Ring-ring, ring-ring.
“small, privately-owned kitchen-crap store in the worst location in the City; Brittanie speaking”
“Hello, my name is Kathryn Moore. I have an espresso maker that I purchased from your store five months ago and it doesn’t seem to be working”
“oh really? What kind is it”
“Breville”
“oh. Well have you called Breville”?
“no. why would I do that? You’re the vendor”
“yes, but we don’t handle any warranty issues. You have to take that up with Breville directly”.
Short pause.
“Well, what about returns or exchanges then? How do I go about returning what is now nothing more than a large piece of metal that is sitting on my kitchen counter”?
“Well, do you have your receipt”?
“As luck would have it, I just threw it out”.
“oh! Well in that case I don’t think we can help you”
“I paid by credit card; can’t you trace it”?
“sigh…yes. I will need the exact amount you paid, the date you bought it and the card number”
“well, the date is easy as it was a GIFT for my husband’s birthday and the card number is bla bla bla, but I do not have the amount. You should though as it is your bloody store and I would expect you to know the prices of your merchandise”
“sigh…I can probably look it up with that information, but it will take a while. I have a terrible headache”.
At this juncture, there are a few lessons to be learned:
1. If you name your child Brittanie, no one will ever respect her. Brittanie is the name of a Highland Terrier or Barbie’s BFF. A close second to naming someone Brittanie is naming someone anything that ends in “ie”, especially if there was an original spelling of “y”; Beckie, Cathie, Amie, Carlie, Jade.
2. Before you complain about your headache to your customer who is caffeine deprived, take a moment to let that thought pass. Perhaps lie down a moment.
“Brittanie, maybe I should speak with your manager or the store owner. Are they in”?
“I am the store manager ma’am”
Two sentences; two major injustices:
1. Brittanie is a store manager. If Brittanie is the manager, one shudders to the depths of ones’ soul to think of who the pions are?
2. Mrs. Moore is NOT old enough or Southern enough to be called ma’am. This combined with the low caffeine level is not going to improve Mrs. Moore’s relationship with Brittanie.
Pause. The sound of a stack about to blow is audible.
“Maybe I can take your number and call you back once I find the receipt Mrs. Moore. Shouldn’t take more than a few days”
Brilliant. A few days. Without coffee.
Several days of caffeine deprivation pass. The phone rings.
“Mrs. Moore, this is Brittanie from the small kitchen-crap store. I have managed to locate a copy of your receipt.”
“Good for you”
“If you would like to come by the store I can give you a copy and you can send it to Breville in Montreal; They should be able to help you”
“You can‘t be serious”
“Yes ma‘am, I am. We don’t normally deal with Breville directly but I hear they are very easy to deal with“.
WTEFFINGEFFING EFF?
Click.
A series of seriously unsatisfying rounds of telephone tag between Mrs. Moore and the lovely people at Breville ensue.
Mrs. Moore leaves for business. Ten days pass. Mrs. Moore returns on a Tuesday evening, jet-lagged and exhausted. The large piece in idle machinery is still on the counter.
Mrs. Moore orders it into the car, dives through the City and walks into the kitchen crap store. Brittanie is at the cash. Wielding a 26 pound hunk of machinery and a serious scowl, Brittanie recognises Mrs. Moore immediately. What follows is a nasty, but brief altercation resulting in Mrs. Moore tossing a new Breville Espresso machine into her trunk and fondly admiring to this day.
Allow me to explain a few things to all of the Brittanies, the crappy-kitchen store owners and everyone working in any customer-service field.
When Mrs.Moore made her initial phone call to complain about her espresso machine, there was only one correct response;
“I am sorry to hear about this trouble you are having Mrs. Moore” (I actually prefer Ms.Moore, but I am nothing if not flexible). If you would like to bring your machine in we will gladly replace it for you.
This response would have had the following after-effects:
Mrs.Moore would have been very satisfied with this level of customer service; she would have ranted and raved about what a lovely girl Brittanie is* and what a fine store she works for. These reviews may even have resulted in further business for this little store. Certainly Mrs. Moore would have made an effort to shop there at least one more time**.
Mrs.Moore would not have spent several days in a sleepy, cranky haze, thus endangering the lives of all who cross her path.***
Brittanie may not have cried herself to sleep that night, questioning her job, her life, her very existence in this cold, heartless world.****
Mrs.Moore would not have bored you with this terrible dialogue some months later.
* This would not have precluded the name Brittanie to be referenced at future dinner parties and friendly get-togethers as a prime example of a stupid name.
**To be honest, this may not be entirely true. The store is located on a one-way street with limited parking and Mrs. Moore is terribly lazy.
***okay, Mrs. Moore may have still been cranky, but not so sleepy.
****Note the use of the word may. Mrs. Moore cannot be certain that this does not happen for poor Brittanie on a twice-weekly basis. Brittanie strikes Mrs. Moore as a bit of a loser who judging by her age and neck-line foundation is probably a self-loathing sadist, but this is in no way Mrs. Moore‘s problem
