Mad Gabs

Regardless of whether they are just for a few hours to a nearby town or are multi-week cross-country ordeals, road trips embody mankind’s spirit for adventure and discovery. Even the uncomfortable, terrifying, and angry-making parts of the trip become whittled down to fond and funny memories in the great rock tumbler of the mind. There’s a reason why road trips are the subject of so many memoirs and movies, because they have a nearly universal appeal that spans age brackets and pocket books.

You can imagine why I might be elated at the possibility to go on a road trip, particularly during the work week. I am a great connoisseur of road trips, see. I collect them like postage stamps or coins except my collection needs no storage space and, let’s be honest, it’s way cooler. Recently, Matt and I decided we needed to visit one of our suppliers on the New Hampshire/Vermont border, a solid three hours from Westbrook, which would require a road trip. We have a number of suppliers with whom we’ve developed really solid relationships and upon whom we heavily rely and one of those suppliers are the people who make our beautiful wooden displays. They always deliver an outstanding, quality product to us and our business with them far surpassed our expectations for 2011. It became obvious to us, as we talked about our production needs for 2012, that we would need to go meet them in person and see where all the magic happens. I was so psyched, I could hardly sleep the night before.

Matt and I set out at a respectable hour, armed with a number of CDs to get us through the highway miles. I decided that the responsibility of DJing the trip should fall to me and I selected a number of albums that Matt and I, with our divergent tastes in music, could both enjoy (playlist is at the bottom of the post). The drive, though the weather was threatening rain and the sky was mostly overcast, was pleasant and we managed to talk about everything except work on our way there. We stopped for lunch in Keene, NH, wandering around the quaint downtown. We noshed at Fritz, a great casual Belgian restaurant with salads as big as your head.

Monster salads at Fritz's

 
Bellies full, we climbed back into the car for the final leg of the journey. The facility is nestled in the hills, in an unassuming building that houses the offices and manufacturing. We were delighted (okay, maybe I was the only one delighted) to discover that they are a dog-friendly office. One of these days I’ll write a blog post about how wonderful it is to work with office dogs. Mel, our primary contact, was kind enough to take a couple hours out of his busy day to show us around and he consented to let me snap a few photos in the process. Their facility is expansive and extremely well-organized and their staff was superbly inventive and friendly.

He started us off with a quick show-and-tell of their new UV printer, on which they print our full-color wooden headers.

Matt with the massive UV printer

 
Then he swept us through shipping into their warehouse. All that shelving made my mouth water…if only we could set up something that sweet in production!

Matt and Mel discussing something non-shipping related

 

Matt attempts to steal one of their heavy duty carts

 

The affable Mel

Just off the warehouse, was the area where they make custom-sized boxes to fit whatever crazy display configuration we customers can dream up for them. And, just beyond that was the screen printing room where they print on larger items. As it happened (or perhaps they planned it this way, the geniuses!), a Mad Gab’s screen was on the table when we entered.

The box making machine

 

The Mad Gab's print screen!

Then Mel guided us into the production area, full of delightful, magical machines, all whirring and sawing and making a joyful noise.

Look at all those jigs!

 

Matt and Mel discussing something hugely important and possibly also philosophical.

On the floor, we got to meet Tim who is responsible for much of the work on our units. And we got to see how the acrylic shelving to our displays is made. I was blown away by the ingenuity of the heat table that was designed and built in-house for melting the acrylic in every possible direction. Sometimes at once!

Matt thanking Tim for his awesome work

The acrylic shelf maker, a thing of beauty

One of the last steps, gluing the shelves

Once our tour was complete, we departed with a car packed to the gills full of displays and parts and made our giddy, merry way home through the start of an evening rain storm. Reflecting on our way about the tidy, well-oiled operation we had just visited, our heads swam with ideas for our own production space and for potential areas for lip balm growth. I can’t say that mine and Matt’s road trip was full of all the literal and figurative twists and turns necessary to warrant a screen play but it was certainly full of fun, more than a couple of laughs, quirky characters, and most importantly purpose. Should our story get picked up by one of the major movie studios, I think I’d have to be played by Margaret Cho. And I’m sure Matt would like me to say he’d be played by Brad Pitt but Gab’s vote is for Bill Pullman. I can see it now: Lip Balm Warriors: Whatever you do, just don’t call it “Chapstick^TM.”

