Ubi Caritas

General advice

nobody@vox.com(Ubi Caritas) — Tue, 22 Jul 2008 01:47:35 -0500

If a customer approaches you and asks for, I kid you not, a book whose subjects include Elvis, Kennedy, UFOs and connections between the aforementioned, run. Do not walk. Run.

Similarly, if someone comes in and wants The Anarchist's Cookbook, just flee into the night. Screaming is optional. Having a supervisor indicate to the customer that it'll be a rather chilly day in a location notorious for its year-round Texan-summer-like atmosphere before we carry that book? Priceless. And the fact that he came in three minutes prior to close to ask this just ticked me off further.

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The Customer Chronicles #1

nobody@vox.com(Ubi Caritas) — Sun, 13 Jul 2008 03:06:55 -0500

FYI, I've decided to start calling my crazy customer stories "The Customer Chronicles."

This happened a few weeks ago, and I forgot to post it until today.

Me: "How may I help you sir?

Customer (male, white, late twenties, relatively neatly dressed) "I need a biography of Martin Luther."

Me: "Okay, are you looking for any particular biography or just anything that we have on Luther?"

Him: "Oh, anything that you have, really." (helpfully) "I think he was a pope or something."

Whether you're Catholic or Protestant or an amused onlooker...that's just funny. Awful, but funny.

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We sell woodworking books too, yet we don't carry drills

nobody@vox.com(Ubi Caritas) — Wed, 09 Jul 2008 23:30:20 -0500

Scene: Busy and understaffed bookstore

Our heroine answers the phone: "Thank you for calling The Bookstore, this is ubicaritas, how may I help you today?"

Unknown customer, though I'm fairly sure it wasn't Mr. S. Holmes: "Yes, do you sell liturgical vestments?"

Me, blinking several times, assuming charitably that this is somehow a wrong number: "Er, this is The Bookstore."

Unknown customer: "Yeah, I know. Do you sell liturgical vestments?"

Me: "No, we do not sell liturgical vestments." (This attracts several incredulous stares from the people near the customer service desk)

Unknown customer: "But you sell Bibles!"

Me: "Yes; we're a bookstore."

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For the record

nobody@vox.com(Ubi Caritas) — Sun, 06 Jul 2008 00:27:47 -0500

A gentleman:

-notices that a lady's car has a flat tire, and offers to inflate it/check air pressure/check for slow leak for her

Someone who is not a gentleman:

-inquires as to whether we carry "some sort of scifi books about dragons." "Yes, sir, we carry many." "Something kind of erotic." With DRAGONS?! My poor, formerly (somewhat) innocent mind.

It's been that kind of weekend so far. It also appears that one of Aberforth's tires is having issues. "Issues" in the sense of "going forth"; in short, it appears to have a slow leak. Ergo, I shall drag my new Dickens volume down to the tire shop tomorrow and read Bleak House for the first time while having the tire patched or replaced as necessary.

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I want to know how she did it

nobody@vox.com(Ubi Caritas) — Wed, 02 Jul 2008 14:44:14 -0500

I have a customer who comes in every few weeks. She is a contractor and makes, judging by the clothes/accessories/purchases, very good money. She also has an exceptionally abrasive personality. To be honest, she reminds me of a slightly belligerent drunk in that usually has impossible expectations that will never be met and that she likes to berate anyone within earshot when those expectations ("well, tell them to start reprinting that book!") remain unfulfilled. However, I've dealt with her often enough that I generally know how to handle her: when she doesn't like something, I apologize that the situation is the way it is but change the subject quickly and refuse to be browbeaten. I suspect that she's rather lonely; the best way that I've found to deal with her is to walk around the store with her and talk about books for a few minutes. She doesn't seem able to start a conversation without rudeness; in this, she reminds me of a kid who acts out because she needs attention.

Case in point yesterday: she brought a copy of our weekly sales email to me and asked for several books on it. I looked them up, and all of these books had strict-on-sale dates of within the next three weeks. I could not--without major penalties including job loss--sell her those books. Period. I explained that. She ranted for a few minutes about how we shouldn't send out emails with the prices for these books if we couldn't sell them. I told her that I couldn't agree more (she did have a point there--at the least, there should have been something on the email about the sale dates) but that there was nothing I could do about it and that I recommended that she contact corporate. I then followed her around and offered suggestions and comments on her purchases while carrying the books and audiobooks that she wanted. Voila! Not a happy customer, but considerably less rude.

After she left, I pulled up a copy of her email with the intention of mentioning it to management as a "look out, we're going to have irate customers due to this" notice. After all, the sales dates should have been printed on the flyer. Several fairly big-name authors have books coming out this month, and I REALLY wasn't looking forward to dealing with dozens of annoyed Robert Crais fans.

