you purchase the bag?...Why don't you send me a photo and we'll see what can be done."  Very kindly, I informed her that the only words I should be hearing right about now were, "Fine. Three Year Global Warranty. If we cannot repair it we will get you a replacement."  She was nice enough to see things my way, adding that she would "try" to contact another store that "Just might repair the bag for me."  As if they were doing me a favour. 

Years ago, the Wall Street Journal wrote a piece on how smart, seemingly efficient, sensational U.S. multinationals, when they go abroad, sometimes lose the plot. To this day I cannot think of why that is (and nor could they, come to think of it).

As for my home phone, Wind/Infostrada now offers Time Travel: Having been returned to the days of climbing up a telephone pole in front of the Shady Rest in order to place a call to whomsoever I am lucky enough to speak with on the party line.  In order to work the landline, I must:  first send a Tweet to Wind/Infostrada, whose Customer Service folks are very efficient [but you know to do this only after spending the better part of 2 hours trying to find a contact or customer assistance form on their website].  Then wait about 72 hours for a return call, to tell someone to check the line. Then, before I get to the bottom of Dante's Inferno, I can make & receive calls.  Until the line goes dead a few hours later.  I keep asking them, if they think that this is truly a decent service in 2014...but that falls on deaf ears, only because the line has gone mute.  At least about once a month, when the moon is full and in non-Leap Years, I can call out.  

The view inside Rome's
Officine iPhone
(zona Marconi)

But I usually just thank God for cellphones.  That is, until my iPhone dropped.  And here, is the bright light in the firmament.  I went online (again) and found some cool guys over at Officine iPhone (via Marconi) who will repair your phone.  And as advertised, "In 15 minutes. No appointments" And, with a smile.  And, they do a brisk business. The cherry on the torta?  They even take people in the order they came into the store, and not by gender [Any woman in Italy who has ever walked into a telephone or electronics shop will know what I mean -- you can set yourself on fire, but if a man walks in 20 mins later they will rush to give him the blanket]...

I think I'm in love. Compared to the 230 euro that Apple wanted to replace the phone, these magicians said they'd return it as good as new, for less than half the price.  Since, in the meantime, I had purchased a new screen thru Amazon, I even got it for less.  Of course, cash only [My second rule for Life in Italy: Bring loads of cash - and even more change.]

I skipped out of the place, elated, and headed to my super parking spot, right out in front (although I had to fight for it...a driver lunging into the spot while I, with blinkers flashing, pulled up to park inside it--eventually she thought better of it and finally left, but not before a few choice gestures and 'the chin').  Suddenly, I was stopped cold in my tracks.  In the 15 minutes it took to get my iPhone repaired, a Vespa had parked me in on one side, and a delivery truck double-parked me in on the other.  How do you fend off the jackals, I wonder? 

My car in Red

*live links throughout the post

In my book, I dedicate an entire chapter to Customer Service:  The Customer is Never Right.

Italy: Bribe City & More - Same Time Next Year

Per quest'anno, non cambiare, stessa spiaggia stesso mare...

Per poterti rivedere...per tornare quest' estate insieme a me.

E come l'anno scorso....Sotto gli ombrelloni, lontano, lontano nessuno ci vedrà

This year, don't change a thing...
Same sand - same sea
So to see you again and relive this summer again with me.
This season, like the last one....
Under the large umbrellas, out of sight, out of sight, no one will see us...

This summer the headlines have been filled day by day of the titillating stories of the millions upon millions in bribes that our dear political hacks and their cronies have been pocketing over the large construction projects going up around Italy. Especially scintillating, since Milan ("Bribe City" of yesteryear) and Venice, the supposed scandal-free serenissima, are the locations of such sculduggery [for Milan's Expo2015 and Mose - Moses water divider project in Venice].

And while people seem to be aghast at the breadth and depth of these particular scandals, I am always astonished by them for a number of reasons:  

First off, it is not the untold millions stolen from hospitals, or school kids, or the elderly that I find stunning: It is the fact that people still find it surprising when it happens (or maybe, justifiably, that they get caught at all with their grubby hands in the till).

Secondly, that people actually believe that pursuant to the events of 1992-1996 Tangentopoli-Bribe City that took place in Milan and (supposedly) rid the country of a rotten political class, that the country was on the mend. I, for the life of me, cannot fathom the extent to which Italians live in such a state of marked denial.  And they say we're pessimists here. Al contrario, this is either raging optimism or, I'm afraid, hopelessness and lack of faith in our institutions; the first symptom of a failing State.

I mean, this is a country where you have to pay a bribe to get your driver's license.

• Where families pay off doctors to get a bed in a hospital room.

• Where the clergy have been shown (thru Vatileaks) to be on the take from everything from catering a concert to running illegal funds for deposit in Switzerland.

• Where people I know, from someone selling pencils to companies or someone building bank branches, have to pay someone off in order to seal the deal, large or small.