Our musical selection for the ride:
The Animals mega-mix with a little bit of Eric Burton solo stuff thrown in
The Shoes – a great 60s Dutch psych rock band that apparently no one has ever heard of
The Black Keys – You would never guess they’re two 30-something dudes from Ohio
ELO – a two CD personal greatest hits mix of Jeff Lynne’s musical magic

If you were to poll any of the staff here at Mad Gab’s and ask them what production task I dislike doing most of all, they will answer you with one of two things: capping and making candles. If I had to list them in order of most hated to least hated, making candles would definitely come first.

I should probably state for the record that I love my job and when I talk about disliking a task it’s on the level of least-favorite-of-all-of-the-generally-fun-things-I-get-to-do-every-day and not, say, on the level of how I might feel if forced to clean out septic systems. Candles are nowhere near as awful as poop.

What I dislike about making candles is how tedious it is. For anyone unaware of all the blood, sweat, and tears that go into the making of a soy candle, I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice it to say that the process took a solid chunk of two days’ work, and involved much cursing and growling by yours truly. And that was for a batch of 44 candles! Imagine my trepidation and fear when faced late last year with an order of nearly 1000 candles.

That order amounted to the candle equivalent of Wick-pocalypse. After a few days of hand-wringing about the end of the world as we knew it, I decided that I had no other choice but to become The Waxen One, she who would restore order and peace to a candle process run amok. Now, just to dispel any rumors that may have arisen during this time period, I did NOT in fact make myself a sequined cape with a flaming “W” on it. Even though I dare say such an ensemble would go a long way to boosting morale.

This gargantuan order made us realize that the process for making candles had to be streamlined and the problems we had at several steps along the way had to be solved immediately. One of the biggest time-consuming parts of the process was wick-placing. Once the wick is placed and the tin is filled with molten soy wax, the wick’s inclination is to fold over. We used to use popsicle sticks to keep the wicks centered but that was extremely time consuming not to mention it created an uneven cooling surface so the candles, once dry, would have to be heat-gunned to get any imperfections out.

Gab and I both conducted hours of research, trying to find out how everyone else does it and eventually we purchased something called a “bow-tie” that was designed to sit over the top of the tin and hold the wick in place as it dried. When we tried the bow-ties for the first time, however, we found them to be ill-fitting causing them to move and take the wicks with them. Worse, they still created an uneven cooling surface and required just as much clean-up as the popsicle sticks.

Finally, one afternoon after staring intently at the warped candles for several minutes, trying to blow them up with my mind, it dawned on me that we could make a kind of cap for the tins with a centered hole in them for the wick that would allow the surface to dry evenly. In order to test out my idea, I took several sheets of chipboard home with me over the weekend along with a couple of candle tins and set about making a few prototypes. The next week, we made some candles and tested them out and, though placing the caps took some practice, they turned out to have actually worked!

(Sam’s Crazy Candle Capper….as it was later named….by Gab)

Between those new caps and a few other tweaks to the process, candles now take a fraction of the time they once did and the world is safe from the terrible devastation of Wick-pocalypse. There’s no need to thank me but, if you feel the need, fan letters can be sent addressed to “The Waxen One.”

Dear Freight Elevator–

I hate to say this to you but I’ve never really loved you. I would like to pretend we’ve had some good times but that would be a lie. Any fun we’ve had together has been overshadowed by all the negative experiences between us and now the day has come to let you know how I really feel.

Do you remember when I was the last one in the building on a Friday and I used you to take the garbage down to the loading dock? Remember how you trapped me in you–without a phone, I might add, you diabolical beast. Panicked and convinced I wouldn’t be freed until Monday morning, I started to consider just exactly which corner of you I would have to pee in that would cause the least embarrassment when I was discovered. Eventually, you stopped toying with me and I was able to get out on my floor but, as I beat a hasty retreat, I could have sworn I heard you laughing.

