The Ignorance Files- Ignorant Customer Service

Ignorant Customer Service Interlude #1: 5/16ths of a Pound of Baloney

The other day I asked a deli clerk at my local supermarket for a third of a pound of swiss cheese. The plump young gal taking care of me started slicing away on her machine vigorously. She kept churning and churning and I began to wonder if she might have heard me incorrectly. Sure enough, she plopped a massive stack of swiss cheese slices on her scale- a bit more than 3/4ths of a pound.

"I just wanted a third of a pound," I protested.
She looked at the scale and said, "it is a third."
"But it says .77," I countered, beginning to wonder if she was putting me on.
"Well, its a bit more than a third," she conceeded.
"A bit more?" I asked, "its more than 3/4ths of a pound, I wanted 1/3rd of a pound."

She looked totally confused so I added, "point thirty three on your scale", acknowledging that they friendly, portly young lass must have been absent the day they taught fractions in grammar school. The clerk nodded her head as though she understood. But then she took all of the slices off the scale save for just one, and then said, in all seriousness, "i didn't realize you wanted like just one slice of cheese." I looked at her puzzled until I realized that she was trying to make her scale read .033 instead of .33. After some remedial math tutoring, I eventually got my cheese- and managed to refrain from asking her for anything involving even more complex fractions.

I arrived home eager to tell my wife about my fuzzy math problem at the Jewel deli counter, but she was not sympathetic.

"A third? You asked for 1/3 lb? No one does that- you have to deal in quarters," she said, looking at me like I was the ignorant one, instead of the clerk.
" I wanted 1/3- 1/4 wasn't enough, and 1/2 was too much, i mean, its not like I asked for 5/8ths or something really challenging."

My wife may have had a point, but if I were hiring deli slicers- I'd probably only ask them 3 questions- 1) do you have any communicable diseases? 2) ever accidentally slice off one of your fingers?, and 3) can you do fractions?

Ignorant Customer Service Interlude #2: The Customer is Always a Piece of Shit

I arrived at the Budget Rent-A-Car desk in Albuquerque, New Mexico after a long flight from Chicago at nearly 10pm on a wednesday night. My wife Jen, and 8 month old son, Leo, took a seat as I joined the back of a line that was 5 or 6 customers deep. We planned to drive an hour to Santa Fe, check into our hotel and get Leo to sleep, as it was already 3 hours past his bedtime. The line didn't move for what seemed like ages- every single customer in front of me seemed to have some kind of problem, but I coudln't hear exactly what people were saying.

When I'm stuck waiting in a long line, I have the unhealthy habit of trying to speculate on why others are taking so long, while formulating strategies on how I believe the people behind the counter could be doing their jobs more efficiently. In this case, there were three clerks "working" but one of them kept disappearing into the back room for extended periods of time. The other clerk was shadowed by a man who- if i had to speculate on his formal job description- appeared to have no other fuction besides looking over his colleagues shoulder and staring at his computer screen while furrowing his acne covered brow.

By the time I reached the counter, years later, I was nearly elligible for a senior citizens discount on my car, but I tried to let by-gones be by-gones and present a friendly face in the hopes of getting a good car. My wife, Jen, has frequently accused me of demonstating a "Mr. Nice Guy" persona while requesting flight, hotel or rental car upgrades that bears no resemblence to my actual cynical, impatient and mean spirited real self. She may have a point. In any event, i pulled out my best self in the hopes of snagging a good car.

"We only have mini-vans," said the sullen Latina clerk, who had spent most of the previous half-hour plotting the destruction of planet earth from the back room while those of us in line cursed the gods and pondered the meaning of life while wondering what the hell she was up to "back there."
"But I reserved a compact car," I protested, brandishing my priceline.com confirmation e-mail.
"It doesn't matter- all I have is minivans!" she said, before adding, "do you want one or not?"
I had already pre-paid for the car via www.priceline.com, so not taking the car wasn't an option, but with gas at $4 a gallon, the last thing I wanted was a massive gas guzzler.
I asked to speak with the surly Latina's supervisor.
"You'll have to wait," she said.

By this point, I would have rather been granted immediate access to hell rather than join a queue to get into Hugh Hefner's mansion, such was my level of impatience, so I asked my surly friend why there weren't any cars smaller than the size of your average Wall-Mart greeter's ass, or something along those lines.

