Testimonials
Consumer:
Everyone has
been very helpful. Mike is doing a very good job.
I love to work at OSI and outside OSI. I like the job’s I do in
the print shop. You are doing a good job, keep it up. I love OSI and all
the people there. What would we do without OSI?!!
Quality Wholesale, Inc (Carlisle, PA)
We have enjoyed
the privilege of working with Occupational Services, Inc for the past
several years, so when we were ask to write a testimonial on behalf of
OSI we were thrilled to respond. Our experience with OSI has always been
a pleasurable one. We depend on OSI to do a great deal of item coding
with price stickers, counting and packaging of bulk bags and flyers, and
counting and packaging product by the dozen. OSI has always come through
for us by arranging for pick-up, timely re-delivery of completed items,
unbeatable accuracy, and excellent communication. We are fortunate to
have an amazing contact, Carol, who knows our business and is always available
to help.
We are a seasonal company that enjoys a bulk of our business from August
to December. This makes it difficult for our employees to complete the
volume of work that needs to be completed in that amount of time. We have
tried using temp services in the past, but the cost of temp employees
and the supervision necessary to complete our projects was exorbitant.
With OSI, we know that the job will be done right – the first time-
at a VERY reasonable price. We appreciate everything that OSI has done
to make our lives easier.
Carlisle SynTec Inc.
Thank you so much for inviting me to comment on the excellent relationship our two organizations have enjoyed over these many years. To say that Occupational Services, Inc has grown to be an invaluable asset would indeed be an understatement. OSI has been ready, willing and more than able to provide the extra support services that we’ve come to depend upon. Whether it involves the assembly of product literature, training manuals, or one of our sub-assemblies, OSI’s dedication to providing quality services when we need then has become your hallmark.
OCM (On Campus Marketing)
It gives me a
great deal of pleasure to speak to the virtues of being associated with
Occupational Services, Inc. I cannot think of a better business situation
that could be any more mutually beneficial and win-win than working with
this amazing company.
Dealing with OSI at our peak times throughout the year allows us to outsource
work rather than bring in seasonal employees for such a short period of
time. From a bookkeeping and payroll perspective it is as simple as paying
any other vendor for their goods and services.
The supervision of their outstanding workforce, the quality of their work,
the genuine enthusiasm of their workers is instantly recognizable and
appreciated. We have had OSI work at our location and we have had them
pick up the raw goods from our warehouse, do the work at their location
and return the finished goods to us in a timely manner.
Parents:
Our son Pat has
been at OSI for twenty-five years. Going to OSI daily is the biggest thing
in his life. OSI has given Pat goals, a means of self-expression, a daily
social interchange, and a sense of pride and achievement.
Pat’s parents are pleased to have him in a safe and controlled environment,
doing meaningful work in his peer group, under the care and direction
of a competent and understanding professional staff. We’re further
assured knowing that OSI ranks among the highest when rehab centers and
sheltered workshops were evaluated. We live in Chambersburg because OSI
is here.
Inspirationals
THE FOLDED
NAPKIN
A Truckers Story......
I try not to be biased, but I had my doubts about hiring Stevie. His
placement counselor assured me that he would be a good, reliable busboy.
But I had never had a mentally handicapped employee and wasn't sure I wanted
one. I wasn't sure how my customers would react to Stevie.
He was short, a little dumpy with the smooth facial features and
thick-tongued speech of Downs Syndrome. I wasn't worried about most of my
trucker customers because truckers don't generally care who buses tables as
long as the meatloaf platter is good and the pies are homemade.
The ones who concerned me were the four-wheel drivers, the mouthy college kids traveling to school, the yuppie snobs who secretly polish their silverware with their napkins for fear of catching some dreaded “truck stop germ”, and the pairs of white-shirted business men on expense accounts who think every truck stop waitress wants to be flirted with. I knew those people would be uncomfortable around Stevie so I closely watched him for the first few weeks.
I shouldn't have worried. After the first week, Stevie had my staff wrapped
around his stubby little finger, and within a month my truck regulars had
adopted him as their official truck stop mascot.
After that, I really didn't care what the rest of the customers thought of
him. He was like a 21-year-old in blue jeans and Nikes, eager to laugh and
eager to please, but fierce in his attention to his duties. Every salt and
pepper shaker was exactly in its place, not a bread crumb or coffee spill
was visible when Stevie got done with the table. Our only problem was
persuading him to wait to clean a table until after the customers were
finished. He would hover in the background, shifting his weight from one
foot to the other, scanning the dining room until a table was empty. Then
he would scurry to the empty table and carefully bus dishes and glasses onto
his cart and meticulously wipe the table up with a practiced flourish of his rag.
If he thought a customer was watching, his brow would pucker with added concentration. He took pride in doing his job exactly right, and you had to love how hard he tried to please each and every person he met.
