[Chefelf]

Wrong Aid

As I'm rushing around this afternoon I had to quickly update the site to share with you one of the most astoundingly bad customer service experiences I've ever had at (surprise, surprise) Rite Aid. And don't think that I do not fully understand what I'm saying when I say that this was one of my worst customer service moments in New York City. I say that knowing full well exactly how much weight that carries.

I generally avoid the Rite Aid like the plague. After they hung up on my doctor after arguing with her while trying to call in a prescription for me and listening to the woman behind the counter repeatedly talk about the evils of homosexuality while swearing like a sailor I decided that I would only go there in the direst of circumstances. Such circumstances presented themselves to me this afternoon as I rushed about preparing for my trip. I needed razor blades, and this was my best and quickest option.

After having to get someone to unlock the blades from the shelf so that I could take them I waited in line where a lovely lady (we'll call her Tiffany [because that was her name]) called me up. "Hey, sweetie," she said. It is always amusing when someone in their late teens or early twenties calls people older than them sweetie. In my mind you need to be at least double someone's age to be given license to call them sweetie but I wasn't going to argue this point.

After She rung my stuff up and I got out my card she took out her cell phone, looked at the time and said, "Why the hell is ime is moving so slow! I want to get the f@#! out of here!" Then she looked at me and said, "Debit or credit, honey?"

"Uh, debit."

It was amusing that her manager was standing about ten feet away during this exchange. I'm sure he didn't hear her but it just goes to show you what kind of respect is apparently generated in the culture of Rite Aid. I briefly considered writing a letter to Rite Aid to inform them about why I don't shop there citing this and my past experience as examples. Then I figured that I just didn't have the time and this location is a lost cause. If I thought there was anything worth saving there maybe I'd write. But why waste the energy for something not worth saving in the first place?

[z e w b]

What a terrible thing it must be to be afraid of hearing the word fuck.

[Trumble Trickly]

Almost as bad as it must be to take an entire month to completely miss the point.

[Daniel Pharos]

I think this is interesting, because where I live, in Germany, that's just a normal situation. I read your text and thought "that's it?".

USA is miles up in service compared to us grumpy bastards. I have been to USA 2 weeks, and it was a shock to me. Not only was the staff actually smiling and somewhat helpful, no, even other customers "attacked" me , I mean asked me whether they could help. That's like Jupiter to a German.

We pack our shopping bags. There is one employee for every 1000 customers in our super markets. It's not unknown to get a less-than-happy reaction if you ask anyone for help. We have a lot of cases of violence in service<->customer relations, like bus drivers throwing people out for minute offences and so on.

Here are my heavier moments in service:

1. Me and my girl went to a shop to get tea to go. We received those metal tea holder things swimming in disposable cups. You really can't walk away with those. So we sat there, waiting for the tea to become ready. After 3 seconds, the shop owner told us suggestively that we also could drink our tea outside (I think because of a piercing too much). Like, now. I said, yea, we actually want to leave, as soon as our tea bags have continued their bath for maybe somewhat longer than 5 seconds. So there we sat, staring at our steaming water, and she stood staring at us, all but counting the seconds until we would leave. Weird.

2. And I can think only of 1 other situation right now. My brain seems to block out unpleasant events. I walked into a shirt design shop because they had these cool metal shirt prints displayed in the window.

Me: "How much would it cost me to print shirts with that kind of metal print?"

She: "Show me your motive."

Me: "I am only asking for the price, if I like the price I will prepare a motive to print."

She: "I need to have the motive before I can tell the price."

Me: "Don't you have a price list?"

She: "No."

Me: "Let's say it is a logo, about 20 cm wide and 10 cm high"

She: "No, I need to have the motive."

Me: (pointing at one example shirt hanging in her shop) "Let's say I want to print this one, how much would that cost?"

She: "But it will not be that exact motive, you will have a different motive!"

(ARGHL)

Me: "See, I won't design a motive for this print when I have no idea what it costs! Please give me a rough estimate! I print shirts all the time, and everyone I worked with so far could give me an estimate!"

(and now, the punch line)

She: "If you know it all, why do you ask me, and not them?"

And I went and did just that.

Conclusion: A nice "I f**king hate this job!" would be understood as a truthful, friendly gesture in this country, often heard followed by a "don't we all?", and "hey sweetie" like a good chance for an afternoon of guitly love making somewhere in the back of the shop.