Moreover, people still are wont to believe that if we pay politicians (including low-life city councilmen) twice as much as U.S. Presidents, more than every other European country, shower them with perks, per diems, apartments and chauffeurs, that this would dissuade them from stealing from the pot. Not so.

As a former Wall Street trader put it, the more you rake in, you become addicted to getting even more, by any means possible.

But the one thing that irks me no end, is that, with all their oodles of money, (almost) nowhere do you see Foundations, University Chairs, Hospitals, et.al. being named after someone who cashed it in. At least our Robber Barons left us a few choice universities, innumerable foundations, hospitals, even abroad.  In Rome, even the founder of Kodak built a dentistry hospital. Do you see anything but villas and a generation of women with fishlips that Berlusconi has left as a legacy? He's just a regular Bill Gates, alright. Except that instead of vaccinating Africans, he started his very own training program: to teach Ghedaffi's Woman Guard how to Pole Dance.

No, these criminals and, sadly, the public at large, expect 'The State' to take care of it all. Really? After you've stolen all the public money? Again, citing a recent article about America's 1%:  The problem is, these people, with all their money, will still only be able to buy so many shoes (unless, of course, you're Imelda Marcos). By taking the money from millions, millions of sales are lost. Companies fold. Everyone loses. I've been inside Senator's houses that could be free-standing museums. Sadly, the works stashed away and hidden from cameras are never bequeathed to the public when the patron's free-wheeling ways and days come to an end.  And yet, we still believe. Year in and year out.

- Wasn't that Moses contraption supposed to divide the waters?
-  Yeah-but for now, it's only divvying up the bribe money.

The Fiamme Gialle financial police who uncover these crimes deserve a Shout Out from each and every honest Italian. But still, check out the bank accounts of any purchasing dept head in any company in Italy; there's still more to find, year after year, after year.

And, now, I'll close with another song lyrics that aptly portrays this new rendition of Bribe City:

Second verse, same as the first -- but a whole lot louder and a whole lot worse! 

Advertising Age meets WTH?! in Italian Advertising

Quick!  What do you think this image is advertising?
for those who don't know Italian, it reads:  Quality isn't for everyone.

If you answered, 'prosciutto'.  You're half-right.  
Only because, great minds think alike and that's what I thought it meant.

I thought it was a charming message that the CETUS company (reminding me of Parma's popular prosciutto purveyors, Citterio) was serving up to remind us all...Where's the Pork?

But then I read the tagline.  Your home, par excellence.

And I seriously didn't know whether or not to be offended, I mean, were they calling us pigs?
Or, totally amused because they were calling the politicians feeding at the trough pigs?
So, I settled on something much more juvenile:  must be a reference to the three little pigs -- except there weren't three of them sitting on their haunches there, and where were the bricks and mortar?  Despite my lack of visual cues, I was pretty happy with my brain synapses and knew I could make a leap in logic just like the best of 'em.

But then I looked at the logo.  Expecting it to be one of the ubiquitous real estate companies [who hold a singular place in my Hall of Fame for seriously lousy adverts], I knew I'd be satisfied.  Instead it reads,  Ceramics & Home Furnishings.

I kid you not. 

So, if anyone out there can tell me the connection or, in reality, the non-connection between the pig and home furnishings, I'd be absolutely titillated to know...

As for my Advertising Age Ranking?  

Since pigs are so smart, I'm going to give it a healthy 52 years.

After all, the ad is truly working its charm because it 'had me' standing there for well over a minute pondering such issues and now taking their message (note: term used loosely) out to the web.

President Obama on Slavery at Bill Clinton Global Initiative Conference

...and what it means to modern countries like Italy.  

In Obama's words...

"... It ought to concern every nation because it endangers public health and fuels violence and organized crime. I'm talking about the injustice, the outrage of human trafficking, which must be called by its true name, modern slavery.

"Now, I — I do not use that word, 'slavery,' lightly. It evokes, obviously, one of the most painful chapters in our nation's history. But around the world, there's no denying the awful reality. When a man desperate for work finds himself in a factory or on a fishing boat or in a field, working, toiling for little or no pay and beaten if he tries to escape, that is slavery. When a woman is locked in a sweatshop or trapped in a home as a domestic servant, alone and abused and incapable of leaving, that's slavery. When a little boy is kidnapped, turned into a child soldier, forced to kill or be killed, that's slavery. When a little girl is sold by her impoverished family — girls my daughters' age — runs away from home, or is lured by the false promise of a better life and then imprisoned in a brothel and tortured if she resists, that's slavery. It is barbaric and it is evil, and it has no place in a civilized world."

