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Is it me, or has customer service recently become an oxymoron? Did a conglomerate such as IBM call a meeting of everyone who deals with the public and declare �your customer is your enemy?� And, did they forget to invite me? |
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Or am I just upset because on the hottest day of the summer in Arizona the air conditioning in my truck decided I wasn�t worthy. Oh, the air conditioning was cold. In fact, it was freezing. The problem was that the truck would not share any of that cold air with me. |
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So, I sweltered for 12 miles and arrived at the dealership early in the morning. My service advisor called the service scheduler who, in turn, called in the service technician. After a brief consultation, these geniuses approached my truck and announced: �The compressor is working just fine.� Well, of course it is. That�s why when I press my nose into the vent and hold it there the end of nose gets cold. What these Einsteins appear to have missed is the fact that the rest of my face is HOT- very, very HOT.
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When I show the three wise men that less than six inches beyond the vent an interior thermometer in the truck is registering 118 degrees, they go into a huddle. That�s easy for them to do � they are in the air-conditioned comfort of the service consultation area. I am in the HOT truck parked next to the sign that commands: �Do Not Leave Your Vehicle.� After 60 seconds, round two begins with the announcement of their unanimous finding: �Lady, the blower has malfunctioned.� BINGO! |
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I am now permitted to leave the truck to march across the melting asphalt parking lot into another air-conditioned oasis marked �rental vehicles.� I join the line of victims and wait for my turn to persuade the great Pooh-Bah behind the counter that I am worthy of a loaner. Here�s the conversation:
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Agent: �Because your truck is still in warranty, we will provide a loaner free of charge. However, you must pay $6 per day tax.�
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Me: �Fine. Just give me anything that has air-conditioning that works and will hold me, two German Shepherds and a poodle.�
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Agent: �The only car left is a 2-door, 4 cylinder, all black Ford Escort.�
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Me: �Your ad states you are the largest Ford dealership in the State of Arizona, and the only loaner available is a 2-door Ford Escort?� |
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Agent: �Well, lady, you should have told me your truck was going to break down two or three days ago; then, I would have held a Taurus for you.�
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There is absolutely no comeback worthy of this logic, so I just shut up.
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I pick up the keys to the Escort and head back across the asphalt into the section marked �rental replacement vehicles.� There is one car. It is the black Ford Escort. It is small; it is very small. I am not a large woman, but I must recline the seat 45 degrees to get behind the wheel - and that�s when the seat is pushed all the way back into the trunk. As the bar lifts to allow my exit from the lot, the great Pooh-Bah�s voice booms from the speaker: �You must removal all dog hair from the passenger seat prior to returning this rental vehicle to avoid an additional charge.�
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I�m a bit happier as I hit the highway, for the a/c is on MAX and I�m actually starting to feel a cool breeze. This is a very convenient mode of transportation. I can reach everything, even the passenger door, without straightening my right elbow. I can even change the radio stations with my little finger while my right hand remains on the wheel. Kewl!
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I pull into my garage, open both doors, and leave the car running. I call the dogs and yell �load up!� � their command for getting into my Expedition. Dog #1 looks at me and immediately jumps into the passenger seat. Dog #2 looks at me, looks at Dog #1, and then does a complete circle. Yep, he�s just realized that there is no �back� seat. So, with all the logic a German Shepherd Dog can muster, he carefully crawls behind the wheel and places one front foot on the seat and one on the steering wheel.
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I guess this means I can forgo the heat, humidity and bugs on the training field tonight, as there is absolutely no room for me, or a toy poodle, inside the black Escort. I wave goodbye to the dogs and blow each a kiss. As they pull out of the driveway, I caution them: �Remember, drive safely and go directly to class � not PetsMart, not PetCo. And, no bunny chasing!�
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Tall iced-tea in hand, I dream of being reunited with my white Expedition. I just can�t wait to see the look on the face of that demi-god behind the rental counter when the black Escort is returned with a blanket of dog hair on BOTH front seats.
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Someone should have warned him: Never mess with an alpha bitch! |
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