You what?
Many years ago I bought a pair of blue Italian sandals from a well
known and rather upmarket shoe shop whose initials spell the name
of a particular type of music. I expect you know the one I mean.
Only a few weeks later, one of the straps ripped in half so I took
the sandals back to ask for a replacement. The shop assistant
examined the sandals carefully, then looked at me
disapprovingly.
'You've been wearing these!'
I pointed out the rather astonishing fact that sandals are meant to be worn, but cannot be worn when straps break after only a few weeks. The assistant finally relented and gave me a refund.
Call me old-fashioned, or optimistic, or possibly even naive, but I thought such experiences had gone out with the Bay City Rollers and Tiswas. But in the spirit of so many Olde English traditions at Christmas, it seems that they are being revived.
Last week, I rushed into a well known and rather upmarket supermarket (the one that prides itself on its foodie image) to buy some last-minute presents. I headed straight for the confectionery aisle and chose five boxes of chocolates. Two of them were very expensive, but they were for my agent and her business partner and they deserve a treat. But when I came to wrap them up, something wasn't right. I looked at the best-by date. Surely I'd read that wrongly. It couldn't be. It was. I asked my husband to confirm what I thought I was seeing. Yes, he said. The best-by date on the two boxes of expensive chocolates I'd bought on 13 December was 31 October 2010. Six weeks out of date.
Yesterday, we had to buy some food so it was a good opportunity to take the chocolates back to the supermarket. I showed the chocolates to the woman behind the till and showed her the best-by date and my receipt to prove when I'd bought them. She blanched. Her colleague, hearing the sharp intake of breath, peered over her shoulder. She blanched, too, and looked at me nervously. The words 'Trading Standards' hovered unspoken in the air. I commented in a friendly way that I had also been a bit surprised, bearing in mind the excellent reputation of the supermarket.
Well, it had been excellent up till then, anyway. The first woman, whose badge revealed that she was a departmental manager, asked me if I'd like cash or would prefer a refund on my card. A refund on my card, please.
She fiddled about on the till. Then she looked up at me.
'I'm afraid, madam, that as you are returning goods that have now passed their best-by date, we cannot give you a refund. But you are welcome to choose chocolates to the same value and we will give you an exchange.'
She made it sound as though it was my fault that the chocolates were six weeks past their best, or that perhaps I'd been holding on to them since the summer. It was a good thing my husband was browsing elsewhere in the shop otherwise they'd still be sweeping up the plaster from the ceiling. I pointed out, very politely but very firmly, that I had no intention of spending £32 on chocolates and I wanted a refund, please. I got it. And a rather sheepish apology.
Actually, that hasn't been the only example of Olde English service. Also last week, our Freesat box went bonkers and refused to work properly. My husband rang the manufacturers. Don't worry, they said, we'll exchange it. Great, we thought. After all, it was only seven months old. The delivery man came, collected our bonkers box and brought a new one. It had paint on the cable. It had scratches on the face. And it was a cheaper model than ours. My husband rang the manufacturers. Apparently, when they say they will exchange the Freesat box they don't mean they'll exchange it for a new one, even though the broken machine is still under guarantee. No, no, no. They will exchange it for a reconditioned one. Oh, had they forgotten to say that before? Oh dear.
My husband told them that the replacement box was the cheaper model and we wanted a replacement of the one we'd sent back. The manufacturers said they'd send the proper one last Thursday. We waited in all day. My husband rang twice to check the delivery man was coming. Oh yes, he was on his way. He didn't appear.
But he did appear first thing on Friday morning. He was a cheerful man. No, he said, we hadn't been on the delivery list for the previous day. Anyway, we handed over the Freesat box, he handed over the new one, and off he went. My husband unpacked the new box. It had a huge chip knocked out of the front, and it was once again the cheaper model. My husband got on the phone. Plaster. Ceiling. You get the idea.
This morning, the cheerful delivery man was back. We have our third reconditioned model, and this time it's the right specification. Will we be buying from that company again? Strangely enough, we won't.
'You've been wearing these!'
I pointed out the rather astonishing fact that sandals are meant to be worn, but cannot be worn when straps break after only a few weeks. The assistant finally relented and gave me a refund.
Call me old-fashioned, or optimistic, or possibly even naive, but I thought such experiences had gone out with the Bay City Rollers and Tiswas. But in the spirit of so many Olde English traditions at Christmas, it seems that they are being revived.
Last week, I rushed into a well known and rather upmarket supermarket (the one that prides itself on its foodie image) to buy some last-minute presents. I headed straight for the confectionery aisle and chose five boxes of chocolates. Two of them were very expensive, but they were for my agent and her business partner and they deserve a treat. But when I came to wrap them up, something wasn't right. I looked at the best-by date. Surely I'd read that wrongly. It couldn't be. It was. I asked my husband to confirm what I thought I was seeing. Yes, he said. The best-by date on the two boxes of expensive chocolates I'd bought on 13 December was 31 October 2010. Six weeks out of date.
