24 posts tagged “customer”

Customer #1 I judged to be a fun customer for the first seventy-three seconds, as he wanted to purchase several opera DVDs.  My opinion changed once he start to explain that it was his dream to have an affair with an opera singer because "you know, there's so much POWER."  If any of my coworkers ever mentions to him my interest in opera, they will sleep with the fishes.

Customer #1: Creepy.

Customer #2 was a little old lady who was initially an utter witch but who settled down with some firm-but-nice customer service and then bought $200 worth of product, thus helping us set a near-record hour of sales.

Customer #2: Tolerable, yet necessary.

Customer #3 was this tiny Japanese lady of perhaps 35 or 40.  She couldn't speak English very well, but she bowed and managed to get across that she wanted some recording of a classical violinist.  Could I recommend anyone?  "Well, certainly.  How about Isaac Stern, or Itzhak Perlman (remind me to tell y'all about the time my uncle met Perlman), or maybe Jascha Heifetz?"  As I said the names, I handed her CDs of the artists in question.  Initially, I had thought that I only had one of Heifetz, in which he's playing Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto in D (Opus 35):

(Yes, I do realize that this is shortened for the film, but I liked that I could watch his face while he played.  Yes, the whole thing is available on Youtube.  Go watch or listen to it, if you so desire.)

Her son plays the double bass, and she wanted some specifically double-bass recordings for him to listen to.  This is slightly more difficult, as the double bass hasn't been romanticized or popularized the way that the violin or cello have, but I manage to find her a list of double-bassists whose recordings I can order.  I kept leaving her and returning with more information and CDs, and every time I came back/handed her another CD to listen to/what have you she bowed.  Yes, as in from the waist.  By the end of the half-hour or so I spent helping her, I bowed and asked her to come back.

ANYWAY.  While digging around for a double-bass recording of any sort, I found two more Heifetz CDs and brought them over, as she seemed to like his playing better than that of the others.

Customer #3 bouncing slightly while squee-ing "HEIFETZ!!!!" with the sort of smile one generally sees on the face of a person who's just auditioned successfully into Juilliard?

Priceless.

I had a young chap approach me the other evening whilst I was standing at the customer service desk.  A sheet of paper in hand, he explained that he had to take a test for school that covered some information on this paper, and could I help him find a test prep book?

"Well, sir, let me take a look at the paper."

Five seconds later, following a quick glance over the page...

"Ah, so this is a test where you check for grammar, spelling and punctuation errors?  We have several excellent prep books--"

"No, no, it's a reading comprehension test."

I stare at him for a moment, and look back down at the sheet.  Sure enough, it does say Accuplacer: Reading Comprehension across the top.

Well, it actually says "Accuplacer: Reading Comprehensin".  Thus my mistake.  In fact, I saw three spelling errors and two grammar errors in that first glance, and so merely assumed that it was a fairly standard GSP-ish placement test.

Nope.

This sheet was given to him by the testing facility at the college in question.  It had been prepared, according to the top right corner, by a female who indicated that she was an "Adjunct Instructor of English" at the same school.

Leaving aside the fact that I firmly believe an instructor of English (or any other academic subject) should be able to spell "comprehension" without assistance, where is SpellCheck when you need it?

Looking over this blog, I realize that there is one reason to be grateful for the stupid/nasty/rude/moronic customers upon whom I wait.  Two words: blog fodder.

In short, if I were to have naught but sweet, intelligent, well-read, responsible customers...I wouldn't really have anything to write about.

But couldn't I at least have a higher percentage of these sorts of customers?

There is a family who comes into The Bookstore on a near-weekly basis.  Sometimes it's just the mom and the son, sometimes the dad and the son, sometimes all of them.  The son is perhaps in his late teens (bit hard to tell, but I'd say past puberty) and has Down's Syndrome or something similar.  Down's Syndrome, just in case anyone isn't familiar with it, is fairly distinctive: the eyes tend to be lower, the face sort of round-square, shorter height, mental retardation varying from slight to relatively severe.

The son, who I'll call Jack, is probably in the moderately retarded range.  He uses quite simple language, and seems interested in movies/books marketed to the 5-7 year old age range.  He also has a somewhat thick speech impediment and a stutter.  To be frank, I can only understand about half of what he says, and guess at the rest based on context.  Jack is quite sweet but also understands (to a degree) certain social boundaries: he loves to talk to people, but doesn't just walk up and talk to strangers or stare at them.

Anyhoo, I had a fairly nice evening tonight, and was straightening up the customer service desk when Jack's mother came over to it.  I'd noticed that she and her husband had been sitting in the cafe area and had let Jack walk around the store on his own.  This is new (he might be in the DVD/music department for 5 minutes or so on his own, but never the store, which has exits and whatnot), so I kept a half an eye on him when he hove into view and assumed (correctly) than his parents were trying to increase his independence a little.

I asked Jack's mother if I could help her find something, and she explained that she hadn't seen him in a little while and was wondering where he was. 

"I believe he's in the music department; he was headed that way when last I saw him."

"Oh, thanks.  I hope he hasn't been any trouble?  We're trying to let him be alone once in a while to learn how to interact when we're not there, but I was worried he might pull books off of shelves or something."

