Published in Interface Tech News
PORTSMOUTH, N.H. ‹ Moving to protect its electronic invoicing and payment software for businesses, Bottomline Technologies received a patent in late June for its e-payment notification system. The system, called ERADS (electronic remittance advice delivery system), is already distributed as part of Bottomline's PayBase payment-automation software.
Bottomline chairman and CEO Dan McGurl said ERADS makes it easier for both parties to know what transactions have occurred.
"When you make an electronic payment," McGurl said, "there are certain limitations that do not allow organizations to send all the remittance information with the payment. (ERADS) is a real-world technology that enables organizations to work around the limitations."
Bottomline still has about 20 patents pending, McGurl said, all of which are for aspects of the company's e-payment and e-invoicing products. The protection offered by a patent improves what McGurl said is the company's already-strong position in the marketplace.
Bottomline's major initiative of late has been moving from a client-server style system to a Web browser-based implementation, a project McGurl is pleased with."We have substantially strengthened our product line with this Web-based (system)," he said.
Harry Wollhandler, vice president of research at Peterborough, N.H.-based ActivMedia Research, agreed. "The systems they've developed meet the criteria of the marketplace rather well," Wollhandler said.
The issue now for Bottomline, Wollhandler said, is to see how the market standards develop. If Bottomline's products can work with most companies' accounting systems, Wollhandler expects them to do well.
"The issue is critical mass. Can you get enough partners involved?" he added.
Bottomline is making an effort, according to McGurl said. FleetBoston, Citibank, and UPS all use Bottomline products and resell them to their customers.
The opportunity is real, Wollhandler said, for systems like Bottomline's to really take off. "Bill presentment is hard for banks," he said. "In terms of corporate business, (systems like ERADS) start to bypass the credit card, saving 2.3 percent on every transaction."
Wollhandler said Bottomline, which will announce its annual financial report in the first week of August, is moving in the right direction.
"Too many companies have gone after investors at the expense of going after customers. The strategy they seem to be putting into place is going after customers and letting investors take care of themselves," Wollhandler said.
Tuesday, July 24, 2001
Sunday, January 28, 2001
Bottom of the food chain
Published in the Antarctic Sun
Every meal. Every break. Every glass, plate, fork, knife, spoon, pot, pan, sandwich, juice container…. Every time a dining room attendant (DA) turns around at McMurdo, there’s more to do.
But too often to diners on station they’re just the blue-clad bodies moving a rack of glasses right in front of you or the faces at the dishroom window.
Most of the time, the DAs are smiling, and that’s a tribute to their resilience. "It’s the most difficult job on station, and they probably work harder than anybody else," said Jan Jasperson, the winterover food service supervisor, who said that if he could do anything for them, it would
be getting DAs paid more than the $350 a week they earn.
The DAs play a role in every part of the galley operation, except one. "We don’t cook food," said lead DA Ginger Alferos.
The DAs clean and restock dishes, prep food and salads, make sandwiches and flight lunches, make sure the food lines are stocked, and clean the whole place when the meals are done.
"I do different jobs: deli, floating, pot room, dishroom, it all depends on your mood," said DA Amanda Dow.
The pot room is really where the legends of DA-dom are made. While sitting in on their "family meal," at a strange time like 9:30 a.m. for lunch, the stories come out. Many of them involve the cramped rectangular space called the pot room.
The din in there can be deafening. With big, metal pots and pans resounding while they are moved through stainless steel sinks, the shift starts out loud. Add the music, the singing along and the joketelling and it’s a big party, albeit crusty food in abundant attendance.
In the background is a periodic rumble of the disposal, a giant one, almost the size of a five-gallon bucket. And, as one story goes, a DA once dumped a big pot of mashed potatoes into it instead of scraping the pot into food waste first. As if it were karmic retribution, the disposal exploded, spraying ground-up food everywhere and covering the operator’s face with a big white cloud of potato glop.
It seems gross. It is gross. But then the DAs think it’s funny, which gives insight into how they survive.