Yesterday, we had to buy some food so it was a good opportunity to take the chocolates back to the supermarket. I showed the chocolates to the woman behind the till and showed her the best-by date and my receipt to prove when I'd bought them. She blanched. Her colleague, hearing the sharp intake of breath, peered over her shoulder. She blanched, too, and looked at me nervously. The words 'Trading Standards' hovered unspoken in the air. I commented in a friendly way that I had also been a bit surprised, bearing in mind the excellent reputation of the supermarket.
Well, it had been excellent up till then, anyway. The first woman, whose badge revealed that she was a departmental manager, asked me if I'd like cash or would prefer a refund on my card. A refund on my card, please.
She fiddled about on the till. Then she looked up at me.
'I'm afraid, madam, that as you are returning goods that have now passed their best-by date, we cannot give you a refund. But you are welcome to choose chocolates to the same value and we will give you an exchange.'
She made it sound as though it was my fault that the chocolates were six weeks past their best, or that perhaps I'd been holding on to them since the summer. It was a good thing my husband was browsing elsewhere in the shop otherwise they'd still be sweeping up the plaster from the ceiling. I pointed out, very politely but very firmly, that I had no intention of spending £32 on chocolates and I wanted a refund, please. I got it. And a rather sheepish apology.
Actually, that hasn't been the only example of Olde English service. Also last week, our Freesat box went bonkers and refused to work properly. My husband rang the manufacturers. Don't worry, they said, we'll exchange it. Great, we thought. After all, it was only seven months old. The delivery man came, collected our bonkers box and brought a new one. It had paint on the cable. It had scratches on the face. And it was a cheaper model than ours. My husband rang the manufacturers. Apparently, when they say they will exchange the Freesat box they don't mean they'll exchange it for a new one, even though the broken machine is still under guarantee. No, no, no. They will exchange it for a reconditioned one. Oh, had they forgotten to say that before? Oh dear.
My husband told them that the replacement box was the cheaper model and we wanted a replacement of the one we'd sent back. The manufacturers said they'd send the proper one last Thursday. We waited in all day. My husband rang twice to check the delivery man was coming. Oh yes, he was on his way. He didn't appear.
But he did appear first thing on Friday morning. He was a cheerful man. No, he said, we hadn't been on the delivery list for the previous day. Anyway, we handed over the Freesat box, he handed over the new one, and off he went. My husband unpacked the new box. It had a huge chip knocked out of the front, and it was once again the cheaper model. My husband got on the phone. Plaster. Ceiling. You get the idea.
This morning, the cheerful delivery man was back. We have our third reconditioned model, and this time it's the right specification. Will we be buying from that company again? Strangely enough, we won't.
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17 Comments
Lots of people are so defensive these days.
I have just been to the local coop, the snow is deep and tramping in. I slipped and just managed to stay upright. Then another customer did the same. At the far end of the shop were three members of staff - chatting about doing their Christmas shopping when the shop was quiet etc. As politely as I could I explained about the door way and the danger. The woman who faced me had 'manageress' on her badge and she said. 'We are well aware of it. We have a machine for mopping it up. We already know - we have been cleaning up all day.' Then she turned to the others and said. 'the cheek of it. So now it was my turn, 'you may have been doing it all day but now it needs doing again.'
She then instructed the boy to go and clean up.
But no one ever says sorry, or thankyou, and then explains.
Not as frustrating as 3 attempts to get a freebox.
Spangles surely you knew that you don't walk in those shoes - you have to be carried or put them on for show. Or saunter down a red carpet.
Happy Christmas.
Tony, yes, righteous indignation is always good. And it helps to keep me warm in this freezing weather.
Thanks, Bren. I'm appalled by your experience in the Co-op. That manageress has obviously forgotten what 'co-operative' means. Surely all they needed to do was to break up some cardboard boxes and put them down by the door so everyone can wipe their feet. It's not very charitable of me but I can't help hoping that she skids on the floor too and comes a cropper. But you're right about the sandals. It was foolish of me to try to wear them. That's not what they're for, is it? Happy Christmas to you, too. xxx
Except, there was only one person serving behind the counter. The other one was chatting up the lad taking tickets at the barrier. So, we queued for ten mins, then got to the front only to be told that his card reader wasn't working and that we had to go over to the - unmanned - sweetie/ice-cream counter and wait for the chatter-upper to notice us! When she did, with a little help from an annoyed Maryluv, she deigned to sell us our tickets at a slow pace. Not good! I was so cross with her attitude that I asked to see the manager. He was paged and appeared after a few minutes. He listened to my complaint, then told me I should have gone to the ice-cream counter in the first place! Grrr....
He did apologise and go to speak to her while we rushed off to the film. But when we sat down - in the dark - Harry Potter started! She'd sold us the wrong tickets! There are thriteen screens at the cinema and she'd pushed the wrong button. Double grrr. Back to reception, manager paged again, another complaint! Got a refund this time and free seats to the next showing of Narnia. But it was a stressful way to get to see a film!
I'm shocked about your out-of-date choccies. I'd have thought better of that store.
We had to wait a month recently for Sky to deliver a new router when the last one gave up the will to live.