Heh.

Jack will occasionally pick up a book or DVD and ask about it/show it to his folks, but if he doesn't buy it then he puts it away correctly.  He always asks permission before picking up a DVD if it's on a display, as he doesn't want to "mess it up."  He's polite, tidy, and very respectful of personal space.

I told her as much, and followed up with, "Quite frankly, ma'am, he's better behaved than the majority of my customers!"

She laughed, and thanked me for saying so.

Shortly thereafter, Jack and his family were heading home.  While I'd seen Jack several times that evening, he hadn't seen me.  He immediately got this big grin on his face and grabbed his mom's arm.  "L-l-l-l-look, mom!  It-t-t-t-t's m-m-m-m f-friend!"  He pulled her over to me, gave me a hug, and introduced me to his mom.  "Mom, this is UbiC-c-caritas.  UbiCaritas, th-th-this is my mom!"  We talked for a few more minutes before they left.

Yeah.  I could do with more customers like that. 

(We once had a customer complain about Jack because she was offended that she had to look at him.  I kid. you. not.  She actually was stupid and nasty enough to speak to the store manager and demand that he not be allowed in the store based upon nothing more than the fact that the kid isn't "normal."  Elaine, the store manager, said that the kid wasn't doing anything wrong and was a "valued customer."  Customer whinged some more about--again, I kid you not--how she was going to call corporate because she couldn't stand being in the same store as such a person.  The store manager laughed in the woman's face and pointed out that the second-in-command in the company has a kid with Down's and would be rather unlikely to agree with such a point of view.  Customer stormed off in a huff, and good riddance to the brainless twit.)

Yesterday, I got my health department foodhandler's license.  I've been told that I may be trained in the store's cafe--may even be working a shift or so a week there--and so I needed the license.

Let me just say that it disturbs me considerably that anyone might try to take this test and not pass it.

"Do you need to wash your hands after leaving the bathroom and before handling food?" Are you kidding me?

Sadly, no.

Anyway, some cafe stories may appear in the weeks to come.  One of the best I've heard from over there involves a woman who wanted her latte heated to "230 degrees."  (And yes, that's Farenheit.)  When the barista pointed out that the latte would boil at a bit over 200 degrees and that at 230 degrees it would be naught but STEAM, the woman insisted that the barista was incompetent and stormed out.

Earlier today after a particularly trying customer, I was straightening up a display and attempting--with limited success, I might add!--to regain my temper.  Suddenly, a boy of about 10 or 11 walked up to me, THREW his arms around me and said, "I LOVE you!"

Now, this kid was only an inch or two shorter than I am--admittedly not very tall, as I'm not much over five feet, but still.  I'd also never seen him before in my life.  Still, what does one say under such circumstances?

Well, I believe that it's generally considered quite rude not to say, "I love you, too!"  And divas ought not be rude.

His mom came up shortly thereafter, apologizing profusely, and explained that her son has autism.  I laughed and said something about how I thought that might be the case, but as autistic behaviours go, hugging someone who needed a hug and telling her that she was loved was a pretty cool behaviour.

Sometimes these kids get it much better than we wise adults do.

when you manage to insult at least half the staff, demand seven impossible and unreasonable things in as many minutes, scream until your Botoxed face actually starts to wrinkle a bit because we cannot be so clairvoyant as to know what book your book club president recommended when you yourself can tell us nothing, drop your latte on the floor and complain because you stepped in it, and finally stomp  out the door, get in your uber-pricy SUV,

and, since you're too busy yacking on your cellphone, you don't see the large landscape boulder on your right as you turn

and you go off the drive a little bit

(not veering really far, but just enough)

to drive your front wheel over the rock, thus a) wrecking your undercarriage, b) necessitating a tow truck, c) getting you screamed at by various drivers for blocking the driveway, and d) making the staff come to the front window periodically to watch the unfolding drama and laugh.

(this one happened months ago, but it was so lovely that it periodically springs to mind)

...your toddler toddles himself over to a complete stranger and coos incomprehensibly at her

she flags down a passing bookseller

the bookseller and customer spend a full ten minutes trying to find you

you only come up to us as we've decided to phone the police

you promptly let the kid run away again, sit back down and continue reading your graphic novel

and the bookseller feels naught but deep schadenfeude-y joy

(indeed, she's much happier than she's been all evening)

because, you idiot, the woman who was trying to find you to return your spawn

works for the county Children and Family Services, and is really, really, REALLY Not Amused.

I had a Bookseller First yesterday.

A bit over a week ago, I had a customer approach me and request that I find or order a certain book for her.  We didn't have it in stock (I'm ashamed to say that I can't remember the title now), but she wasn't in a hurry to read it, so I placed an order.  Having done so, she asked for a recommendation.

Recs are tough.  A lot of people want to read a new book or new genre, but when it's actually placed in their hand they get cold feet.  Fear of the unknown, perhaps?  Who knows?