Obama makes his case against the horrific and grotesque practice of human trafficking - something that we all know is going on right under our noses.  He brings that above phrase (in color) to its natural conclusions...that is being sold, beaten, threatened, locked up, forced to kill or be killed makes you a slave.  But I have another view of the part I've highlighted.  It is the plight of millions in Italy, and I imagine in much of Europe, it is the plight of an entire generation, and often their parents' as well.  I have said it before, and I will say it ad nauseum...Italy's economy is wholly dependent upon slave labor.  It is the unspoken secret that no economist looks at, because non-payment doesn't even make the figures.  Besides, economists are so busy looking at the multi-billion dollar underground economic figures, they don't have time to calculate the non-paid work as well.

It starts innocently enough: With kids and moms helping dad out at all hours of the day or after school in the local coffee shop.  It's entire families who shake the trees for weeks on end of olives to make the olive oil that then gets sold.  It's a friend asking you to tutor her child a few evenings a week, or another asking their doctor for free consultations, prescriptions and more.  Another who asks you to edit or translate their website; or produce a conference presentation or pick up their kids after school.  And we won't even think about the millions of grandparents who provide unpaid daycare, with healthy three course meals included.

With immigrants, it becomes 24/7 jobs taking care of granny in which the family conveniently ignores the fact that the help should be paid for night duty; even if they're sleeping (and I've yet to hear of an 80-something sleeping steadfastly through the night).  They are docked pay for time off or forced to swap their salary with a friend who pinch hits in the meantime.  Italy has specific rules governing their in-house COLF labor; the majority of families refusing to abide by them.  The unspoken rule of the day being, 'put up or push off'.  Not willing to lose their job, they endure.  And in a country that has one of the oldest populations on earth, the hours can truly add up.

It turns to the business world, where new graduates or young workers are lured by the false promise of a better life and start working earnestly on that magazine article, that website, that art book, those shoes.  They are asked to work, 'give it a try' in hopes they'll be brought in full time.  It never happens.  Once the project is over, a new line of free labor is signed on and you're out the door.  Or, they're brought in for such little pay, they're forced to live with their parents until well into their 40s, getting out of it only by default; their parents are dead.  Thankfully, in family-oriented Italy, inter-generational cohabitation isn't the torture that Obama describes above...

Professionals are forced to carry a six figure project up for bid by assuming all the costs first, and (hopefully) remaking the money back once the project's launched.  It rarely makes the money back in the end, and employees are let go without any remuneration.  Or, the employees get paid -- but two years in arrears.  Those same employees must first pay taxes on what they were to make, however.  If the Company stops paying, they're left holding the bag.  Or, talk to the people in the hundreds of 'call centers', Italy's sweatshops in a digital age, and Obama's description starts to make sense.

Even companies with the best of intentions might end up in the red (under-funded due to lack of capital and no venture capitalists to come by); employees carry on for months on end, hoping to turn things around.  Newspaper and magazine, one after another folds; with employees turned out without their euros in back pay.  A photographer is asked to do a shoot to 'get their foot in the door', a video producer a new music video, an actor...a few plays, an ad firm a few creative meetings and mockups.  Demos are bid on and delivered at great expense to their creators, only to see the project - should it happen to come to fruition (an unlikely result)  - given to a few unpaid 'interns' (I prefer the term 'slaves') who merely turn out a brutto copy of the original professional proposal.

In 30 years of doing business in italy, I have never - never - seen someone called back for the second round.  Suing is not an option, because you will be in retirement by the time the case is ever heard.

It is not enough that Italy suffers from wage stagnation (wages for workers, excepting for managers, political hacks and their high-paid whores and especially the bankers, have been at a standstill since 1992), there's an even more insipid problem in our midst - and that's an economy based on slave labor.  And as President Obama so accurately stated, "It is barbaric and it is evil, and it has no place in a civilized world."

Nota Bene:
This is not to imply that Italy holds the pole position on these practices.  The USA is choc-a-bloc filled with sweatshops, illegal immigrants toiling in the fields, and wages are at a standstill since the early 1990s.  I was screwed by a Tennessee company, Linguality.com that not only regularly fleeces unsuspecting people of their subscriber fees, but jilted me out of $22,000.  Good thing it's run by two lawyers, one of whom (Jim Roberts) also works for their candidates in the GOP - the party espousing 'values'.  The difference is, the U.S. economy does not depend on these practices and, usually (save for my lawsuit) one has recourse - and speedy trials to make up the difference.  