The first time we rang we got a 'level 1' engineer (?) on the phone. Husband told him that router was kaput. Level 1 engineer did a 'few tests' from his shiny computer in the sky or wherever 'level 1' engineers live. He concluded his test by telling us we needed a 'level 2' engineer and that level 2 would ring within 72 hours. A week later husband rang Sky. Explained kaput router and lack of call from level 2 engineer. Got put straight through to Mr 2. He concluded his tests by saying we needed the line checking. (It was bleedin obvious to everyone that router had died and not the line) BT came out and checked phone line and said line was fine- most likely out router was dead- he'd pass his report to Sky.
Husband rang Sky that evening- they told him they'd order new router and we'd get it 3-5 working days later. 5 days later husband rang Sky to enquire about new router's where abouts. ''It's on it's way.'' Several days later I rang them. ''Sorry there's been a mistake- I'll order router now'' says Sky. We didn't trust them so rang again a few days after that. Router still hadn't been ordered. Grrrrrr.
On the day it was supposed to arrive after the fourth promise I checked the order via our TV- On the status it said CL but as I didn't know what CL stood for I was non-the wiser. Husband was out so I rang Sky. The couldn't tell me what CL stood for either but not because they didn't know but because the account isn't in my name and apparantly the password hadn't been set up (even though it had as they had spoken to me the week before). ''Sorry madam- we can't disclose any information without your husband.'' ''But I just want to know what CL, means.'' ''Can't tell you anything- sorry.''
Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
Thankfully router arrived the following day but we've been unable to do any Christmas shopping on line. I've got close friends in various corners of the world who I usually 'Skype' chat with that I couldn't. Also my Word Cloud withdrawel symptoms were through the roof!
Some amazing tales of customer service here - I'm genuinely taken aback.
Geri - could 'CL' mean Christmas List i.e. no matter when you call, if you're lucky, you might get it for Christmas?
Oh yes, Mike, I agree that customers can be a problem too. Most definitely.
As Charles M Schultz once said in his Peanuts cartoon, 'I love humanity. It's people I can't stand.'
My manager listened to a call for me (standard practise) to ensure everything is sounding good. I said everything I needed to for FSA compliance, I sold the policy and the customer was singing my praises by the end of the call.
I was very pleased with myself as my manager ran through the call details and I was expecting a decent pat on the back by the end of it, but do you know what she said to me at the end?
I was too helpful. . .my call length needs to be reduced and I need to stop asking if there is anything else I can help with at the end of the call.
Needless to say, I told here where to stick it and complained to a higher manager who agreed with what my manager had already told me.
Where has customer service gone? Nobody seems to take pride in what they do anymore. I am only a call sales assistant but I try my very best to deliver the best service I can.
I hope you can all sleep well knowing were not all useless! :o)
I feel very sorry for anyone working on the end of a phone who has to take the flak for the management's mistakes and ineptitude.
Perhaps we should now switch the emphasis of this thread to the good customer service that we've received!
My first comes from a family wedding (EzBird's family). I was sat next to the gorgeous lady; the wife of EzMotherInLawIfWeWereMarried's godson I believe. It was time for tea and coffee and the tea was served in large wonderful wide-brimmed cups whilst the coffee was served in dainty, twee, but perfectly correct coffee cups. The lady politely asked for coffee but would it be possible to have it in a tea cup? The waitresses curt reply? "no, madam, you asked for coffee." There was a pause and the following sweet response garnered one tea cup full of coffee;
"I'm sorry. For a moment there I thought *I* was the customer and *you* just worked here."
I have used this phrase, smiling through confused eyes, a couple of times. Priceless.
My second involves my last soujourn to the US of A in the company of two of Australia's finest. We had stopped in New Orleans (pre hurricane) and were sampling the delights of Beale Street. Rod and I had finished and Bunny (Rod's wife) was still shopping. "Meet you at the car" she said, popping into a shop. We sauntered off, strode admiringly through the rubbish strewn streets, jumped into the hire car and duly waited. A short while later, a panic stricken Bun wrenches open the back door, dives across the seats and shouts "drive! Just drive!" Rod, no stranger to his good lady's antics, tore off from a standstill. Once "on the road", Bun told us what was going on. It turns out the shop she popped into had an ornament she wanted for a relative. She picked it up, took it to the till where she stood for some time, ignored. She coughed and ummed and gently tapped the paper that the counter woman was reading. Without looking up, the woman snatched the item, passed it vaguely under her own nose and barked, still without looking up, "three dollars", plonked the item back on the counter and hand outstretched continued to read her newspaper. Bun paid in cash, picked up the item and said, in that gloriously wonderful Australian twang; "You know what? You oughta get a job that you *like*..." and legged it.
I have used this phrase on far too many occasions to be healthy, too.
They may not stop the rot, but I feel they are very useful phrases.
I will be delighted to find they work for others.
:o)
Ez.
Ez, I'm definitely going to use your two phrases. Absolutely brilliant!
BDM, yes it is a mad world! Or it can be - Johnonceupon's current blog reminds us that some people have hearts of gold, thank goodness.
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