- See that camera bubble? Top left? It’s fake af. The previous store manager put them up to trick her assistant manager (the current store manager) into working. Didn’t work.
- I had the worst customer tonight. Came to pick up her order. The manager sold her a birthstone with the wrong kind of bracelet: the birthstone charms don’t open up, just the birthstone bracelets. This is why we don’t sell them with other bracelets. But whatevs. I can get the pliers and throw it on. But I can’t find the pliers. There’s no small pliers anywhere. Neither the manager nor the assistant manager will answer their phone. Customer is screaming at me because somebody else screwed her. Doesn’t want the five bucks back for the birthstone. Wants me to somehow pry this bracelet open with my fingers and magically attach it. Fuck that lady. I ended up writing my name, the manager’s name, and the order number (so they could see that she didn’t buy a birthstone bracelet) on a business card for her to call and complain about us. I don’t care, lady. You’re an entitled bitch.
- The manager finally called me back after Ms Entitlement left. Her plan is to call and apologize and find some fucking pliers. No sorry you had to deal with the consequences of my disregard of company policy. Just I’m gonna kiss that lady’s butt for a five dollar sale.
- On Monday I had a customer pissed because the frame she ordered in November that was on backorder hadn’t shown up yet. She just wanted someone to be mad at.
- I don’t know why I expected any better. I fielded enough complaints about this store’s customer service when I worked at my store; customers probably go there expecting to get fucked. I got news for them. If they want to be assholes to someone they’ve never met before who didn’t have anything to do with their order, they can get fucked.
- Job hunt starts tomorrow.
Today my new laptop that my mom got me came in the mail.
It was supposed to come with a year of Microsoft Office 365. One of the first things I noticed when I opened everything up was that the seal was broken on the product key.
Shoulda just packed it up there.
I messed with it for a while before taking my mom to the doctor, and then more when we got home. Ian had enough and called Microsoft. It turns out that yup, my product key was used. That would be why it wouldn’t work. Microsoft said call HP.
Ian called HP.
Keep in mind that I got a lovely little flyer in my package talking up HP’s totes amazing customer support team, who will absolutely do what it takes to fix your problems.
This guy didn’t get the memo. Ian was on the phone with him for a good forty minutes. Nothing was resolved.
Ian called Amazon. He did get another product key, but that one wasn’t any good either. Other than that, there wasn’t anything they could do since I’d already set up the computer.
I called HP. I spent over an hour on the phone, first with a guy who lied to my face (ear?) several times, then his supervisor, then another tech, then another tech. I agreed to let them remote access my computer to verify the problem.
That was something else. I’ve had tech support look around for stuff before, make mistakes, whatever. No biggie. But I’ve never had one google ‘download product key’ on MY computer. I’ve never had one hover the cursor over Microsoft tech support for long enough to make me believe that he was actually about to open a chat session with them while on the phone with me. Man, oh man. Highly entertaining.
Finally they agreed to escalate my complaint, and told me I’d be receiving a call from a case manager tomorrow.
A certain topic has been popping up over and over in my life this week. Kind of the opposite of customer service–maybe you could call it employee service, but I prefer calling it don’t be a jerk.
At work the other night, two other girls and I were discussing how some customers are simply not nice.
On Facebook the next day, a friend shared a someone else’s status about how it’s a decent idea to treat food service workers like human beings. She caught hell for it.
And tonight, I came across a writing prompt: tell how customers like to be treated in a store.
Everyone knows how customers like to be treated in a store. We all know this because we’re all customers at some point. A more pertinent topic would be how the service industry would like to be treated.
Guess what? The answer is the same.
The problem is that the general public does not understand this.
The problem is that old adage, the customer is always right.It’s been drilled into our head so well that it’s become a given when it shouldn’t be.
Have you seen Mallrats? They got it much closer to right. The customer is always an asshole.
While it’s true that the customer isn’t always an asshole, it’s usually a safe bet. People say and do all sorts of things to customer service representatives that they’d never, ever say or do in so-called polite company. Here’s an anecdote.
