Yesterday was an odd day in my exposure to customer service. I had to bring a portable heater back to the hardware store around the corner from my office. Heather and I had bought it over the weekend to replace the hardy but ailing mini-heater she's had forever, but got one that turned out to be too weak for our heat-seeking needs. So on the way to work, I swung by--well, actually, first I went to the bank to make a deposit, and was again stunned by how young the workers are. I saw the woman who waited on me last week, who told me after a friendly chat that she was a senior in high school. My impression was that she was somewhere in her early twenties, college age, until she said she was graduating soon. "What are you studying?" "Oh, no, I'm still in high school." I had a strange inner recoil, something that happens in my line of work when I'm talking with someone who seems to be "high functioning," and then announces that their recent bike ride to the store was difficult because he had to share the seat with a dragon. There's a sudden recognition that you're not on the same playing field, and then a quick readjustment. I'm not sure how fair this is...but it happened.
So back to the hardware store: I went to the counter of this space-challenged, and therefore hyper-stocked local store, and announced my need to return the heater. The manager was summoned by the counter person without saying why, and I went off to shop for several lengths of chains. The shower curtain was getting totally mildewy, so we replaced them last weekend, but the worse problem was the way the curtains would be caught up in some kind of thermal complexity field, and drift inward while we showered, sticking to most skin surface. So I had an idea to hang chains from the curtain rings, so that the weight of the hanging chain would hold the curtain against the tub, and save us from a claustrophobic showering experience. (Which reminds me of a movie trailer I saw on TV as a kid, almost as impactful as the Alien and Jaws ads, which had a young couple showering in a haunted house. As they abluted, the doors to the shower were frozen by malefarious spirit(s), and the walls of the shower slowly moved inwards to crush them to death. I didn't shower comfortably for many years.)
So I bought the chains and returned to the counter. The young manager was waiting for me and gently and politely explained that they could not refund it, only exchange it, and pointed out where it said that on the receipt. I absolutely hate contesting this kind of thing, so I just accepted graciously, and really did understand the reasoning (for instance, he said some people will buy a heater when it's cold outside, and then return it when it warms up), saying no problem, I'd just bring it back when I had time to look for a more powerful heater.
I turned back to pay for the chains, when he came up again and told the cashier to refund the cost of the heater. Furrow brow-ed, I asked what the change was, and he responded, "I don't want to hassle you about this." And then, "Yes, I'll have to answer for this," at which point I patted him on the back and we all finished our business.
So, what to make of that? One conclusion is that it doesn't pay to be a dick to authority figures, and treating them as human (from Harold and Maude, when Maude says to the policeman: "Oh, don't be officious. You're not yourself when you're officious. You know, that's the curse of a government job.") Nor does it work to be greasy and subservient. Something in the acknowledgment of the human in the uniform, without an agenda other than valuing human (not role-bound) interactions, can transform a situation. I can't say I was totally divested of interest in outcome--I'd preferred to get the money back--but not acting only from that seemed to impact the fellow.
This was really obvious in the interactions with the SFPD a few weeks ago, over the scooter's expired registration. I think that my not losing track of the officer's humanity (they seemed SO young and SO human) helped make the encounter non-traumatic for me, and also to help resolve the situation without a huge fine or anything else nasty (they got to the point of confusion with the strange details of the case, and just let us take the bike home, telling us to get it registered and hide it until then). It's pretty sure to me that if I or Heather (she was beginning to boil over) had blown up at them, or got righteously indignant, they would have had no problem impounding the bike and telling us "tough shit." I guess the upshot is, don't treat anyone badly.
And finally, after work I go to Blockbuster to pick up the last discs of the 5th season of 24 (which we're burning through like a junkie on check day), and to return a defective disc of the same series. I went to the counter with the new ones, and told the fellow about the defective one. He rang it up as defective, then when checking off the new discs, realized that I wasn't replacing the defective one (following?). He sputtered that he couldn't exchange it that way (ie, give me a credit towards the new discs), but that since he already had entered it into the computer he would have to. I said, "Ok," and let him do whatever, but I think he was feeling bamboozled by me, because he kept telling me about how this was not protocol. It was a much different interaction than at the hardware store, where I felt I could join with the manager, that we weren't combatants. With the video jock, though, I was on the other side of the battle field, and my amiability didn't make a difference, as, I assume, I was labeled a cheat and that was that. Finally, I said, as he reviewed the problem again, "Ok, I get it." And that settled that and I was able to leave.
So, that's my review of customer service for the day. I hope you not only learned some tips on product returns, but maybe something about the inherent humanity in all beings, even clerks.
