Sunday, 14th September 2008
What Kind of Fool Are You?
The other day I received a voucher from a Government Department that shall be nameless. I immediately noticed that it overshot the germane date by a couple of months; and I sent an e-mail to the address shown on the form itself to this effect. For a fortnight, there was no reply. This came only when I sent another e-mail to the Head Office, and copied in the original addressee.
The problem was not solved, however; the person who replied said that he had cancelled the voucher – whereas a part of it is still payable. So far, I have written to this person twice; and I have had no joy. The adage “the customer is always right” appears to fly out of the window, all too often, when people have their own ideas about what constitutes “customer care” and “a reasonable time-frame”.
However, this attitude is prevalent also amongst salespersons in shops, who either cannot be bothered to stick to their job descriptions (i.e. serve customers) or else, if they do, behave in a condescending or supercilious manner, in order to intimidate us – which may backfire, because enough lost sales will mean they will lose their jobs when the business shuts down. Alas, this is something that they cannot fathom, because their brain cells are occupied with making fools of customers. The other day, knowing that a friend was feeling particularly down, I went shopping to get her a pick-me-up.
Knowing she misses our “olden days” at Bugibba, I opted to get her a scent that would remind her of 6.00am swims and subsequent feasting on sea-urchins before a quick shower in time for 8.00am Mass. So I walked into a shop and asked for a marine scent. The young lady behind the counter did not move a hair; she just ordered her junior to bring me this, that and the other. I noticed that none of them bore names reminiscent of the sea, but, according to the self-styled expert, that did not matter, because “these days everything has changed….” Ah!
It could be that my deviated septum makes me particularly inclined to differentiate between smells – but I smelled “oriental” and “floral” and “woody” and “greens” and “fruity”, but not one of them could be faintly called “marine”… and I said so. I also said that smelling any more than five at one go was useless.
At this point, the chief salesperson nodded and told me, “Well, we don’t have any, really, but I thought those would make a good substitute.” The mind boggles. Shameless Shamus Brown would have been impressed – as he would also have been with the woman who tried to see me a swimsuit did not want – or even like.
I noticed a costume in a shop window that, had I bought one in my colour of choice, would not have me adjusting the nether regions after every dive. So of course I walked in and asked if they had it in blue (just for the record; there was no price tag). “Nah! Why would you want blue? Brown is the season’s colour, you know. We also have lots of different ones in your size, go and look at them, on that rack there…” she said, flicking a manicured finger towards the clothing… without even bothering to get off her chair.
“I’ll pass,” I said, and walked out of the shop. The same thing happens when I used to scour the shops for shoes. I always asked for size 43, without heels; and some salespersons were honest enough to say that they did not have any, because they didn’t stock sizes “that large” because “there is no demand for them unless they have heels.” The logic of this escapes me, because the chances are that people with big feet are already somewhat tall, so why would they want to get taller? Be that as it may, sometimes I used to beoffered five pairs of shoes – and that is where my alarm bell rang. It always turned out that these were “large-fitting 42” – which did not fit me at all. At this point, the salesperson said “Ah! So it’s true that you wear size 43. I just thought you wanted roomy shoes…”
That is why nowadays I inevitably shop at my favourite two outlets (Pullman and Roberts); the owners do not have any empty sales talk. Many people have had similar experiences – and sometimes they are not even mildly amusing, as above – but downright serious – as when they happen in matters of health (doctors pooh-pooh a mother’s diagnosis of her child’s condition, and months later it turns out to have been correct). Teachers of course, are notorious for this mind-set.
So I must include one tiny anecdote about one of them, who happened to be on supervision duty during lunch break. She noticed that one boy was acting up, so she sent him to fetch a “biro” (sic); he enjoyed telling me this, knowing full well she meant a ball-point, and a paper, and instructed him to write his name for fifty times. He did. And when he presented her with the paper, she told him he was so naughty he couldn’t even be bothered to learn how to write his own name. I wondered what the former had to do with the latter – and then I realised that the boy’s name was Iain, and she had not even known it could be spelled like that. Did she apologise? Your guess is as good as mine.
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Comments
well done and keep it up!
Regards
Sonya Galea