Join Me in Snarkville

Allergies have hit one member of the royal household pretty hard these past few weeks.  (Hot stock tip:  If you were planning to invest based on what we consume, I’d strongly suggest a few shares of Kimberly-Clarke*.) So, since our stockpile of tissues was GONE, Duke and I had an outing yesterday to our local tissue purchasing store.

Now, under normal circumstances this wouldn’t make a story, except that as I rounded the last corner (a little past lunchtime for Duke), my darling child declared he wanted a pretzel.  Ok, now, I’m not one that gives in, but it was lunchtime and well, it sounded like a good idea to me.  I bought the needed tissues and went to stand behind a family of four who appeared to be placing their order.  There were two people behind the counter.

12:40pm: We arrive and wait.

12.45pm: 1 of the four people in front of us is handed a cup and they wander past us to get a drink.  They return.

12:47pm: The person at the register isn’t moving much, but the person behind her (the one supposedly gathering the order) is wandering aimlessly back and forth behind her.

12:50pm: There are now only three people from the family in front of us.  The non-register lady looks up and asks “What are you waiting for?” I reply, “To order.”  She informs me that we are standing in the pick-up side of the line not the order side.  I promptly move and expect this means my order will be taken at somepoint in the future.

12:55pm: Down to a mere two children left of the ORIGINAL four people in front of me.  I still have not ordered.  The lady behind me in line has already bailed because there is NO reason for this to have taken so long.  The register lady has now gone to lunch, leaving only the clueless wandering lady behind the counter.  I’m debating if it is worth the fit I will have to deal with if I just walk away and decide, I don’t deserve the fit and continue to wait (I also contemplate throwing my own fit).

12:57pm: Finally, the lady behind the counter decides to ask me what I want. “Two pretzels, please.” “Sorry for the wait.”  “You need some help back here, you know.” “oh, well, the other one was coming up to her fifth hour and had to take lunch.” “Then they need to bring you someone else to help you — this wait was entirely too long.” “What did you want again?”

1:00pm: Two pretzels firmly in hand.  I walk over to the customer service desk; because heck, if I can wait 20 minutes for pretzels, I get the right to complain.  I tell the boy (he was probably only a year or two older than Duke) who had been attacked by a nail gun (it was tragic to be maimed so young) about my experience.  His response was the highly soothing and so effective: “Yup.”

1:02pm: I was steaming mad.  I was so mad that I couldn’t yell, but instead just slowly spit out words that might have left a burn mark or two.  “What can I do to make sure that this issue is actually addressed?” “You could fill out a comment card.” “GIVE.ME.A.PEN.”

1:04pm: Comment card overflowing with words.  I look up and ask, “Can I speak to the manager on duty?”

1:05pm: The team lead or some such comes over.  I relate my story including that this could have been over, if the person behind the customer service knew the words, “I’m sorry.”  (Note, he was about two feet behind me when I said this.)  She turns and says to Nailboy, “I need two Customer Apology Cards now, please.”

1:07pm: I thanked the team lead and told her that I think they’d be better served teaching customer service to the people who do customer service and getting training for the new girl in food.  She agreed and get this, actually apologized to me.

Duke and I walked out.

And the excuse for the poor service in the food area:  “Two people quit on the same day and they were caught without help.”  My response: “This is a big enough store that two people should not cripple the organization and if they do the the organization is sick and need help.” Her response, Stunned Silence.

*This is not actual stock advice, I’m not responsible if you lose all your money trying to invest in the Royal Family’s buying habits.