When I was managing a quick service restaurant, I had a customer picking up his order in the drive thru. He couldn’t figure out how to separate the credit card receipts, so I held my hand out to take them, rubbed them together to separate, and handed him his copy. His response? Ha, I guess I’m just too smart to figure that out! The implication was clear. I was an idiot for working in food service while he brought his dinner home in his luxury car.
And that was just a mild annoyance.
I cannot count the number of times I’ve been told by a customer that the customer is always right. Another anecdote? Sure.
Same restaurant, same drive thru. This one was a regular customer well-known for his unpleasantness; so well-known that a manager automatically dealt with him, to save time. I took his twenty, gave him his food, and gave him his change. He pulled around to the front, parked, and came in to scream at me for not giving him his change. The change that was still in his left hand. I pointed out the bills poking out of his fist, and he informed me that he’d already had this money, and I hadn’t given him any change. The lobby full of customers was appalled at his behavior, but the rest of my team took it in stride–as I said, well-known for his unpleasantness. Finally, I agreed to give him more change just to get him out. Fifteen minutes later his wife called to let me know he was on his way back to my store to return the extra money. He didn’t say a word this time. Bless his wife’s heart, though.
The customer is not always right, but the employee who has to deal with him is always a living, breathing, human being.
The reason for the magnetically locked doors in the emergency room I worked at was not to protect the innocents in the waiting room from the bloody messes in the trauma rooms. It was to protect the staff from impatient patients and/or visitors. The customers, if you will.
The reason for the screening process at the blood center I worked at was not to inconvenience donors. It was to protect the blood supply from unnecessary risks. Don’t just hop in the chair and say you don’t have time for all those questions when you’ve traveled to a malaria risk area in the past six months.
Ask any delivery driver who tips the best. It’s not the people who can afford it. It’s the people who also work for piddly wages. The major exception the rule is the person who worked his way through college and graduate school by tending bar or waiting tables and hasn’t forgotten what it’s like.
The worst excuse I’ve heard for this behavior has been if you don’t like it, get a better job. The implication of this being that a decent human being couldn’t possibly be willing to work for minimum wage, which is patently untrue. It’s an even worse excuse when it comes from the mouth of a person who has nothing but scorn for anyone on government assistance. I don’t get that at all; it’s not okay to seek aid when unemployed, but it’s also not okay to be employed if the job isn’t good enough?
Tyler Durden said it best.
We cook your meals. We haul your trash. We connect your calls. We drive your ambulances. We guard you while you sleep. Do not fuck with us.
This attitude of superiority has only become less tolerable with the prevalence of electronic communication. If I can type, and I can spell, I’m the equal of anyone until I let slip an opinion like–well, like this one. I can have a conversation online with a middle-aged, middle class woman who’s never worked a day in her life and spends her afternoons getting her tips frosted and her nails filled, and we’d be just fine chatting about the weather. But if I find out who she is and let her know that I remember her for always ordering fifty dollars’ worth of food and never tipping the driver, I lose my claim to humanity. Because it’s dirty to provide a common service, and it’s disgusting to actually enjoy it.
I got off work early one day for a friend’s baby shower. Her mother answered the door and tried to send me away because she didn’t look at me. She thought I was trying to deliver pizza because I was still in my uniform. Even though my hands held not a hot bag but a wrapped gift, she couldn’t see past the logo to recognize me.
Real life is what makes Pretty in Pink a pipe dream. And it’s not that us poor people are so open-minded; the animosity extends both ways. The difference is that a poor person will, for the most part, give a rich person the benefit of the doubt until they prove their bias. The wealthy automatically scorn the poor. Not because of who they are, but because of what they are. And that’s a load of crap.
We’re all people. Sometimes the customer is right. Sometimes the employee is right. Sometimes everybody’s an asshole.
Maybe Horton Hears a Who should be daily required reading for everyone.
Just don’t be a jerk.