Coffee, Tea, or Me? A question of cross-cultural relations

Anyone who follows the Dove Sono (Where am I) column in my blog will know that I'm in the USA, taking in some of the cultural differences, and standing agape at the many similarities in political campaigns, and of course, the notable differences (and in both cases, for better or for worse).  On the cultural side, it feels real good to be able to glide into a lane, glide along it for miles upon miles, and not have to worry about staking my claim, vying for position, or being squeezed out at a traffic light -- although in both countries texting and cellphone use is fairly even.  I still feel more safe on Michigan roads, however, due to the fact that: a) they're wider, offering more wiggle room, b) they have shoulders in case you need to make a mad dash somewhere else and c) we're still going at a slightly less speedy clip and there are the men in blue to enforce it.  But, you get my drift.
After numerous trips to the U.S. and with an abundance of coffee bars to hang out in, I found things on that front - you know, picking up a quick coffee with a colleague - was essentially just like in Italy.   Well, okay, albeit for the super-sized drinks and an overabundance of calories contained therein and the Henry Ford approach of ordering and receiving down the line one's potables...

picture from Being Latino
click for a lively debate
on who pays when

I recall when first coming to Italy on business as a (very) young woman, how horrified I was to find that, at coffee breaks and business lunches alike, the guy at the table would very courteously pick up the tab.  I was stunned to think that it might appear as if we had been on a date; In my book it both unleveled the playing field and put the gals into play.  Although it took some time, I did finally get used to the practice, but in extreme situations in which I truly wanted to generously offer a meal, or thank someone for their time over coffee, I took to insisting that my company was owned by men, so...Please don't get offended, a man is ultimately picking up the bill...On many levels, my generosity was most likely an insult to my guest, but for 'working gal' me, it was something that I felt was the right thing to do at the time.
Which brings me to the USA.  I always worked for and with Italians when I was there, and, being quite junior, it was only natural that the guy in the group most often sprung for coffee or lunch or dinner even.  As I gained in seniority, suddenly I realized that I should pay the piper.  But then, Starbucks came into the fore; and a new etiquette seemed to arise that left a lot of women bewildered.  Arranging quick meetings in these cafés, the American man would rush in, grab his very own cappuccino or apple cider, sit down and start in.  Embarrassed that no one asked me what I wanted before heading for the cashier, I would migrate up to the counter, all on my own, and order for my little ol' self.  Not only did I have to pay for my order, I was unable to offer any sort of generosity to my business contact.  I felt like Snow White calling a meeting and all the dwarfs showing up with their lunch pails, leaving her to fetch something out of the woods for herself.
In the U.S., when it comes down to business, I've not come across someone ever even feigning to want to pay for the other (and at $5.27 a cup, I can see why that is).  Time and again, it jars my sense of chivalry, while at the same time, opening up a world of feminist rights and what those struggles now boil down to; each person treated equally--even in a coffee shop.  And yet, after decades in Europe, I now found it a bit disturbing.  I mean, in Japan, your prospects may shower you with gifts, in Turkey they pull out all manner of teas and silver platters lined with cigarettes.  And in the U.S., we can't manage a chai tea with soy?  Maybe it's because I am a woman after all.  With all the options at my disposal, when a guy thinks I may start in ordering a decaf light cream latte, no whipped cream, tall cup with cinnamon sprinkles...men have reached the accurate conclusion that some things are better left alone.

Life in Italy: A Case History

Now, we know that for five years and running (a heartfelt Grazie! to all my readers), all of my blog posts and the excerpts in my book are truly Case Histories of Life in the Bel Paese.  But I have decided to offer up a few slightly more 'practical examples' of the trials & tribulations of life in Italy (like the post on getting your driver's license), above and beyond my casual musings of the buono & the brutto.  I will also be creating a tweet stream most likely to let off steam of the daily inconveniences in the country that does its best at marketing and exporting its unparalleled Quality of Life.   Naturally, I will also tweet and continue posting about the over-the-top wonderfulness that comes part & parcel to Life in Italy as well.
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Customer (Dis)Service: The Local Gym

In the Prologue of my book, I wrote that one of the main features of Life in Italy was a lack of recourse.  This is generally the case when dealing with public offices or almost any retail store for that matter.  The unwritten rule (that Eataly - photo above - actually chose to write) is, "The Customer is Never Right" - an entire chapter in my book.  So, I should not have been surprised when WellnessTown, an otherwise superb Roman gym - one of the best on earth (excepting for the fact that they refuse to install drinking fountains) fell short - yet once again - when it came to providing the service I paid for, e.g. use of the facilities.  

WellnessTown, in short, is nothing less than the brick & mortar equivalent of Lucy, holding the ball out for Charlie Brown to punt.  Always holding out that promise, season after season, that 'this time, things will turn out differently.'  And year after year, I fall for the same trick.

When I first joined the Technotown gym years ago, they had building materials in the huge exercise equipment room.  For years, they would tell you when you were signing up (forgetting that you might have heard that old yarn before) that they were "in the process of building a sauna & massage area" as well.  It never happened, and eventually, probably because it was a violation of safety rules & regulations, the props were removed.  That doesn't stop their saleswomen from spinning that line to newcomers even today as they get them to sign on the dotted line.  Another rule from my book:  Caveat Emptor. 