And think of all those hapless delivery people that you like to torture, teasing them and pretending that you’re working only to refuse to move once they try to leave. My therapist says that is classic passive-aggressive behavior and that you might possibly even be a sociopath. Do you remember that one guy who hurled curses at you while he rode you up and down over and again, unable to get out on any floor? He told me he hates you and you and I both know that delivery people are extremely long-suffering individuals. Other delivery people are so fed up with your sadistic ways that they refuse to use you at all. Were you aware of how you make otherwise reasonable people feel? They will go to great lengths and considerable personal trouble to carry cumbersome packages down the stairs rather than risk your wrath.

And let’s not forget the maintenance man who has weathered the brunt of your mood swings more than anyone else. How could you do that to such a nice man?

Before you launch a protest, I know you’re older than anyone currently alive. If freight elevators were included in Willard Scott’s birthday wishes, you would be a repeat honoree. I know you have personal memories of historical milestones like the invention of the steam engine. Both World Wars? You remember them like they were yesterday. You can remember every presidential election since Taft. I totally get it, but that doesn’t get you off the hook. Aches and pains and a lifetime of abuse are no excuse for your bad behavior.

Freight Elevator, I expect more of you and if things don’t start changing around here, I’m going to have to break up with you. It hurts my heart to do it because ours could be a beautiful relationship full of joyful rides with expectant cargo. Imagine how good it can feel to be appreciated, to be considered useful. I want to love you, I really do, but this is your last chance. If you don’t make some serious changes, I’m going to have to leave you.

With great sadness,

Sam

 People often remark on the company name Mad Gab’s (sometimes after a “What did you say dear?” or “Excuse me?” if they hear it over the phone). They’ll comment  that it’s fun, catchy, memorable, etc…I wish I could say that I spent a lot of time coming up with it, but that simply wouldn’t be true.  As is often the case with me, there is a long answer and a short answer to how Mad Gab’s got its name.

Here is the long answer:
I’ve always been a talker.  When my parents named me, I was going to be Francoise Gabrielle, but they decided at the 11^th hour that I would end up Frannie or Fran, or some other mangled version of Francoise, (which sounds beautiful with a flawless French accent, not so much without). So Gabrielle it was.  My brother Anton is 13 months older than me; when I was born my French mother would refer to me as “Bebe Gabrielle” which he promptly changed to “Baby Gabby Bee”.

And Gabby Bee I was.  Never at a loss for words, I was known for fast talking, endless storytelling, and lots of lots of gibberish  (some might argue, little has changed).

 (Anton and I, 1974 ish)

I was Gabby Bee until the ripe age of 5 when I headed off to Kindergarten and thought the second “Bee” was too immature for big girl school. From then on I was Gabby, in elementary school, junior high and all the way through high school.  I was the only Gabby in my school (that I know of), and I took pride in my unique moniker.  I didn’t mind that it was synonymous with talking, nor that adults often remarked that my parents named me well.

When I started college, and once again thought my name needed a little updating, I went back to the basics and introduced myself as Gabrielle.  The only problem was that my school happened to be in the town I grew up in (Amherst, MA).  There were oodles of kids from my high school who would see me in passing and call me “Gabby”. It made me cringe (who doesn’t want the chance to start fresh in college?), but as most of my friends were new, and some of my closest old friends made the transition, I finally found myself feeling like more of a Gabrielle, than a Gabby and cringed less and less.

I started making lip balm on a whim  in 1991 during my junior year of college (story for a different day).  I gave away bunches and bunches, was encouraged to sell them in our on-campus co-operative market:Peoples Market.  After initial reluctance and a lot of support, I decided to give it a try.

In order to get my homemade concoction ready for retail, I was confronted with a list of things that my enterprise would need. Among these essential items were:  a company name, product name and labels for the lip balms.

I visited a local designer in town, and showed him the small square boxes I was putting the lip balms in.  He helped me establish a size for the label that would adorn the boxes and instructed me to return with a concept, name and sketch for a logo.  The label was a ½” diameter circle, which seemed alright in theory. In reality that’s about half the size of a thumbprint and a ridiculously small space to work with.
The following week I as on my way back to his shop to finalize the label design, when I realized I had neglected to pick out a name, font, or design for the label.  Being organized was not something I was terribly adept at during that era of my life, so instead of feeling panic, I simply told myself that I would come up with something.  The last mile of my drive I thought “Well, whatever I pick for a name doesn’t really matter. I’m not going to do this for a real job, so I can just do what I want. Easy.” I knew I liked the idea of having Gab on there (Gabrielle was far too long—and what 20 year old doesn’t want to put their stamp on the world). I knew I needed something that would go well with Gab. Bad Gab. Crabby Gab. Gab’s Lips.  Gab’s Stuff..they had to be short words, so my choices were limited.