Over time, we learned that he lived with his mother, a widow who was disabled after repeated surgeries for cancer. They lived on their Social Security benefits in public housing two miles from the truck stop. Their social worker, who stopped to check on him every so often, admitted they had fallen between the cracks. Money was tight, and what I paid him was probably the difference between them being able to live together and Stevie being sent to a group home. That's why the restaurant was a gloomy place that morning last August, the first morning in three years that Stevie missed work.
He was at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester getting a new valve or something put in his heart. His social worker said that people with Downs Syndrome often have heart problems at an early age so this wasn't unexpected, and there was a good chance he would come through the surgery in good shape and be back at work in a few months.
A ripple of excitement ran through the staff later that morning when word came that he was out of surgery, in recovery, and doing fine. Frannie, the head waitress, let out a war hoop and did a little dance in the aisle when she heard the good news.
Bell Ringer, one of our regular trucker customers, stared at the sight of this 50-year-old grandmother of four doing a victory shimmy beside his table.
Frannie blushed, smoothed her apron and shot Bell Ringer a withering look. He grinned. "OK, Frannie, what was that all about?" he asked."We just got word that Stevie is out of surgery and going to be okay."
"I was wondering where he was. I had a new joke to tell him. What was the surgery about?"
Frannie quickly told Bell Ringer and the other two drivers sitting at his
booth about Stevie's surgery, then sighed: "Yeah, I'm glad he is going to
be OK," she said. "But I don't know how he and his Mom are going to handle
all the bills. From what I hear, they're barely getting by as it is." Bell
Ringer nodded thoughtfully, and Frannie hurried off to wait on the rest of
her tables. Since I hadn't had time to round up a busboy to replace Stevie
and really didn't want to replace him, the girls were busing their own
tables that day until we decided what to do.
After the morning rush, Frannie walked into my office. She had a couple of
paper napkins in her hand and a funny look on her face.
"What's up?" I asked.
"I didn't get that table where Bell Ringer and his friends were sitting
cleared off after they left, and Pony Pete and Tony Tipper were sitting
there when I got back to clean it off," she said. "This was folded and
tucked under a coffee cup."
She handed the napkin to me, and three $20 bills fell onto my desk when I opened it. On the outside, in big, bold letters, was printed "Something For Stevie".
"Pony Pete asked me what that was all about," she said, "so I told him about Stevie and his Mom and everything, and Pete looked at Tony and Tony looked at Pete, and they ended up giving me this." She handed me another paper napkin that had "Something For Stevie" scrawled on its outside. Two $50 bills were tucked within its folds. Frannie looked at me with wet, shiny eyes, shook her head and said simply: "truckers."
That was three months ago. Today is Thanksgiving, the first day Stevie is supposed to be back to work.
His placement worker said he's been counting the days until the doctor said he could work, and it didn't matter at all that it was a holiday. He called 10 times in the past week, making sure we knew he was coming, fearful that we had forgotten him or that his job was in jeopardy. I arranged to have his mother bring him to work. I then met them in the parking lot and invited them both to celebrate his day back.
Stevie was thinner and paler, but couldn't stop grinning as he pushed
through the doors and headed for the back room where his apron and busing
cart were waiting.
"Hold up there, Stevie, not so fast," I said. I took him and his mother by their arms. "Work can wait for a minute. To celebrate you coming back, breakfast for you and your mother is on me!" I led them toward a large corner booth at the rear of the room.
I could feel and hear the rest of the staff following behind as we marched through the dining room. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw booth after booth of grinning truckers empty and join the procession. We stopped in front of the big table. Its surface was covered with coffee cups, saucers and dinner plates, all sitting slightly crooked on dozens of folded paper napkins."First thing you have to do, Stevie, is clean up this mess," I said. I tried to sound stern.
Stevie looked at me, and then at his mother, then pulled out one of the
napkins. It had "Something for Stevie" printed on the outside. As he
picked it up, two $10 bills fell onto the table.
Stevie stared at the money, then at all the napkins peeking from beneath the
tableware, each with his name printed or scrawled on it. I turned to his
mother. "There's more than $10,000 in cash and checks on that table, all
from truckers and trucking companies that heard about your problems. "Happy
Thanksgiving."
Well, it got real noisy about that time, with everybody hollering and
shouting, and there were a few tears, as well.
But you know what's funny? While everybody else was busy shaking hands and hugging each other, Stevie, with a big, big smile on his face, was busy clearing all the cups and dishes from the table. Best worker I ever hired.
Plant a seed and watch it grow.
At this point, you can bury this inspirational message or forward it
fulfilling the need!
If you shed a tear, hug yourself, because you are a compassionate person.
OSI will assist individuals with disabilities to lead more productive and meaningful lives by maximizing their abilities to achieve their highest potential through vocational rehabilitation programs and subcontracting services. Learn more about OSI, news, vocational rehabilitation programs, subcontracting services, wood products, testimonials, donations, and job opportunities.