She went on a lengthy diatribe against priceline.com and those who use it- essentially branding us cheapskates who want the world served to them on a silver platter- while admonishing me to book directly with budget in the future.
"So let me get this straight," I said, in my best prosecutor delivering his final arguments fashion, "if i had booked directly with budget- you would find something other than a minivan for me?"
"Well, no, we only have minivans," she conceeded.
"So then help me out here- what's the relevance of your whole diatribe against priceline customers? Either way I'd get stuck with a minivan, right?"
This query seemed to send her over the edge.
"I've been dealing with angry customers all night, and I'm just sick of it!" she railed, "if you keep yelling at me (note: she was the one yelling, not me) i'm not even going to rent you the car, now do you want the minivan or not?"
"Yessssss, I would love a minivan," I said sarcastically.

So i took the damn minivan, and wouldn't you know it, as we dragged our refugee like mass of belongings across the Budget parking lot, we noticed that there were several regular cars in the lot, and not just minivans. Lacking the strength to tromp back inside to do battle with the surly Latina, I approached a Budget employee sitting in a glass hut in the parking lot.
"I reserved a compact car- why can't I get one of those?" I asked, pointing towards a row of Hyundai Sonata's.
"Oh the Hyundai's- no those are premium cars, you couldn't get one of those!" he said, as though the very notion of me- obviously an unkempt street urchin with a compact car reservation- driving a Hyundai were out of the question. Someday, someday I tell you, I will aspire to drive a Hyundai. (but for now, i'll just drive un-cool minivans or whatever other shit I get foisted upon me at rental counters)

Ignorant Customer Service Interlude #3: Commando Style

Later on in this same trip, we arrived at Denver's gleaming international airport, which is conveniently located amidst vast empty fields only 3 hours from downtown Denver. The airport is also conveniently situated only about three hours away from the offsite car rental counters. We were delighted to walk into Thrifty rent-a-car's vast car rental salon and see four counter clerks and not a single customer! Nirvana. The only problem was that with no line, our friendly clerk, a recent immigrant from Ethiopia, was in no hurry at all. After nearly 20 minutes- yes- twenty minutes of agonizing questions interspersed between amharic language banter with his Ethiopian colleauges behind the counter, he told us we'd be getting- you guessed it- a Hyundai! My new Ethiopian friend described it to us as "small SUV that is goot on gass". I was thrilled to find a company willing to let me get behind the wheel of some real serious Korean engineering.

We lugged all of our worldly posessions- including Leo's stroller, car seat, food supply, diapers, toys, sippy cups, and what not-out to our designated spot. Only there was no Hyundai, but instead a truly collosal behemoth called the Jeep Commando or some such thing. It looked like it might get about a furlong to the gallon, on a good highway, if you were driving 45mph. "Where the hell is my freaking Hun-dai?" I muttered to no one in particular. I marched back inside while Jen and Leo stood by our belongings, which were stewn about the parking lot.

The Ethiopian man whom I had dealt with previously was nowhere to be found. The hall was still devoid of customers, but now there was just one clerk- an indifferent young man that seemed to be the only non-Ethiopian working there on this day.
He looked at my reservation.
"You reserved a small SUV," he said.
"Right, and your colleague was sorting me out with a Hyundai, but when I got out there it was this huge Commando thing, I don't want a huge SUV," I said, "I noticed that there were several Jeep Laredo's in the parking lot, can I have one of those?"
"The Commander is a better ride than the Lardeo," he said.
"Look- I don't want a huge SUV- just give me something that's going to be more fuel efficient."
The clerk tried to tell me that he couldn't give me any of the cars in the parking lot, other than the monster Commander or Commando or whatever the hell its called, because all the other cars were reserved for "blue chip" members.

"So, since I'm not a blue chip member, I can't get the car I want?" I asked.
"Well, we reserve certain vehicles for our loyal blue chip customers," he said.
"So how much does it cost to become a blue chip member?" I asked.
"Oh, its free," he said.
"So if I sign up for your program, you'll give me the Laredo?" I asked.
"I'm giving you the Commander," he said.
"Look, I don't want to spend a fortune on gas," I said, hoping to appeal to his sense of logic and "thrift".
"I could prove to you that the Commander gets the same gas mileage as the Laredo, but even if I showed you, you still probably wouldn't believe it, would you?" he asked smugly, shaking his head in disgust. (note: i looked it up later and the commander does NOT get the same gas mileage as the Laredo)

I wrote his name down and asked to speak to his supervisor.
"Do you want my employee number too?" he asked, seeing me write his name down.
Nearly an hour after we arrived at their empty office, we drove off in the Laredo. These days, if you want to rent anything smaller than the Titanic, better wear a suit of armor with you to the rental counter and be prepared to fight.