As I parked my old gray Saab (one that would later put on thousands of miles on my peddling adventures) I thought “Mad Gab’s, hey—not bad”.  I worked with the designer and he added “Lip Balm” to the label and the first draft of the logo was created.  When I went back to friends with the layout, we agreed the name Mad Gab’s was good, but the rest lacked something.  My boyfriend at the time later came up with “Lip Lube” to replace Lip Balm.  We agreed it was much catchier and had a nice ring to it. Mad Gab’s Lip Lube it was.  Mad Gab’s sold lip balm under the Lip Lube name until 2008, when we discontinued that line in favor of our Smooch lip balms. 

There is a game called Mad Gab, that seems to have gotten popular since Mattel bought it a few years back.  I have about 5 of them, as people keep giving them to me as gifts, which is really nice. It’s a funny game that has nonsensical looking words on cards that when you read over and over, they say something you recognize.  

Example: Watch choo ear nut washer tse

Phrase: What You hear not What You see.

Anyway, a lot of people (some customers, some lawyers) have called me over the years with alarm in their voice. “Have you seen this game Mad Gab?” they ask.   My answer is always the same “Yes, I have. Great name, don’t you think?”

(This red box image was sent to me last year by my brother.   A colleague told him he still used a Lip Lube  from the early years….kind of yucky and fun all at once!)

Some years and several lifetimes ago, I lived for a time in fabulous Las Vegas. Right on The Strip, nestled between several more modern behemoths, was a throwback to Vegas’ heyday called “The Frontier.” Like the more famous Flamingo, Stardust, and Tropicana, the Frontier was a perfectly gaudy example of a mid-century themed hotel complete with fake knobby wood décor and that kind of undulating, nauseating carpet typically found in casinos and children’s playlands or anywhere else one might need to easily disguise vomit. The Frontier was also the home to Gilley’s, a toe-tapping, line-dancing, honkeytonk bar where visitors could throw back some fire water, two-step through the hay (that’s right, hay), and try their hand at the mechanical bull.

Being just a little too young to remember firsthand the mechanical bull mania that swept the nation following the release of Urban Cowboy, I was mystified by this black hulking contraption in the middle of the club, surrounded by bright blue gym padding, the first (and only) time I had the privilege of visiting Gilley’s. I asked our waitress about it and she informed me that, for $5 a go, I could mount the mechanical bull and do my best to hang on for eight seconds. “Eight seconds?!” I scoffed. “Who would pay $5 for eight seconds of anything?” The waitress had no doubt encountered such questioning before because she calmly explained to me how the machine worked and assured me that it was considerably harder than it looked. Doubtful, I purchased my ticket and waited for my name to be called. Requiring assistance in the form of a step ladder, I climbed aboard my mechanical steed, received a brief lesson in how to position myself for the best grip, and then waited for the fun to begin. Two seconds later, I was laying flat out on the mats, laughing hysterically, wondering where it had all gone wrong. Astonishingly, two seconds was plenty of time for my companions to snap a photo.

You may be starting to wonder what all this has to do with lip balm.

Recently, we decided to do some extra-thorough cleaning of the production space and had brainstormed about several ways to address the build-up of beeswax on the floor in the mixing area. All of our balms contain beeswax which comes in little seed-like pellets. Even the most careful mixer is bound to drop a piece or two and, over the course of a year, an army of little waxy spots start to converge on the mixing table. In the past, Gab had rented a floor buffer for the job and so, one quiet Friday morning, she picked one up again. I was across the production space when Matt turned the buffer on for the first time and I watched with considerable enjoyment and just a little bit of alarm as he was immediately carried across the floor and into a cabinet by a contraption no bigger than a vacuum cleaner.

