Sticky Notes - Tuna Fish.

In Antibes –– a gorgeous coastal town that sits along the French Riviera like a stubborn old monarch refusing to die –– there is a mansion turned hotel called the Hotel du Cap.

Everyone from F. Scott Fitzgerald to Pablo Picasso to Clint Eastwood to Robert De Niro has summered there and, as you've probably already gathered, their prices are so stinking high they'd gag a maggot.

I managed to stay there for an evening this past weekend and while I can’t say that it’s my cup of tea –– I prefer places that are a bit more beat up –– I must admit that I was blown away with their level of customer service.

And that's saying a hell of a lot coming from me.

I feel like most talk of "customer service" is just a hot crock of horseshit with peanuts in it. Ever since Zappos started going above and beyond and sending people flowers, every company that doesn't make you talk to a robot speaks of their "customer service" like they could take up residence at Havard Business School and teach a goddamn course on the subject. 

But, Hotel du Cap is different. 

Apparently, there was a filthy rich business magnate staying at the Hotel du Cap who was up in arms about a tuna fish sandwich.

(No, it wasn’t a tuna fish sandwich but some other French sandwich whose name I can't recall nor begin to pronounce... so let's just please pretend it was a tuna fish sandwich.) 

Apparently, he had ordered this tuna fish sandwich with his afternoon tea and when it arrived it wasn’t a tuna fish sandwich. It was some other kind of fish sandwich made with a different kind of fish.

The problem was that the tuna fish sandwich richy-rich wanted couldn’t be made in Antibes. It required a long list of ingredients only offered in a town deep in France’s countryside.

So, the hotel manager –– who was a worldly gent that spoke five languages: French, Spanish, Portuguese, Italian and Russian –– apologized in the guy's native tongue and immediately went about remedying it. 

He phoned a helicopter to land on the property, he placed a server in it with detailed instructions on exactly what tuna fish sandwich needed to be made and the helicopter flew the server to this French town, where the sandwich was made, bagged and hand-delivered back to the wealthy customer before he had the chance to take the first sip of his second cup of tea. 

Now, I’m the kind of person that would tell the guy bitching about the tuna fish sandwich to go fuck himself. But, that’s also why I don’t run a five-star hotel in Antibes that is beloved by Robert De Niro.

Here's the lesson in all of this...

You can charge someone as much as you want, as long as you’re willing to get in a helicopter. 

Here’s to Antibes and more so, the Hotel du Cap!

Cheers, 

Cole

P.S. I'm currently taking on new clients, if you've got some dough and some brass balls, write me over at "cole@honeycopy.com" and let's get creative.

The best things in life aren't free. 

"Oh, horse shit, Cole. Beaches are free!"

"Are they Barry? Are they, really? Do you think the tide just magically cleans up the shit your son took over by the lifeguard stand? Do you think a bunch of magical fucking elves just crawl out from under the sand dunes at night with vacuums and a can-do attitude and clean up all the crushed Budlight cans you downed that never made it to the trashcan just twenty feet away from where you were lounging like a beached sea lion? Hell no, Barry. Someone has to clean that nonsense up and they're sure as hell not doing it for free!" 

As I was saying...

The best things in life aren't free. They might be free for you. But, someone, somewhere is eating the costs harder than a New York construction worker tearing into a hoagie. 

This newsletter is an example. It's free for you. It's always going to be free for you. But, it's not free for me to create and ship each week. It doesn't take Nostra-fucking-damus to see that that's more fucked than a paper umbrella. 

So, if I ever write anything that makes your loins tighten up harder than your chubby twelve-year-old self rocketing down your old neighborhood hill at twenty miles an hour on a Razor Scooter, you should buy me a drink or pick up one of these goodies down below...

* A guide about writing better copy

* A guide about building a freelance business

* A guide about getting what you want with cold email

* A class about becoming a writer

* A book of prose about life

* A book of poetry about love

* A book of short stories about death

* A memento about facing your fears

* A newsletter about writing and life

Or, again, just buy me a damn drink... 

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