Memoirs of a Former Pushover
by Kathleen Rebecca Aitken
If you have ever owned a Chevy Blazer, then you know that even a brand new vehicle can have issues; if you have ever used AT&T as the service provider for your cell phone, then you know that phone charges can be waaaay off from what you agreed to when signing your contract; if you have ever been out to eat with Jim and Tina, then you know that restaurants can provide less than perfect service and food that does not meet one's expectations; If you have ever shipped anything via UPS, then you have had your valuables broken into a million pieces...
We deal with people on a daily basis who are supposed to provide us with a certain level of respect and consistency in return for the money we dish out to them or the company they represent. It works out this way sometimes. Other times, it doesn't. I have been on both sides of the counter-as the customer and the "service representative." Waiting tables for many years, I experienced the wrath of angry customers with a spectrum of complaints. One man complained that he did not want to pay for his meal because his steak was overcooked. I went to take his plate from him to show the manager the evidence, and he had finished the whole thing! Another customer in Durham, North Carolina ordered a Crab Leg Entree, which included a salad and a choice of side item. When she got the bill she exclaimed, "I aint payin' no $21.95 for no crab legs! I ordered the Add-On Crab. I aint mean to get no Crab MEAL!" As it turned out, the manager only charged her for the Add-On Crab which was $10.95, because the "customer is always right." She did not tip me a single penny. I could go on and on with these horror stories, but the point is: I was an enemy of the common patron. When I went out to eat, I did not allow my server to go out of his or her way for one second. If my food was unacceptable, it became acceptable to me. I was an easy 25% tip for any waiter or waitress, regardless of the service they provided. I did not want to be like all of those other mean, angry, cheap restaurant-goers out there. This attitude carried out into other areas of my life as well. It affected the way I spoke to customer service representatives on the phone, it affected the way I shopped-how could I say no when a salesperson exclaimed "that shirt would look fabulous" on me? This attitude caused me smile and say "thank you...it looks great, really..." when I paid $75 for the worst hair cut I've ever received in my life. (Oh yeah, can't forget that 20% tip!) Before I knew what spam was, I was everybody's target, because I trusted anyone. "You mean I won a free trip to Orlando? Stay on the line? Okay!...What? You need my Social Security Number? Okay, are you ready?..Its..." |
(cont'd)
It didn't take me long to realize that you should not give out personal information over the phone and once spam invaded my AOL mailbox, I learned that not every offer was legit. Some lessons have been harder to learn, however.
For years, I have been allowing myself to be walked on and ripped off. I have not only been the enemy of the common patron, I have been my own enemy. I have allowed myself to be patronized by the Hendrick Chevrolet Dealership guys over and over again. I have taken the Blazer in about twenty times for various repairs since we bought it brand new in October of 2003. Next time will be the final straw. I promise.
The thing that inspired me to write this was a breakthrough. It happened last night.
I went to the gym (Beyond Fitness on Spring Forest Rd.) to work out. I walked into the locker room and it smelled distinctly of cat urine. I looked around and the place looked like a dump. There were smelly clothes strewn about, the toilets were overflowing and putrid, and the paper towel roll would not dispense. I walked out and stepped on the scale in hopes of weighing myself. It was a no go, amigo. It did not work.
I thought about the huge down payment Sean and I had saved up in order to join the gym this past summer. I thought about the services that we had assumed we would have. I thought about the body-fat measuring thingy that I asked about almost every time I came to the gym and how they could NEVER seem to find it. I began to get angry...very angry. So angry, in fact, that I marched up to the front desk. The girl was on the phone, so I had to wait for her to get off, which made me even ANGRIER! She twirled her hair as she continued her PERSONAL PHONE CONVERSATION...
"...yeah, well, she told me that Will broke up with Ashley last week and they are definitely not getting back togeth---Hey, can I call you back?" She looked up and asked, "Can I help you?"
That's when I let her have it. I told her about all of my grievances...about the bathroom...about the scale...about the cat smell...
"Yeah, okay, I will tell the manager when he comes in." she muttered unconvincingly.
It didn't matter. I felt good.
I had complained and I will do it again!
<---Back
|
