Rebel With a Cause

Editor’s Note: Colleen Walsh Fong is a Patch blogger from Georgia.

By Colleen Walsh Fong

Do you ever feel like you’re in the cashier’s way when trying to make a purchase? I do. I switched grocery stores because I was tired of being ignored while all of the cashiers and baggers flirted with one another. I felt like an intruder on a date. So I could relate to the “Breaking Bad” character, Marie Shrader, when rude treatment by a young sales clerk triggered her kleptomania.

Instead of ringing up Marie’s shoe purchase the clerk continued a personal cell phone conversation on the company clock. Marie remedied her situation by taking a five-finger discount. She slid the expensive footwear into her bag and walked out without the clerk’s notice. I certainly don’t condone theft of any kind, but let’s contrast that all-too familiar shopping experience with another one from yesteryear.

In the summer of 1958 my grandmother returned a pair of gloves to Marshall Fields’ iconic State Street Store in Chicago. Although she’d worn them more than once she received an immediate refund because she wasn’t satisfied with her purchase. I should also mention that she didn’t have a receipt, the gloves bore no price tag, and they were ten years old. True story.

While this may seem to be extreme behavior on the part of the consumer, it is an example of the kind of customer service Marshall Field & Company was built upon. And that service made it Chicago’s elite department store. Of course we can’t expect retail establishments to accept that kind of loss. Or can we?

Have you ever shopped at Nordstrom? If so you know you can return any item purchased, at any time, in any condition for the simple reason that you don’t like it. So why don’t all companies provide that kind of customer service? Because they don’t have to. Americans have been conditioned to believe that we don’t deserve to be served. Even though we used to. Take service stations for example.

There was a time when American drivers pulled up to the pump and a smiling service station employee ran over to serve us. “Regular or premium?” he asked the driver through a rolled-down window. Then he pumped the gas selection, washed the car windows, checked the oil and tire pressure, and topped off anything that his testing showed to be a little low. And he did it all with a smile and at no charge. This was a particularly desirable service in areas of our country known for their inclement weather. Like Chicago where I lived. And the oil companies thrived even with the cost of staffing service reps.

The change to do-it-your-self started with the gas crisis in the mid-1970’s. When gasoline prices rose precipitously customers were given the option to lower the price per gallon by choosing to pump their own gas. Seemingly overnight service stations morphed into self-serve gas stations with mini marts.

Suddenly America became a service free zone in which an entire television network was built around teaching us how to do everything ourselves. The rise of Home Depot and big box stores with deep discounts felt like a savings boon. At first. By the late 1990’s, though, orange-aproned employees were so deft at avoiding eye contact and moving briskly away from needy-looking customers I had to believe there was a corporate strategy to cut operating costs at any cost. But even Americans will only take so much and the rise of the more customer-centered Lowe’s left Home Depot and its ilk sucking wind. I switched stores. But I guess my years of earning a living by providing customer service cause me to resent paying to receive none.

So I don’t. Like yesterday. I spent forty five minutes in an online help feature trying every combination of search parameters I could think of in order to find an answer to a question about a slick little service my fingers had itched to buy. The online “chat” feature was down. Chat is a misnomer anyway since the user types a question and waits for a quick reply, with quick being a relative term. My desire to purchase waned in proportion to my waxing frustration. So I gave up and today my life seems sufficiently full without the nifty little service. But if I’d had the chance to have a really quick and truly live chat with a human being I would probably be playing around with that service right now instead of writing this article. My savings gain is sadly that company’s loss.

And I’m certain that I’m not alone because rumblings of a customer-service revolution can be heard beneath the din of key clicks in search of assistance. Last year Apple products outsold competitors’. Are they better made? Opinions vary. They are almost certainly more expensive. Why will people pay more for Apple products? I’ve got two words for you: Customer Service.

I use Apple because I don’t have to wade through an online list of help topics trying to find answers. I just pick up my iPhone and call 1-800-APL-CARE. Or take any of my Apple devices to the genius bar of a nearby store where I receive helpful, polite, and voice-to-voice answers to my problems.

I like that. I like people. I like them to talk to me. I like them to know things about the products they are selling. I like for them to be so expert in their fields that they can give me useful advice. Most of all I like to be appreciated. And I’ll pay more for it.

How about you?

Featured Image Courtesy of Rawich / FreeDigitalPhotos.net