With a bit of practice and a dose of concentration, Matt was able to wrangle the buffer into some semblance of control. He and Gab took turns attacking the wax and then left me to finish the job. As soon as I grabbed the handles and flipped it on, I was immediately taken back to my two seconds of bull riding glory at Gilley’s, holding on for dear life as some automated beast threw me around. I was nearly powerless against it and thought to myself, as I was dragged from one side to another, that there are many situations in life that could be aided by giant blue gym pads. Eventually, I mastered the buffer and managed to buff the entire production floor into a gleaming, nearly mirror-like surface and I became convinced, as it bucked and kicked in my hands, that I could have likewise conquered that bull if only I’d had a little bit of practice and enough five dollar bills to pay for it.

(I’ve decided to share the blogging at Mad Gab’s with my willing co-workers. Sam Bullock–Mad Gab’s Production Mistress had the first go at it with Space Invaders, and the following is written by Margo Roy, Mad Gab’s Office Manager Extraordinaire.)

Author: Margo Roy

Camp counselor, bank teller, waitress, busgirl, retail cashier…. Since the age of 14 I have had many, many jobs. My parents raised me and my sister to work often and work hard. When home from college over Christmas break my Dad would grow frustrated.  “Why aren’t you working? Get a job!”,   he would yell at me every morning when I would roll out of bed around noon. I explained that not many places wanted to hire a college student for just 2 weeks and that my part time job at school was waiting for me when I got back… but he persisted.

After graduating from Boston University in 2009 with a degree in Photojournalism I found myself back in Maine, which was a good thing. During January of my junior year my Dad had passed away unexpectedly. After his death I was back at school full time within two weeks and at my part time job within a month. I knew that he didn’t want me sitting around… so I kept going. I made it through that semester with my best GPA yet and a few months later found myself studying abroad in London (something he and I always dream I would do). Coming back to Maine after I graduated was refreshing and relaxing. I needed to slow down and be around my family.

Despite my degree in Photojournalism, I found myself working as a bank teller, in the spring of 2009 when the job market was at its worst. I had worked at the bank when I was home from college in the summer and all it took was a phone call before I was back to work. I dreaded it. I am very outgoing, outspoken, honest and a bit crude at times. The uniformity in a bank setting made me want to scream.

I worked through it for about 10 months until I started searching for a change. I remembered my Dad’s advice when I was considering studying photojournalism, “It doesn’t matter what you are doing or how much money you are making, if you love what you are doing nothing else matters.” I was finding myself extremely miserable to be around because I was so unhappy with my current situation. That was it… not long after I landed myself a job here at Mad Gab’s.  

This is a place where I can be my gregarious self while managing to throw in a little bit of professionalism and a lot of hard work. And I couldn’t be happier.

In my next entry I will give you some insight into what it is that I actually do here at Mad Gab’s. Until then….Take care!

by Samantha Bullock, Mad Gab’s Production Mistress

Space Invaders

There’s a space revolution on the horizon in production right now and, while a lesser woman might be fearful of losing her head, I’m pretty excited about the kind of changes this revolt is signaling. Slowly, over the last six months that I’ve been the Production Mistress, I’ve noticed how all of our neatly organized boxes of supplies have begun to encroach on the making spaces; filling up shelves and corners, finding any available floor under tables to make little box nests and have little box babies. I turn my back and they’re at it again, procreating like brown currogated bunnies or, worse, rectangular tribbles. Of course, this is a sure sign of health and growth and that’s precisely what excites me about the boxes’ particular brand of revolt.

Something that Gab recognizes exceedingly well is the periodic need to reevaluate our systems, to strive for that extra smidge of efficiency. Not only that, Mad Gab’s is adept at repurposing and reusing fixtures, even if it means a bit of elbow grease and ingenuity to make it all work smoothly. The excitement in the office is palpable whenever we catch wind of a moving sale or other opportunity to get potentially better furniture. You should see some of our eyes light up when faced with shelving units and tables, it’s something akin to the look you have when waking up at Christmas and seeing a new car in your driveway.