On our copy of the email, right under the pictures of the books, were the sales dates. In clear and unquestionable print, I might add.

So how the hell did she not have those dates on her email?

I'm puzzled.

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Ab omnia balatra, libera nos!

nobody@vox.com(Ubi Caritas) — Mon, 30 Jun 2008 01:03:13 -0500

Really, you just can't make this stuff up.

Customer walks over to me and asks for The DaVinci Code, by Dan Browne. I walked him over to it and placed it in his hand.

Him: "But why is this in the fiction section, instead of the history section?"

Me: "..."

(a few minutes later, same customer)

Him: (whispering) "Ma'am, do you have any books about the Illuminati?"

Please note that I refrained from clasping my hands together, looking heavenwards, and devoutly intoning, "Miserere nobis." The thought crossed my mind.

Later that same day..

Well-dressed blonde yuppie woman: "I need these books for my son to read this summer."

I scanned the list, noted that I needed to order all but one, and proceeded to put the order together. As I did this, we talked.

Her: "I can't believe they're making him read four books this summer! That poor boy won't be able to have any fun at all."

Me: "I see." (usually a safe answer)

Her: "Honestly, nobody reads that much!"

Me: "Ah." (If I was only going to read four books this summer, I'd probably commit suicide)

Her: "He's in all AP classes; I don't know what their problem is! I mean, why should he have to do so much reading?"

She continued to complain until we finished the order, and then asked for an SAT prep book. I suggested the Princeton Review SAT prep, as the PR puts out the SAT and offers old tests to practice with. This version also had a CD-Rom that one could use to take more practice exams.

Her: "Will he have to read the book?"

Me: "Er, yes, I believe so. After all, there are verbal sections of the SAT."

Her: "But he hates reading! He'll be so bored!"

Sigh.

Why, exactly, was this kid in AP Lit if he doesn't read? Would someone answer me that?

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sweet Apollo, I thought I had stupid customers

nobody@vox.com(Ubi Caritas) — Fri, 13 Jun 2008 01:06:57 -0500

themaureencorps, shewhomustbeobeyed and I went to see a movie this evening. Ironman, to be exact. Was it epic? Nah. Classic? Ditto. As great as Casablanca? Snort. But it wasn't meant to be any of those things.

It was meant to be a superhero movie in which the bad guys are, the good guys make some mistakes but still are, and the chicks are endearing, if not necessarily memorable. And, of course, the technology falls under the category of "just plain cool."

In all of those, Ironman gets four stars. Plus, the score wasn't bad.

However, as we left this film, there was overheard a piece of stupidity that make, I believe, any and every customer I've ever had look intelligent and thoughtful.

Walking past the ticket office, a female of some sort was yowling at the ticket seller because the movie she attended had "too much sex in it."

What movie was it, might you ask? Run over a mental list of the current films showing at the local theater. Go ahead, I'll wait.

No, I kid you not.

She was complaining about Sex and the City.

Let's see now. You purchased a ticket to a movie called Sex in the City, which, while I'm not familiar with it or the show, is probably about just that. This movie is rated R (as it says in 40-point font at the booth where you purchased the ticket) for "nudity and sexual content." The posters for this film all feature Sarah Jessica Parker in the nude, accessorized only with a strategically placed laptop.

What were you expecting? The Song of Bernadette? The Ten Commandments? A Charlie Brown Christmas, perhaps?

What the....??????!

This one tops even my story of the customer I once had while working at the baby-supply store.

He's the one who called corporate because we didn't sell beer.

Until now, I'd always held him up as my best example of the idiocy one encounters when working in customer service.

He just slipped to second place.

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I'd like to skin him alive and put his pelt on the wall of the store...

nobody@vox.com(Ubi Caritas) — Sun, 20 Apr 2008 00:39:04 -0500

but I have to give him points for creativity.

Lots and lots and LOTS of points for creativity.

And he did make me laugh, so more points.

Okay, backstory:

I covered the lunch break of a girl in music last week. Whilst tidying a wall of DVDs, I was approached by what could only be described (or so I thought) as my weirdo du jour (WDJ).

First he asked if we had any documentaries on the Mormon church, then asked my opinion of the shenanigans in El Dorado (I don't have opinions about anything in the news while at work), inquired as to whether I was part of that community (huh?) and then wanted to tell me all about how inspired he was by the recent events in that area. In fact, he was so inspired that he decided to write some songs about the aforementioned events. And he wanted to tell me ALL ABOUT THEM.

At this point, I dived frantically across the department to ask another customer if "Do you need help ma'am? Are you sure? Let me tell you about all our specials this week...." just to get away from the WDJ.

When my coworker returned to music, I mentioned this guy to her. We agreed that he had overqualified in the WDJ department and thought nothing more of him.