Technotown finally went belly-up (in the very Italian world of not providing customer services to stay in business, but relying on shaking down the clientele as much as you can before you go out of it) and with it, so did our memberships.  Partly owned by the City of Rome, it was rechristened within months, WellnessTown, and the doors were opened widely.  Drawing from the Italian Manual of Customer Service, however, and in a bid to ingratiate yourselves to the thousands of shafted past members, naturally, after our workover, none of our memberships would be credited to get us to come back in for a workout.  For me, this meant going elsewhere.  A loss to them of about €700 ($885) per year, and I'm sure I wasn't the only one.

I rejoined for the yoga, rolling my eyes when they told me the one about the massage area Coming Soon, since WellnessTown boasts the best instructor on the planet, along with all their other instructors as well.  As usual, the individual Italians are infinitely better than the institutions for whom they toil.

But then came the Pool Membership (aka I've got a bridge to sell you...).  Each year, WellnessTown opens up its gorgeous pool area, removing the overhead tarp so we can all enjoy a few laps in the sweltering sun.  It is seriously the city's coolest diversion in one's otherwise sweaty summer existence.  The process, however, takes a few weeks to open it up and a few weeks more to close it.  Simply put, if you happen to have a 'Swim Only' membership, you can't use the pool.  What's the big deal?  Surely, they'll credit you the days that you can't swim.  NOT.  Years back, I found this out the hard way.  After I protested, I was told 'they couldn't do anything about it,' and once again, I withdrew my membership.
This year, I decided to give it another chance.  I would just make sure to start my membership after the pool opened.  
But before signing the contract, I asked about the pool closing.  I was reassured by Irene, one of the well-trained members of WellnessTown's less-than-honest staff, that in June, the pool had only been closed for a few days.  She said (and I quote, "Our members were upset by this, so now we keep it to a minimum and in any case, you can use other areas of the gym.").  
The contract read that I would not be reimbursed days or allowed to recoup for manutenzione ordinaria (standard maintenance).  I consider 'standard maintenance' a cleaning of the filters, but, suddenly, I found out that for them that also meant a two-week closure of the pool come September.  So was I surprised when coming into the gym one day, to find a sign posted that for 'standard maintenance', the pool would be closed a full three weeks, one quarter of my membership.  An honest employee told me it was so they could restore the entire wooden structure; something that in my handbook is decidedly, 'out of the ordinaria'.  Upon protesting the situation, I was told in short order:

1)  The saleswoman would 'never have said such a thing' (e.g. I was lying - a common rebuttal in any instance, and one that I was told repeatedly by the entire staff)
2)  Go talk to the facilities guy 'cuz it's not their decision
3)  Go talk to head of sales 'cuz it's not his decision
4)  They never lie and the three week closure falls under, naturally, ordinaria manutenzione
5)  They were considering allowing us to recoup the time (a bald-faced lie, since we would have had to have been notified at the moment of closure) 
6)  I'd need to talk to the owner who was unavailable at this time (read: never)
7)  My request to pause my (and everyone else's) swim contract until the pool reopened would cost them €15,000 (Huh?!!  I tried making the case that she might try adding up the years in lost revenues from me and a few others, but that line never works in Italy--there is a huge disconnect between people holding down jobs and customers continuing to give their custom)
And this is what I mean when I penned the fateful words in my book, No recourse for the weary.  Naturally, by not following my own advice and getting hotheaded while laying out the logical reasons why it's simply bad business not to give us the 12 weeks of pool use that we had contracted for, I assured that no graceful solution would ever have been found.  
As a Case Study, to live in Italy, I needed to have: 
a)  Made my case calmly
b)  Moaned and groaned about the inconvenience
c)  Showered them with compliments in what a great gym it was, and how pleased I am with them (which is generally the truth aside from the pool closure & lack of drinking fountains...)
d) Pleaded that they help me out here and e) Allowed them a Bella Figura moment of a face saving repeal.

The Italians have a great expression:  "He who 'loses it' goes from being right to being totally wrong."  It's no wonder Charlie Brown always just lied down on the football field in stark silence.  With Lucy's dark curly hair, she may have been Italian for all we know.

Back to Business

No sooner did the lull of the holiday break subside, than we were painfully reminded of the grinds of our daily routine:  the one pitting the poor sod of a lowly consumer against the corporate pencil-pushers who would rather ‘Just Say No’ than accept the idea that, perhaps, it’s due to customers giving their custom, that they are dutifully employed in the first place. 

My own ‘giornata a no’ – the Italian expression for a ‘bad hair day’ – began like many others (and, I must say, my hair was a mess).  I tried to recycle my plastic, but every single bin within a 1/2 mile radius was filled to the brim.  So, setting my sights on the Bancomat to get some cash, it was in its customary ‘Out of Order’ status.  At the Post Office, I discover that some smart thieves – or one seriously irate customer – had rammed a truck through the front window.  Off to the main post office, the manager comes out shouting, “Tutti Fermi!” – “All freeze!”  Luckily, it was just to perform a backup (during operating hours?) and not another heist in progress.  [After they've doubled - doubled - postage rates, I pondered who, precisely, were the heisters...] Checking the movie times, I decide to head over to my favorite cinema before it is turned into a Diesel store.  Once there, I find it already bolted shut, signs plastered, “No longer in operation” – just like the Bancomat.  So much for fact checkers.  Trying to get home, I board the bus which has a ticket machine aboard.  Also out of order.

