Our Sticker on the Mic Podcast Interview/Disaster

We've been interviewed many times over the years.  In person, over the phone, on live TV and podcasts.  We love sharing our story and last month, when Sticker Giant podcaster, Andrew Matranga asked us to join his podcast, "Sticker on the Mic" we happily agreed.  Little did I know that it would leave me feeling like Alexander and his Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

Hear me out.

It had nothing to do with the interview itself.  Andrew clearly knows what he's doing and was a gracious, informed host.  It was just everything going on around me that made it the craziest interview of my life.

Of course, I'm working from home.  Like so many.  I'm lucky to have my own office and the only time the door is closed is when I'm on an important, please-don't-interrupt-me call.  So, for the 45 minutes of the interview, my door was closed.

Normally, my husband is at work.  He's been commuting again since the Fall.  But it had just snowed, again, so he was home.  Upstairs in his own space, while my two daughters were on virtual school calls in their own bedrooms.  On a typical, no-snow day, no one else would have been home with me. 

A few minutes into the interview, the doorbell rang.  It was my UPS driver, Paul who visits our house 2-3 times a week to pick up the porch-full of orders that are now packed and shipped from my home.  Paul was 4 hours early, as he sometimes is, during his insanely busy route.  When I can, I try to have everything ready for him early.  Today was no different.  Our entire foyer was packed with boxes.  The problem was, I was unavailable to get the door and no one else in the house was expecting to help me.  Cue my daughter, from her upstairs window, seeing Paul approach the house and the doorbell ringing.  She excused herself from virtual learning, and spent 15 minutes helping Paul with my boxes.  Internally worried that she would be kicked out of elementary school for just...leaving her seat.

Almost as soon as Paul rolled away, a local customer came by to pick up her order.  Since I tore my Achilles' tendon in November, I can only offer weekend deliveries (thanks to my husband) or customer pick ups.  No driving for me and my injured right foot.  I had been communicating with her for four days and when I wrote "I'll be around all day" early that morning, I never imagined she would arrive in the 45 minutes I was being interviewed.  My husband took the door this time, consoling my daughter on his way down the stairs.  Having no idea who this woman was or what she was picking up, he came to find me for help.  I was mid sentence as I heard him approach, knowing full well what was happening.  One of the windows of my office faces the front of the house on the first floor.  I could sense the movement and arrival of our second guest as easily as I could share the history of our company with Andrew.  As my husband turned the door knob on my closed office door and heard my voice, he knew immediately that I was on a call.  Though I doubt he knew it was being recorded.  I did that thing with my arm where I shot my hand down beside my body and tried to shake it as a warning to him without being seen by the camera, the top half of my body still perfectly still and in camera view.  Yes, our conversation was being recorded as well.  I imagine at this point into the recording, you might be able to see my reaction to the open door.  My husband took the hint and silently, still out of camera view, retreated to fend for himself.  I was happy to emerge later to find that he discovered her order and handed it over seamlessly.

Once again, just as our second guest had pulled out of the driveway, I sensed more movement outside my window.  The online Target delivery that I had placed in the early hours of that morning was making it's way to my porch.  Three hours early.  A final time during this brief 45 minutes, the world around me sprung into action, doors opening, bags making their way into the house, pleasant, masked conversations taking place.

Nothing else happened the rest of the day.  How could it?  Everything that could possibly happened, had taken place in the narrow 45 minutes I was unavailable.

My face might tell it all in the below recording.  Or maybe I'm so used to the chaos that I give nothing away.  You'll just have to make the determination yourself and tell me what you think...


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