Just such a thing happened here about a week ago when we found ourselves in possession of a number of high tables and cube shelves. Matt and I tittered back and forth about how we could put one shelf this way and solve this problem, or line the tables up this way and solve this other problem. Gab and Margo imagined the answer to all of their binder storage prayers. The thought that some of our space issues and efficiency snags could be cleared up by these new and exciting things had us all smiling during what would otherwise have been an arduous haul of heavy furniture back to our place.

This week, we’ll put all of our plans in motion, upending things for a day or two in production so we can make room for the new and probably repurpose the old. Just because those old shipping tables no longer work for shipping, doesn’t mean they won’t work perfectly somewhere else. And if no one else in the office lays claim to them, I think I know a box family or two that could put them to good use.

Gasoline Alley 1996

So it’s Friday afternoon, and while half of me is already in weekend mode, the other half is working on numbers.  Mind you, I used to run screaming from any conversation that involved finance, accounting, analysis, balance sheets and the like. My, how times change.

After my stint in Gasoline Alley (an incubator that took me in about 15 years ag0), I’ve become a bit of a numbers freak.    Right now, I’m working on keeping track of our cost of goods.  We’ve added a lot of new products over the past few years and I need to keep an eye on our margins.  So, I’m up to my ears in spreadsheets, sales reports, and other exciting finance reports….with Pandora providing the background jams featuring Slick Rick, Public Enemy and other songs from back in the day.

I can’t say I’m thrilled with everything I’m discovering, but the exercise is important and necessary.  We spend time every month as a company going over our financial statements (we have open books so everyone can look at expenses line by line—no mysteries), but more comprehensive reports have to be run periodically.
So, while it may not be the most exciting way to spend a Friday afternoon, I know it’s good for Mad Gab’s.  Plus, I’m foreseeing a sugar hangover on Monday morning!

It’s the end of trade show season for us, wrapping up an amazing year.  First there was Las Vegas Resort Show, then The Gathering (an invite-only) show in Orlando.  We’d never been to the Gathering, so it was a mystery going into it…..and what a succesful show that turned out to be.

Now we’re working like busy little elves on getting show orders out, doing some custom projects for the spring, and working to hit our sales goal for 2010.  All systems look good!

Tomorrow I’m headed to NYC for a non-Mad Gab’s trip, but as usual when I’m traveling, I’ve pulled out a list of stores we sell to, or used to sell to, packed my bag full of samples  and plan to leave a trail of lip balms around Manhatten. 

I also get to go on a few covert missions to take pictures of the register/cash wrap areas for some locations we are soon to be in, but have merchandising issues that need to be worked out.  Pretty cool locations too; Natural History Museum, Museum of NY in Times Square, and a few others. Not a bad way to tack on some work to an otherwise girls-weekend in the city.

I’m really happy work travel is over, though we had a great time working with our customers, meeting new ones, and fellow vendors.  The kids are happy the shows are over too. They have a great time with their grandparents, but they enjoy having everyone back in place. Can’t blame them.  All that said,  it was really nice to get out of the bubble and remind myself why I keep up this crazy gig after 19 years.

That’s all for today.
Gab

The past two weeks have been interesting around the Mill.    I heard from fellow tenants that our landlord had filed for bankruptcy and then I heard that the mill was under foreclosure.  Information was spreading like wildfire, and while I wanted to keep others informed as well, I hesitated to be part of what could be unfounded rumors.  I was due to pay September rent, and wanted desperately to know what was going on so I could pay to the appropriate party.  I called lawyers, banks who were listed as Grantee on loan documents for the building, I called the guy with the sandwich shop down the street who’s wife is allegedly the lawyer for our landlord. Nothing!

I did find out that our landlord had moved out of the building, and had moved his own boxes.  For a man who drives about 7 different luxury cars, this seemed very out of character.  So, I waited.

On Monday of this week we found out that our building was indeed in foreclosure and being taken over by a local (and very reputable) property management company.  This is good news, as we can pay our rent, and now move onto wonder about the future of the mill, and possibly our businesses.  Everyone says not to worry, it will be business as usual but I’m not so sure.  Simply getting the boilers filled for a building this size, and then kept up and running all winter is a huge financial investment that I hope the bank is willing to make.  That said, everyone assures us that banks like full properties, not empty ones so we’ll just have to wait and see.

Just another day in the life.