But, my favorite came in from a friend who, on his way to New York, withdrew $2000 to deposit upon arrival.  Withdrawing large sums of money in Italy comes with a lot of pomp & circumstance:  letters in writing, lots of stamps, your i.d. card; you would think you had just stolen it and they need to make up Exhibit A.  In New York the next day, his bank takes one look at a bill and stamps COUNTERFEIT all over it -- making copious copies, and having him sign declarations, and all that. 

He immediately contacts his Italian bank, forwarding the copies.

Their response: “We have nothing to do with this. How do we know it’s ours (denying the existence of serial numbers), and besides, it is your responsibility to check the bills prior to exiting the bank.”

Aghast, he mentions that, to the best of his knowledge, his iPhone does not have an incorporated infra-red machine but, besides, "Isn’t it the institution’s responsibility to check their own bills prior to issue?"

Again, the request is refused.

He then mentions his bank accounts, mortgages on two apartments and other business he may reconsider holding with them, should they not simply look into and rectify the matter.

Their response (ignoring the previous communications and reams of request papers involved): “We cannot possibly honor bills after 8 months have passed since their issue.”

He then reminds them – that those conversant in the banking world might want to keep in mind - that in America, the dates are inverted.  "And so no, it’s not from April 1^st, but rather from January 4^th," the day before, as reported in the initial request and subsequent documentation.  He goes on to suggest that his friends in the room, all NYC bankers, will reconsider their business with the bank, and one institution already refuses to do business with them for their lack of – shall we say, propriety – in conducting int’l transactions.

Their response: “We will look into it, but please know that our bank is changing hands, and you’ll have to deal with a new entity upon your return.”

After more negotiations upon his return to Italy, he finally was credited the $100.   His time?  About $800 worth.

Right of Refusal

Anyone living in Italy usually finds out the hard way about the overall ‘No Returns’ rules-one of the few rules that actually gets enforced - with a vengeance.  Basically, a good rule of thumb is, “You buy it – you own it” – even if it’s defective [just try telling that to my mother who is notorious for picking up dozens of new outfits just to bring them home and try them on & bring most back to the store– talk about a carbon footprint - if that happened in Italy, they'd be charging 8 euro per piece just for the administrative hassle].   
There’s actually probably a very good reason for this; I often imagine that in Italy, people would pull a reverse-42^nd street on the storeowners:  You bought a fabulous Bose stereo, returning it with the insides taken out.

But, along the way, the chains and multinationals finally extended a proper ‘returns policy’ to the hoi-polloi; so it’s becoming more common to do the deal. It all started with Ikea, who, back in the day, launched a huge advertising campaign touting the fact that you had 30 days to change your mind!  Regardless, you still could not get a credit card credit – and I still don’t think you can – anywhere – unless of course you have a blessing by the Pope and Saint Francis himself.

So it came as a surprise when a friend (who calls himself my wandering reporter) tried to return something at Ikea.  He was told they would do just a store credit.  Not being a store he usually frequents, he then employed the Rule No. 1 of living in Italy, “Don’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”  He explained that he rarely comes to Ikea, couldn’t find anything to substitute (he couldn’t??!! – typical male) and, to his surprise, the guy at the counter said, “Well, you didn’t hear it from me, but maybe we can make an exception.”

He was as stunned as he was pleased.  But, like a journalist, he pressed as to the ‘why’ of their change in policy (to which I’d say, ‘don’t look a gifthorse in the mouth’).  Basically, it’s a store policy, right?  Why make an exception for me?  Because I’m a nice guy? 

And in that is one of the beauties of Living in Italy – someone is always willing to make that exception – I’ve managed many an overweight bag over the moving beltway with no charge -- just as long as the proprietor’s away from the till.

Silenzio Stampa - No more Italian furniture ads

While there's so much (justifiable) talk going on across the country of the draconian law that would totally inhibit freedom of the press (including bloggers) to the point that writing about democracy in Burma or Iran would be less threatening, I'm for making a specific clause against all Furniture advertisements - forever.  In a democracy, one could say that they are offensive to the entire population, except the proprietor of course, who generally features in the ad.

Or, in the very least, until they actually paid for a proper ad agency to come up with their ads, to be submitted to a blind panel for voting -- very simply - like / dislike, just like on Facebook.

That way, we would avoid some of the worst eye pollution this world has ever seen.

