Okay, so, sit back and let me tell you a story about crappy customer service.
I go in on a Saturday to buy a new phone because the one I've had for almost 6 years has finally bit the dust. A saleswoman named Amy Jones (full title The Magically Disappearing Amy Jones, although I didn't know it at the time) showed me some phones I might be interested in.
When I finally settled on a pretty red one (comparing colors is also the method I use to pick football teams to cheer for), she went back to the storeroom to get it. She shortly re-emerged to say that they were out of the red color, but the black was in stock, and I could take it for now and then come back in two weeks to trade it for the red one. I was VERY careful to make sure that there would be no extra charges for this; she assured me it would be a piece of cake. A free piece of cake. A la mode. It sounded wonderful.
She EVEN gave me her business card and wrote her private cell phone on it. She promised (multiple times, because I didn't believe her and made her repeat it multiple times) that she would call me the minute the red ones were in stock.
So, I leave the store with a substantially lighter wallet and a phone I don't really want...but happy anyway because I know I'll be getting the right one in two weeks, no strings attached.
Life lesson: if it sounds too good to be true, it is.
Two weeks go by -- no phone call. I start calling The Magically Disappearing Amy Jones on her private cell number. I leave messages. My calls are never returned. Finally, I call the store and ask if they've gotten any of the red ones in stock. Oh, of course they have, weeks ago. Great.
I drop everything and book it to the store since I have a very narrow timeframe for replacing the phone free of charge, and I don't want them to run out again. It's a Thursday. There's hardly anyone in the store. No one greets me when I walk in, so I put my name on the automated wait list. Around that time, two employees wander over to the front of the store (near where I'm standing) and start chatting with each other. I walk up to them and ask if they're free to help me.
"No, we're in charge of the front of the store right now."
Um. Wow. Okay. See, cuz it looked like you were just chatting with each other and totally ignoring everyone who walks in, just like you ignored me. And you know, is the store REALLY that busy in the middle of a Thursday afternoon that they need TWO employees greeting people? (Answer: no.)
Whatever. I start playing games on one of the display phones until my name finally reaches the top of the wait list and someone comes over to help me. I explain my situation. He goes to get the red phone.
"That'll be a $20 restocking fee."
As Will Smith would say, awww HELL NO. Of course, The Magically Disappearing Amy Jones is nowhere to be found and is not answering her phone; the employee helping me today hasn't even heard of her. He says it doesn't matter anyway because there's no way she could have promised me to switch out a phone for free; apparently the $20 fee is in the fine print on the back of the receipt.
I'm so annoyed at this point by the crappy customer service that I just want to get out of there. I pay the $20, take my new phone, and drive across 75 to the Northpark food court for a therapeutic cherry limeade at Sonic. And then my new phone rings. It's not anyone from my address book. I answer it (only then remembering that curiosity killed the cat).
"Hi, Anne? This is QueenBitch at AT&T [can't you hear it in my voice?]. When StupidEmployee was helping you, he accidentally put your old phone back in the box with the new one. We need you to bring it back to the store sometime today."
AWWW HELL NO. I haven't even gotten my limeade yet. In fact, I've just barely found a parking spot and made it through the doors at Northpark. I am so pissed, I seriously contemplate stealing that second phone. Then I remember they know how to track me down, so reason prevails and I -- grumblingly -- turn around, go back outside, walk all the way back to my car, and prepare to head back to the AT&T store.
Before I give up my parking spot, however, I open the box to check for the phone. I don't remember the guy putting the old one back in there. Sure enough, he didn't.
Now I am REALLY pissed. I call the lady back. I tell her there is no such phone in the box. She puts me on hold. Then she comes back and apologizes, saying that there was a mistake in the inventory.
I miraculously refrain from biting her head off. I get BACK out of my car. I go BACK inside Northpark. I order my cherry limeade, Mammoth-Size. I shop for voodoo dolls. read more