Anyway, glancing at her basket of books, I made a strong plug for The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society.  One of the benefits of this book is that it has a thoroughly memorable title; people do not forget it!  She said that it sounded interesting, but that she wasn't inclined to get it because it had been promoted by the corporate office of The Bookstore in their "Suggestions" newsletter, and that she'd never liked any of the titles they featured.

"Bluntly speaking, ma'am," said I, "I never have either.  Frankly, I can only chalk up their recommendation of this book to a clerical error or one of their reviewers getting drunk some night and sending off an email about it.  Their selections are usually cover-to-cover angst-ridden drivel.  That being said, when this book came out I did two things that I haven't done before or since: I purchased one of their recommended copies, and I did so when it went bestseller.  I haven't regretted it for a moment, and I've reread it at least once since I purchased it."

She agreed that she'd consider getting it, and then changed the subject.  I thought nothing more of this until yesterday evening, as I suggest titles to customers all the time.

She came back yesterday evening, and came up to my register.  I opened my mouth to give my usual hi-how-are-you-did-you-find-everything-you-needed-do-you-have-a-savings-card spiel.  Instead, she started the conversation.

"Oh, you're that bookseller who recommended that potato peel pie book to me!  I came back earlier this week but you weren't here.  I just wanted to let you know that I LOVED that book!  Thanks so much for suggesting it!  Do you have any other recommendations?"

I have given hundreds of books recommendations to people in the last year and a half at The Bookstore.  Of those hundred, I expect that a few dozen actually picked up the book.  Until yesterday, not one has ever come back and told me if they liked it, much less asked for another recommendation.

I am happy.

Three guesses as to what the next rec was, and the first two don't count.

Yep.

You guessed it.

84 Charing Cross Road.

Really.

I mantain that no one--NO ONE--particularly an innocent and unsuspecting salesgirl--needs/wants/had any desire to know

a) the excruciating details of your, erm, extremely private piercings that you recently acquired (including descriptions of discharges, colors, size of holes, etc)

b) that you spent all of last weekend "in bed with your girlfriend."

Ew.  Just...ew.  No.  Did not need to know.  Need brain bleach.  Thank you.

And the mullet?  Bad idea in the 80s, worse in the 90s, a retro bad idea now.  Bonus negative points if you haven't washed it in a few weeks or so.

Overheard at the bookstore last night:

Supervisor, who specializes in the truly gosh-awful pun: "Now, you might be aware that I'm rather fond of wordplay."

UbiCaritas, nodding in agreement: "Punfully so."

Ouch.  That was just...ouch.

Clearly, I've worked with him too often; he's beginning to rub off on me.

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And again: it is not the full moon.  Yet I spent last evening with as rich an assortment of morons as ever graced an unfortunate bookstore. 

When a person calls The Bookstore, they hear a recording that says something along the lines of "Thank you for calling The Bookstore.  We are located on Smith Street, just north of the Village Shopping Center.  We are open daily from 9 AM until 11 PM.  Please hold, and a bookseller will be with you shortly."

When I answer the phone, I always say the same thing: "The Bookstore, Smith Street, UbiCaritas speaking.  How may I help you?"

Yet three people--not one, not two, but three--asked of me after I answered the phone, "Is this The Bookstore on Smith Street?"

I thought that I did remarkably well not to say something along the lines of, "No, this is the Victoria's Secret in Beijing.  I just wanted to make you THINK that you had reached The Bookstore on Smith Street!"

Then I had Mayan Calendar Dude.  People who want books about the Mayan Calendar are almost always strange, and he was a fine example of that species.

He didn't know the title of the book, didn't know the author of the book, did know that the author had been featured on a radio broadcast (station and/or show unknown) almost three years ago, and also knew that the book had black lettering on the cover.

At some point or other while I was trying to find this title in the computer, the above-mentioned supervisor also asked Mayan Calendar Dude if he needed assistance.  Mayan Calendar Dude--bear in mind that both of these men are old enough to be my father--replied, "Oh, no, this little lady is helping me.  She's full of fluff."

Me: slight doubletake

MCD: "That's a complement."

(eyes never get above my chest)

The Supervisor says nothing, but very kindly follows the both of us around until Mayan Calendar Dude finally gets tired of staring at my chest/touching my arm/staying within four inches at all times.

Finally I had the utterly clueless teacher.  She called, explained that she was a sixth-grade teacher and wanted to check an item on a student's Works Cited page that was attached to a research paper.  She gave me a title and an author; I could not find either in the system. 

I finally said, "Ma'am, I know that it generally isn't put on a Works Cited page, but the student didn't happen to list an ISBN for this title, did he?"

Teacher: "No, all he gave me was an author's name, a date, a title, and a link."

Me, after short pause: "Is it possible that he was listing an online article?  That sounds a bit (read: exactly) like a citation for a website."

Her: "No, it can't be.  You don't list websites on a Works Cited page!"

No wonder we're (academically speaking, at the least) so far behind other countries.

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Various and assorted tests are finished.  I am leaving work in twenty minutes, and from thence I will go to the store, get some salmon, some marinade, and some fresh fruits and veggies.  I also have a bottle of wine atop my refrigerator that has yet to be opened.  Feet will be propped up, good food will be consumed, and bed will be early.