"The people make it fun," Dow said. Some of their on-the-job entertainment comes from people who pass through the galley. The DAs keep tallies, like how many people lick their fingers before touching serving utensils. At times they’ll take surveys, asking questions through the dishroom
windows as people stack their plates. It’s a good way to keep their minds active while working a mindless job.
Their presence is appreciated. "There’s no way we could do what we do without them," Jasperson said. In the rest of the world, Jasperson said, the jobs akin to the DAs are held by high school students. But in their lives back home, these DAs are food-service workers, teachers, outdoor guides and other professionals, including a nurse and a geologist.
It can be a good leg up for future jobs in the U.S. Antarctic Program, though. DAs can prove their ability to endure hardship and show their skills with the community.
"They’re our front-line defense," Jasperson said, explaining that the DAs are the first to hear feedback from the community and take the most heat for problems in the galley.
They put up with it because they want to get to Antarctica and they stay because they’re here. There is some appreciation from the community, the DAs say, but there’s no such thing as too much. The folks in the galley, though, know the value of the grunt work.
"We love our DAs," Jasperson said.
Every meal. Every break. Every glass, plate, fork, knife, spoon, pot, pan, sandwich, juice container…. Every time a dining room attendant (DA) turns around at McMurdo, there’s more to do.
But too often to diners on station they’re just the blue-clad bodies moving a rack of glasses right in front of you or the faces at the dishroom window.
Most of the time, the DAs are smiling, and that’s a tribute to their resilience. "It’s the most difficult job on station, and they probably work harder than anybody else," said Jan Jasperson, the winterover food service supervisor, who said that if he could do anything for them, it would
be getting DAs paid more than the $350 a week they earn.
The DAs play a role in every part of the galley operation, except one. "We don’t cook food," said lead DA Ginger Alferos.
The DAs clean and restock dishes, prep food and salads, make sandwiches and flight lunches, make sure the food lines are stocked, and clean the whole place when the meals are done.
"I do different jobs: deli, floating, pot room, dishroom, it all depends on your mood," said DA Amanda Dow.
The pot room is really where the legends of DA-dom are made. While sitting in on their "family meal," at a strange time like 9:30 a.m. for lunch, the stories come out. Many of them involve the cramped rectangular space called the pot room.
The din in there can be deafening. With big, metal pots and pans resounding while they are moved through stainless steel sinks, the shift starts out loud. Add the music, the singing along and the joketelling and it’s a big party, albeit crusty food in abundant attendance.
In the background is a periodic rumble of the disposal, a giant one, almost the size of a five-gallon bucket. And, as one story goes, a DA once dumped a big pot of mashed potatoes into it instead of scraping the pot into food waste first. As if it were karmic retribution, the disposal exploded, spraying ground-up food everywhere and covering the operator’s face with a big white cloud of potato glop.
It seems gross. It is gross. But then the DAs think it’s funny, which gives insight into how they survive.
"The people make it fun," Dow said. Some of their on-the-job entertainment comes from people who pass through the galley. The DAs keep tallies, like how many people lick their fingers before touching serving utensils. At times they’ll take surveys, asking questions through the dishroom
windows as people stack their plates. It’s a good way to keep their minds active while working a mindless job.
Their presence is appreciated. "There’s no way we could do what we do without them," Jasperson said. In the rest of the world, Jasperson said, the jobs akin to the DAs are held by high school students. But in their lives back home, these DAs are food-service workers, teachers, outdoor guides and other professionals, including a nurse and a geologist.
It can be a good leg up for future jobs in the U.S. Antarctic Program, though. DAs can prove their ability to endure hardship and show their skills with the community.
"They’re our front-line defense," Jasperson said, explaining that the DAs are the first to hear feedback from the community and take the most heat for problems in the galley.
They put up with it because they want to get to Antarctica and they stay because they’re here. There is some appreciation from the community, the DAs say, but there’s no such thing as too much. The folks in the galley, though, know the value of the grunt work.
"We love our DAs," Jasperson said.
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