Until today, when the music manager walked over to me and said, "Hey, ubicaritas, remember when you covered a lunch back here last week and some bald guy talked to you for a few minutes near documentaries?"

"Oh, do I ever!" I explained the backstory.

She laughed. "Well, thing is, he walked off with about $420 worth of documentaries."

Me: "WHAT?!!!"

Her: "Yeah. Oh, and he's that guy who's made off with at LEAST a grand or two worth of DVDs since Chrismas."

Me: (expletive expletive expletive)

Okay, buster. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. THERE WON'T BE A NEXT TIME. You've never been hit music before while I was back there, and if you EVER do so again, I WILL have a manager call the cops and I WILL get your license number if you (as you probably will, since the response time stinks) get away.

I have to say, though, that his approach was certainly original!

To end the evening, we had the incident involving about 4-5 boys who were about 10-12 years old. They were running around the store acting like idiots, and were later found with several "gentleman's magazines," which are illegal to sell to under-18s. Marcia, one of the managers, told them to cut it out. One of them said, "You can't tell me what to do, and you can't make me leave because I haven't done anything." Another of these young gentlemen suggested that Marcia perform several anatomically impossible acts. She promptly had them removed from the store. I might add that these were kids who were nicely dressed and fairly clean-cut. A customer later told me that she had been down the street at another bookstore a few minutes before and that the kids had been there and pulling this crap there, too. Their parents needed to be slapped.

I know I haven't blogged much about singing lately, and I apologize. The fact is that there is something going on there. That something is definitely positive--I'd even say that it's a breakthrough--but at the same time it's indescribable. I've tried to put it into words, but I can't yet. All I can say is that things are clicking and lightbulbs are going off and I've just never (despite massive amounts of stress due to finals and finances and so forth) been this happy. Ever. It's glorious and awesome (in the original sense of the word) and incredible and undefinable and completely and totally overwhelming. Thus, I'm letting it work without really thinking about it because I still don't handle emotion well. I know that that's all really vague but it's as close as I can come for now.

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Book sellers must stick together

nobody@vox.com(Ubi Caritas) — Thu, 13 Mar 2008 23:26:33 -0500

Those of us who work and have worked in customer service bond quickly. We tend to be extremely understanding when waiting in a line ("oy, can you IMAGINE having to work on that one register during Christmas?") or when facing a waiter with an attitude ("must have been stiffed by the last customers, let's be sure to leave 20-25%"). There are rare, if beautiful moments, when we can really make another retail slave's life happier. This was one of them.

While waiting for my sushi takeout (mmm...sushi) from the wonderful Japanese place, I walked over to the used book store to browse. Okay, who am I kidding? Browsing? Of course I got something.

While waiting in line, I noticed two things.

First, that the guy behind the register had stopped at my store last night to pick up a CD. He had been wearing a T-shirt for the store at which he works, and I'd teased him about "fraternizing with the enemy" by coming into my store (same type of business, different corporation). We'd laughed a little, and agreed that each store had its merits.

Second, that he was being thoroughly cussed out by the person in front of me because the manager had refused to mark the VHS tape down to 50 cents from the $4 at which it was stickered. The manager had indicated that the prices were, well, AS MARKED. After the manager walked away, this female started screeching at the employee about "this isn't good customer service," "no one will buy this tape for $4, that's a ridiculous price," "I can't believe this place," and, finally, "that's way overpriced, but no one will buy it. You've lost yourself a sale!"

At that point, another employee opened the register next to the other and asked me if I'd like to check out there. Suddenly, I was inspired to utter fiendishness. The idiot customer had just said (for the third time, by my count) "You've lost yourself a sale," in a tone of voice that indicated that the loss of the $4 sale would a) figure greatly on the employee's yearly evaluation, b) ensure that the employee would never get a raise or promotion, graduate college, be involved in a good relationship or even own a goldfish due to his rank incompetence, and c) permanantly bankrupt the employee's company, his store, each of his coworkers, and land him in jail for income tax evasion and questionable behavior with tapirs.

As I stepped over the register, I glanced over the counter to where the "overpriced" VHS tape was and squealed in a voice about an octave and a half higher than my usual speaking voice "Ohmigosh! Hudson Hawk? I've looked, like, EVERYWHERE for that movie! I'll take it! I can't believe I, like, found it! Ohmigosh!" (Note aside: I do not, in ordinary life, murder the English language to that extent. Desperate times, however, call for desperate measures.)

The other customer fumed, raved, raged, hollered, howled and snarled, but couldn't deny that she'd said she wasn't going to buy it. (three times, minimum.) After she left, I returned it. The guy behind the counter was laughing so hard that he could barely process the return, and has vowed to help me out in the future if he's in my store and sees something like this going on.