The Ignorance Files- Ignorance on Vacation

My wife and I recently stayed at perhaps the least restful hotel in the western hemisphere. Imagine the antithesis of those zen like spa/retreat places that you see advertised in the New York Times Sunday magazine that cater to the over-programmed soccer mom that hopes to “re-connect” with her distant husband who watches too much sports and won’t take her see Pride and Prejudice, and wants to be rubbed down by a beefy ethnic guy with strong hands, and given a facial by a less ethnic, less strong guy who watches Will and Grace. No, this was not that kind of place.

This was the place where troops of girl scouts stayed. The place the Red Hat Soceity Ladies held their banquet. The class trip place. The joint that the local fraternity rented a floor at to trash every now and again. All of these groups, and probably more, were at what I came to think of as The Park Bench Inn during our stay. During a three night stay, we switched rooms 3 times in fruitless efforts to try to get some rest. It was a complete 24-hour cycle of annoyance. The scouts/schoolkids/and red hat society ladies took the early morning shifts. The incredibly tardy housekeeping staff took the late afternoon/early evening shift, and the frat boys and their slutty dates picked up the late night slack.

On our first morning at the Park Bench Inn, the school group that dominated the floor we stayed on in room #1 was up and reeking havoc in the hallways at 6AM. The kids were running the halls, playing and generally doing the kinds of things kids do on field trips. Worse, though, were the shrill voices of the chaperones- who gamely tried to chide them at top volume- “Jason!! Come Over here!! Line up!! Where is Brittany?? Has ANYONE SEEN BRITTANY?”

This was early on in our stay, and I had not yet become resigned to getting less sleep than we would have otherwise been able to get at a bus shelter, so I stumbled out of bed, bleary eyed and in boxers and a t-shirt. I focused a deathly stare at the louder and, seemingly more ignorant of the two ditzy chaperones, hand on hips, hoping perhaps she might come to her senses- realize that they were disturbing people and offer an apology w/o me having to say anything. No such luck. This miserable bag of bones smiled at me and almost looked as though she were about to wish me “good morning.”

“It’s 6AM, we’re trying to sleep, can you PLEASE bring the kids down to the lobby?” I asked. (ok, demanded)
“They’re kids- what can you expect from them?” she asked.
“But YOU’RE louder than they are!” I protested.

At this point, chaperone #2 came over and chided me for being “ sooo rude.” I’m up at 6AM, arguing with two functionally illiterate teachers from Bumblefuck County in the hallway of a 2 star hotel on my vacation, and I’m the rude one. Of course, trying to fall back asleep after a heated argument is quite pointless.

We moved rooms, and the next morning I had it out with three old ladies from the red hat society. It was 7AM- on a Saturday no less- and they were gabbing- loudly and for several minutes- directly outside our door, in spite of a hand made sign I had taped up that said, “SILENCE PLEASE!” Jen thought that asking for “silence” instead of “quiet” was unrealistic, but after one really bad night of sleep, I figured I’d shoot for the moon and hope for the stars. I stormed out to confront the offending seniors.

“Excuse me, ladies, would you mind keeping it down, we’re trying to sleep?” I said.
One of the seniors, dressed in a bright red sweatshirt that nearly blinded me in the early morning light, looked at her watch, and then responded, “but its time to get up!” cheerfully, casting a bright toothy dentured smiled at me. I could have strangled her- but instead I just slammed my door and complained to my wife for a long time.

At 7.30, as we lay in bed trying to get back to sleep, a loud leaf blower roared in the parking lot several floors below. We had seen the same moron at the same time the morning before, but were already getting dressed by that point, so we had not stressed over it. It seemed almost cruel- as though the hotel were deliberately trying to disturb its guests, early on a weekend morning no less. I called down to the front desk, absurdly believing that a sympathetic clerk would share my outrage and immediately punish the moron who was out operating loud machinery at this time of the morning. Of course, I was wrong- the front desk clerk responded, “oh, he does that every morning at this time,” as though his activity was the most logical thing imaginable.

And so the three nights passed in this fashion- ignorant, thoughtless people making all kinds of noise in the hallways and common areas at any time they wanted, and then acting completely unapologetic when called on it. And this kind of ignorant behavior is not confined to the Park Bench Inn. I had another not so pleasant early morning “discussion” on thanksgiving with a dad who thought it wise to send his 4 young children into the hallways of the hotel to play at 7AM, rather than to bother he and his wife in their room. “Happy Thanksgiving” he sarcastically told me, instead of apologizing. And a few weeks before that, we had the misfortune of staying in a hotel room next to a complete ignoramus who: a) set his alarm clock to go off at 4.15 AM on a Sunday morning, b) did not respond to said alarm, c) only responded after I repeatedly pounded on his door and cursed he and his ancestors vigorously, d) in actuality, as we discovered 8 minutes later, did not turn the alarm off, but actually hit Snooze, thus re-starting the entire cycle, e) see points A-C all over again