 NERO BURNT ROME...and we

BURN PRICES

This ad is so appalling on so many levels that my camera lens broke when I took the shot.  But, as a sort of Case Study for all you students out there of marketing communications, we can list the ADVERT DON'TS for you:

• DON'T Use the proprietor of the store in any ad - ever - unless George Clooney happens to go into retailing [and even then, Sly Stallone & Co. didn't mug for the Planet Hollywood franchise].
• If you're going to go to Ancient Rome, perhaps you might want to show positive images of improving Rome, not burning it down to the ground. If I were selling furniture, I'm thinking reclining couches with Caligula & Co. and then - hey - you can even use semi-nude showgirls; much more eye-appealing than a guy dressed in a Roman Emperor costume.
• If you're going to draw from history, at least get your facts straight: Nero did not let Rome burn - he was in Anzio at the time. Dan Brown would be well-advised to take particular note of this recommendation for future publications.
• If your point is Tax Free - you might want to use a tie-in like some Emperor who reduced or cut taxes - not the ones who used the treasury to finance their Golden Palaces, just like Saddam Hussein.  

For more incredibly outlandish bad ads - in the furniture industry, go here.
I rest my case.

Advertising Age of this Ad:  6 1/2 (out of 45 years)

Italy's Economic Miracle - The World Cup

As we’re all swept up in World Cup fever (mostly brought on by those incessant horns which provoke the cessation of all brain activity), in Italy, and in most of Europe, news from the World Cup action is vying for headlines with the belt-tightening measures across the continent.  Perhaps because of those cacophonic horns, I have blurred the two news stories into one – and therein lays the solution of Italy’s economic woes.

In short, if Italy were to run their country like they run their soccer teams, tattoos & all, the country would be a winner on the world stage.  And to think – we wouldn’t have to invent it, we could just copy the game plan from their most successful format – football.

- Merit / First and foremost, soccer is a meritocracy.  Only the best players ‘make it’ and, once at the top, are rewarded handsomely for their trouble.  Take a look at Italy’s education system, post-graduate jobs, or any career paths and in Italy, this is simply not the case. 

While there are certainly exceptions, overall, in Italy you get the job from a ‘recommendation’ (read nepotism, political favours, family ties, or worse). Once in, you rarely have career upward mobility based on performance (unless of course, you’re an Agnelli and then you get to run the company entirely despite having a resumè which can only delineate the number of pistes you skied in San Moritz combined with the number of champagne bottles you uncorked by the age of 25).

- Ageism / While Italy bemoans its ‘aging’ players, soccer is a career filled with young people working their butts off in order to score big.  The average age of our World Cup team, largely with guys who actually don’t go home to mamma each evening, is well below the average ‘bamboccioni’ – the Big Babies who don’t manage on their own until well into their 30s.  The Bonus?  And this should be incentive for any number of Italian boy-men -- they get to hook up with hot babes without having to go to a car because mamma’s knitting in the next room.

But I digress.  The key here is that young people are allowed to perform at their peak in order to obtain results for the good of the entire organization if not the entire country.  You don't find on the football field too many octogenarian feudal lords like the ones who dominate business, politics, the media, arts, sciences, universities – heck even the mafia - across the Bel Paese.  

Sure, our Coach Lippi has snow white hair – but he serves to motivate his young players to produce results; not keep them sidelined while he continues juggling the ball on and on and on and on [did I mention that Italy has the longest-living population on earth?] and on and on and on...

-       Money / Soccer is the most monied sport worldwide – and it shows.  Imagine what can happen to those trillions of businesses in what is a country absolutely exploding with ingenuity, creativity, and entrepreneurial spirit.  By putting money with talent, an eye to the consumer (the fans), transparent attempts to not operate at a loss, they still having something leftover for the politicians. 
If businesses – hospitals – schools - transportation in Italy actually used the money to invest where it counted (attracting good talent, building a team, marketing itself, competing internationally…) how far would Italian enterprises go?  The sky would be the limit. 

[note: This is not to say they sit & wait for the nanny state to give them a handout – one of the most prevalent business strategies in place today].  

-       Customer Service & Satisfaction / With the fan clubs, t-shirts, trips, TV, you name it, the fan base is appreciated and the teams show it.  These are not companies who take your money and then don’t show the game, or don’t even show up for the game.  The relationship between the Clubs and their Fan Base is a virtuous cycle of goodwill, money exchange, emotional branding, and a whole host of factors from which Alitalia, Eni, Telecom, and myriad companies littering the boot would be well-advised to pick up some pointers.  They could start small - by mimicking the soccer club phone lines.  I'm fairly sure if you call in, you can actually purchase tickets or get fairly accurate information on game times. Try that with any company, and you're on hold for 20 minutes while being forced to listen to music that makes the S.African horns sound like a symphony in comparison.