Booksellers of the world, unite against rude entitlement junkies! I can see it now: by day, we work at our $7-an-hour jobs. By night, we roam the aisles of other stores, seeking to aid other abused retail slaves. World peace through mutual assistance!

I'm off for eight days! Woohoo!

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Peoplewatching

nobody@vox.com(Ubi Caritas) — Thu, 21 Feb 2008 00:43:04 -0600

One of the things I actually enjoy about customer service is watching the wide variety of people who pass through my store. A few touch my soul in a way that I remember for years; many make no lasting impression; some others are just. plain. WEIRD. I think that this evening displayed a slice, if you will, of all of the above.

First, I had the African (as in, had a heavy, possibly Nigerian? accent) gentleman who clearly remembered me from a past visit to my store. I don't remember him at ALL, but hey, he was obviously positively impressed with the last visit, so I wasn't going to object. :D He picked out a few cds that he'll be getting with his next paycheck, and then went on to catch the bus. As he left, he mentioned that he'd be getting his new stereo system next month, and that he was really looking forward to it because of the quality of the sound. He even knows which cd will be the first he'll play, and then said, "When I set up the stereo system and hear this music, I must cry. It is just so beautiful. My friends, they look at me and they say, 'For what do you cry?'. I do not think that most people understand this, but I have to cry. It is so beautiful." I smiled and assured him that I understood. I rarely (okay, virtually never) cry, but when I have in the last five years or so I would have to say that it was due to some achingly beautiful piece of music.
Then, I had the really strange guy who yacked my ear off about the movie Luther (which I will never, ever, EVER see), started to get a bit innapropriate and personal with a customer who I knew who he had never met ("Why did you leave your country of origin? What school do you go to? What is your major? Why did you pick that major?). She was clearly uncomfortable (actually, once he left she said, "WHAT a horrible man! Do you have to put up with many of these?"), but he was not getting the hint to leave her alone. I rescued her and went to wait on another customer; he went away, but (le sigh) returned after a bit. As I rang his purchase, he told me that a) the dresses in Pride and Prejudice were too "antebellum" (yes, you read that correctly), b) that he liked how I wore my hair ("very Victorian,") and that c) he would "like to see how I'd look in Victorian period dress, and he knew just the seamstress if I was interested." I said, "I think not." He left at that point; one more remark and I was going to call a manager to ask him to leave. She would have, too, as he had already bent her ear on various subjects for almost forty minutes. Yuck.
Next, there was the couple in their late 30s/mid 40s who purchased American Gangster and some Sting cds. She was in a power wheelchair due to (my guess) MS or something similar. As they looked at a display, she unconsciously leaned forward to get a better look at something. He leaned down and gently rubbed her back (nothing innapropriate, just gentle). You could see how much they were in love. Brightened my evening.
Of course, my full-moon-with-an-eclipse-coming evening wouldn't be complete without the herd of guys in their late teens-mid-20s who set off every loss-prevention bell in my head, but (aside from making a ghastly mess in Pop Rock) were not caught doing anything. There were six or seven of them (and they all were together) back in Music at one point; kept milling around, distracting me, asking unnecessary questions, etc. The one with the mohawk (which was, incidentally, glued on) was particularly annoyed when it turned out that we do not regularly stock the Insane Clown Posse's albums.
There were also the spawn of Satan (oh, excuse me, I mean younger customers) whose grandmother had me hold a few DVDs (which she was getting for these imps) while she went and got a couple of books. I was in mid-transaction with Victorian-period-dress dude when these little wretches came back to Music, pounded their fists on the counter, and said, "We want our stuff NOW!" I looked at them icily and said, "When I am finished with this gentleman's transaction, I will be able to wait on you. Kindly give me a few minutes" before resuming the transaction with the other customer. While in "real life" I don't like that I seem to terrify small children, I must confess that it is remarkably handy in retail. They both shut up and waited politely until I finished.
My final customer of the day was a...large...woman of about 60 years in an unfortunate red-and-white Hawaiian-style shirt and some applied-with-a-spatula pancake makeup. As I finished ringing her transaction, her cell phone began to blare a ringtone of which I had been previously (and happily) unaware. The refrain seemed to be along the lines of "She thinks my tractor's sexy; it really turns her on." I kept a straight face, and mentally thanked my father for teaching me how to keep a poker face at a young age. (edit: out of curiousity, I Googled the lyrics. This song really does exist. I don't know why.)

The tally? One customer who I'll remember positively for a long time, two who just brightened my evening by being themselves, one guy who I will probably have tossed from the store if he ever approaches me again (okay, that's a bit unusual; I don't usually have them quite that weird), some peculiar come-out-at-the-full-of-the-moon types, some kids to whom I may or may not have taught the bare minimum of manners, and one just laugh-out-loud-after-she-leaves-the-store funny customer.

C'est la vie in customer service!

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