NOTE This is a review of customer services.
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It's great when places do refunds, isn't it?
As they say themselves, it's straightforward, no fuss. Bring it back in the same condition you bought it, within x days, and we'll give you back your dosh.
The queue was long enough, five head of me, and there was just one young, addled girl managing it.
Ten minute wait and I'm there. Giving back something, taking something else instead.
So simple.
'You'll have to go over there and pick a card,' said the girl.
'A card?'
'Yeah. For two euro.'
'Eh, but I don't want a card.'
'Cos this is an exchange, and you've two euro over, so you have to pick a card.'
A quick glance to the card section told me that the queue was now officially a small snake and my will to hold out broke. I dutifully walked to the section. But my brain was all confused, and I couldn't see a card I wanted, mainly because I didn't want a card. I had cards, at home, lots of them. But, wait, Father's Day is coming, I'll get one of these. But, wait, there are none. Argh, confusion. Why am I here anyway? Who am I? I'm starting to feel the collective gaze of the growing mob on my back, and it's not kindly. But what's this? Something had landed on my shoulder. It's my assertiveness fairy, yay! I walk back.
'I don't want any cards. I want my money back. You do refunds, so I'll just get a refund, then buy the things I'm exchanging,' I say with a forced degree of Thatcherite zeal.
She concedes she doesn't have the authority, says 'I'll call my manager.'
'This is actually ridiculous. It is a huge fuss over something that just isn't a fuss!' I say. But part of me feels sorry for her. She has this job, dealing with the public, in all our complexities, but she's not allowed hand out two euros of a due refund. And though her manner isn't great, I can see she's stressed, and it's not nice feeling powerless to resolve simple situations. And I suspect that if she was handed the keys to the kingdom, she'd know how to use them.
We wait. The collective gaze hardens, backs can tell this kind of thing. I'm pretty sure the small snake is now an unimpressed python. I widen my stance, plant my feet more firmly, steel myself for an attack from behind. 'The manager won't give you the two euro,' she says. I glare.
Manager finally arrives. She'll refund me. But my card was stolen, so she can't, because it would have to go back on the card.
'But it's still money,' I say. This bugs me a lot, this insistence of shops to only refund to the card the payment was made on, as it's not the same as cash. As if money isn't money anymore.
'I'll have to call the store manager,' she says.
Sweet Jesus, I think. Is this actually happening?
Fair play to the mob, no one is actually shouting at me, and if anyone feels the need to resort to physical violence, they are managing to suppress it. Not that I'm about to look around and find out.
The store manager doesn't seem to be coming. I'm pretty sure I hear an expletive muttered under the breath of one of the increasingly hassled customer service people. And, honestly, I don't blame her. I know how she feels.
It's so silly, all this palaver of authority layering, for the simplest, smallest things.
The store manager is nowhere to be found and they relent. I'm handed two euro. I take my things and go, ignoring my assertiveness fairy's instructions to hold my head high. It hangs low as I pass the snake that is beyond all doubt now a big, unpeaceful python. I dig my hand deep inside my pocket, clutching my bus fare. read more