Italy - don't let your time worn ways get in the way of scoring big

-       Security / Ahh, the fan base – some are violent, and ruin it for the rest of us, right?  Well, you haven’t seen security like you have at the stadiums.  The public officials work wonders, do their jobs properly, nab their criminals and generally keep the peace. 

Wouldn’t that be amazing if this most basic of law enforcement could be applied across the streets of our fair country?  Instead of taking bribes from transvestite whores and mafia peons, or handouts from every enterprise from Parmalat to your corner pizzeria cooking its books, Italy would start to look a lot like Singapore.

-       Free movement of labor / Looking at our non-World Cup teams, you see that soccer is a highly democratic sport.  Africans go literally shoulder to shoulder with Italians, Argentinians, British, Brasilians… How much talent do we let go to waste by not allowing other fields to employ their labor due to the color of their skin, or their religion?  Or, just because you're French and can - in theory - work in Italy, doesn't mean they'll hire you (and, for the record, vice versa).

-       Planning / It’s pedestrian to state that Italians are organizationally challenged.  And while our Italian World Cup coaches (Italy/UK) didn’t announce their lineups til the last minute, I like to think that’s more likely a strategic move versus a lack of basic planning.  But the plays, the year round training, the techniques, and back again are what make our teams great. 

Instead, it is a rare company who actually spends the money and time to train its employees, never mind the ones who might be sitting on the bench most of the game.  Training these people up, providing incentives, and putting them on a road to career success -- and allowing them to implement what they've learned -- There's a TV with a soccer game on nearly 365 days a year in households across the country.  Why this practice hasn't rubbed off onto the proletariat is beyond me.

-  Team playing / Italians love to quip that they're a country of 'individuals' - all 58 million of them say this in chorus.  Anyone who has ever stopped at an Autogrill at 1pm or, tried something extreme like laugh out loud at a movie - knows that there's a not a lot of truth to this.  In reality, it's code for 'egotistical'.  And while young boys learn the team ropes early on, for some reason, their soccer skills have no further relevance the moment they take off their cleats. 

Watching the US team play in the World Cup was like watching a bunch of 4 yr olds. Never passing, hogging the ball, and when they did kick it away, it was inevitably into a group of British shirts.  Look at the Italians, and that was soccer as Dio commanded.
I can't help think what Italy could achieve if those kinds of moves were put into play - from dividing your trash for the good of the community, to working with new people instead of the old guard to achieve amazing results.

But for now, I’ll have to sit through the mind-numbing horns to see if the Azzurri – by implementing the finesse of team tactics – take South Africa by a storm and brings home the Cup. 

If it happens, the wild revelry in the streets will be awesome – but certainly, put these plays into practice and Italy would win more than a World Cup trophy – and the celebration would last for generations.
And if not, maybe we should all start importing vuvuzelas to drown out the sound of our own autogol.

From Bocce Ball to your URL: Italy's Business Weak

Although I haven't been paying all that much attention to the news these days, being up to my eyeballs in up your bottom! some events, large & small, caught my eye nonetheless.

First, I noticed that the brainiacs over at Italy's web registry, Register.it have started offering .com addresses and lowering their extortionist rates.  You early readers of the blog might recall that these are the bozos who charge you $50+ for a .it address and then make you send in 15 faxes over 75 days to three different offices to make the deal go through (and, to be absolutely sure - because you've declared - that you're not a mafioso...).  Click here for the story or search register.it in the blog finder.
So, once Italians started doing what they do best: skirt around the rules&regulations, and everyone started getting .coms at godaddy (for $4.99 - instantly), they seemed to have wizened up.   
The one place on earth where they actually impeded web growth more is probably Iran. As for me? I'll stick with godaddy.

Even better, the City has started to allow certificates (like aforementioned anti-mafia one) to be sent in online.  Anyone living in Italy will attest that this is nothing short of revolutionary. The only event that comes close would be the advent of the printing press (if you happened to be a belabored monk painstakingly penning miniscule miniatures on parchment in a faraway monastery).
It's probably some nationalistic Lega party ploy to drive business away from the ubiquitous Bangladeshi fax stores, but who cares? I just wonder how many times you'll have to hit resend, or how fast you'll be timed out and have to start over from scratch.

Then, Rome's province announced a studentonline hotline, to report about things falling apart at your school.  They've determined things will be fixed within 72 hours.  It's unclear whether the hotline however means you will be getting a tool kit within 24 hrs. and asked to make the repairs yourself...

Just when you thought that bocce ball was a dying sport, last played by old men in berets, the best news of all is (drum roll please) the building of a spanking new, white & pretty snazzy bocciodromo near EUR.  Just in time to host the national championships, with world championships coming this summer (which I will endeavor to attend).  They're also hoping that all this attention will allow it into Olympic competition.
I for one cannot believe it's not in the Olympics, considering they let in curling???
But, just think: the one sport where you can be a pot-bellied octogenerian with bad teeth and still be an Olympian.  Sign me up.

picture from urloweb