Kinko's by Jason Stout

One of the jobs I held during college was at one of those copy-store shops - Kinko's. I had been a lifeguard at one point in my younger life, but on a college campus there are more than enough lifeguards and former high school swim champions to take those spots. And, as humbling as it is to say it, halfway through my college "career" I wasn't worth more than the $5 hour I was making at Kinko's.

     In truth, I learned a fair bit during my short time with Kinko's. Of course I had to learn how to operate all the different copiers, folders, laminators and the like. But that wasn't the main focus of Kinko's training. Heck, I was surprised given the transient employee population that the company even worried about training. But it did.

     The primary area of training was something that I think a lot of companies don't fully appreciate: figuring out what it is you actually provide your customers. For Kinko's, the easy answer would have to be copies and lots of them. In a college town, the bulk of work at Kinko's was copies of reports, papers, dissertations and all things academic. The store also provided design services and sold typical office supplies.

     But I don't think the Kinko's I worked for looked at what they provided in that limited fashion. Even though there was tremendous turnover in the population of Bloomington, the Kinko's manager saw every customer as an opportunity to build a relationship and provide service. It wasn't copies she was selling; it was service.

     Some of the things she taught seem like no-brainers in today's service-minded economy. The phone had to be answered within 3 rings. (I even remember the answering script I was taught: "Thank you for calling Kinko's. We're open everyday but Christmas and Independence Day. My name is Jason. How may I help you?" A bit long probably, but effective I thought.) Also, every customer had to be greeted within 5 feet of entering the store. Every person working there had to be genuinely concerned about making the "copying experience" as hassle-free and as enjoyable as possible.

     The manager taught me that people don't mind waiting a few minutes if you acknowledge them and let them know you're dealing with someone who was already there - but they will mind if you just ignore them. She also taught me that people can't stand to wait to pay. No matter how long they have been in the store and how complex their needs are (maybe three dozen copies of an odd-size booklet, bound and with color inserts) - once they are ready to leave, they are ready to leave. Even a couple second-delay in letting them get out the door can turn a pleasant experience unpleasant in a hurry. Because all they will remember is the impatience they felt when they wanted to leave.

     The manager (Debbie? Donna? I'm not even sure anymore) also taught me to err on the side of the customer. Profit on those single sheet black-and-white copies during that time was about one penny a copy. You would have to sell a whole bunch of copies to make much money at one cent a hit. Yet, this manager gave away more free copies - either because of mistakes made by the copiers or just in a spirit of "making the customers day" - than she could have ever recouped in profits from just copies alone.

     But, the most-important lesson she taught me wasn't in the training manual. I was fairly new to the job and had just learned how to make all the machines do what they were supposed to do - at least for the most part. A boy came in with his mother and approached the counter. He was holding a small photograph, a Polaroid. The picture was of the boy and his all-time favorite NASCAR driver. It was obviously a very important picture to the boy and, as I learned later, was his only copy. They asked me if I would laminate the photograph for them so the photo would be protected. I told them I'd be happy to do it.

     I'm not sure what you know about laminators. There are two kinds: hot and cold. I don't know how the cold laminator works, but the heated roll ones work by encasing the item sent through it in a clear, plastic film. The whole item is sent through the laminator's heating unit and out comes a perfectly preserved memento.

     Unless it is an old-style Polaroid photograph. In which case, out comes a perfectly preserved 3 by 5 inch square of nothing that looks like a picture of a young boy and his all-time favorite NASCAR driver. Apparently Polaroid photographs and industrial, heated-roll laminators aren't compatible.

     I was absolutely horrified when I saw what came out of the laminator. I froze. I looked at the "photograph" and knew that I had just ruined this kid's day. I didn't know what to do, so I went to the manager's office, showed her what I had done, and let her handle it.

     She went to the woman and the boy (while I hid in her office) and calmly explained what had happened; apologized profusely; and offered to write the driver in question a letter, explain the situation and request an autographed picture. She handled that with more grace and caring than I think I could ever muster. The boy was certainly unhappy, but the woman and the boy both respected the frankness of the apology and the offer of help. I can't say they went away satisfied with their "Kinko's experience," but they weren't nearly as upset as I thought they would be.

     What the manager really taught me that day was the power of effective repentance. The need for repentance is clearly spelled out in several places in the Bible. For example, Jesus himself said, "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near" (NRSV Matthew 4:17). Later in Acts, we are reminded that "While God has overlooked the times of human ignorance, now he commands all people everywhere to repent" (NRSV Acts 17:30).

     The "how" is technically very easy as well: explain what you did wrong; ask forgiveness; commit to fixing the problem or doing better in the future. A lot of times when I'm praying I don't go through all three of these steps. Instead, I'll say something along the lines of "Please forgive me for my sins and all the things that I did today that I know weren't right."

     Basically, I'm telling God that since He knows what I did wrong, I don't need to tell Him and my general "apology" is enough. Imagine if someone offered that type of apology to you:

     "I'm sorry, dear, for all the bad stuff I did today."

     "Like what exactly?"

     "Oh, you know, stuff. And things. I'm sure you could figure it all out if you thought about it enough."

     "What, like when you broke my favorite coffee mug this morning?"

     "No, not that. That was totally not my fault."

     "OK, so how about when you forgot to stop at the store on the way home like you said you would."

     "Again, totally out of my control and not my fault. So nope, not that one."

     "Wouldn't it be easier for you to just tell me what you are actually sorry for?"

     "Well, then, I'd actually have to own up to it and think about it and try not to do it again, so, no, it probably wouldn't be any easier."

     And there you go. That's the problem with my "blanket" apology to God that is not repentance at all. Without confronting the things that I have done - even if God does know about them - I am not owning up to my mistakes. Not holding myself accountable. Not committing to work more closely with God to become the person He wants me to be.

     What's great about true repentance is that you know it will always be accepted. God wants us to recognize what it is that we do wrong and try to do better. He'll never turn his back on a heart-felt apology. He'll listen to our explanation and accept our commitment to turning our lives around. And He'll always be there to support us when we goof up again.

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