More Tales From Customer Service Hell
Linda Dacon of Montrose writes:
Having only recently made my way back to the surface after a two-month sojourn into Customer Service Hell, I am acutely sympathetic with your sufferings. I have been fencing with Whirlpool/KitchenAid over a brand - new kitchen range which failed the first time I tried to use it . . . .
Yes, we’ve all been there. For me, it was just a few days of inconvenience waiting for Montgomery Ward to deliver my new refrigerator. The low point was the telephone call, especially the 44 minutes I waited on hold, listening to dull Muzak and an occasional recording assuring me I’d be helped by “the next available representative.”
Others, of course, have had it much worse. Linda Dacon making more than 25 phone calls, hearing empty promises that her range would be repaired, and finally using “some strong language” to secure a refund. And, yes, she was put on hold too:
The interminable waiting! KitchenAid has a recording of two women dispensing ‘handy time-smart tips.’ I learned how to get spots out of my kitchen towels with lemon and salt, 101 best ways to store fruits and vegetables, myriad cooking tips (which I couldn’t try out because my oven was not working), how to remove dampness from my closets using bundles of chalk, and a large variety of other well-meaning, but ultimately extremely irritating, handy household hints. I was on hold a lot.
Yes, Customer Service Hell is a scary place. Readers have regaled me with all sorts of tales.
Anita J. Phipps of Castaic needed seven pages to chronicle her seven-month crusade to have her sofa repaired under Montgomery Ward’s “Furniture Protection Agreement” before finally securing a refund. Theodore Enrique of Panorama City dared me to try Ward’s automotive service.
I suspect that, had my problems been with any other store, I’d have heard more about them. “They’re all hellish!” Michael L. Morrison of Chatsworth insists.
Morrison went on to describe what he considered to be a perplexing experience buying a dishwasher at Sears. After paying for a sale model, he asked when it would be delivered and installed. Only then did the clerk explain that this wasn’t included in the price. Morrison decided to pay for the delivery and install the machine himself. . . .
Maybe feeling the slightest bit guilty , the clerk then informed me I would probably wish to visit the hardware department and purchase the dishwasher installation kit--also not included with the machine. . . .
I was pretty [upset] at this but still in control when I sarcastically asked if there was anything else I should know. He then said as long as I was in hardware I might want to pick up a power cord and plug--it didn’t come with those things EITHER.
Morrison notes this happened 24 years ago--and he hasn’t been back to Sears since. He happens to be a retailer himself, the owner of a Chatsworth frame shop, and he assured me the service is excellent.
Not all readers reacted with their own horror stories.
Kirk McDonald of Glendale shared his own refrigerator tale. It seems he and his wife had “lusted” after “the mother of all refrigerators,” a 25-cubic-foot Amana side-by-side. This sounded a bit Oedipal, so I read on.
This wasn’t a mere purchase; this was a quest. The McDonalds priced models at Sears, Montgomery Ward, Circuit City, Adrays and others. Just a few dollars difference. Then they happened into Serv-Well, a small appliance store in Glendale.
As I wandered through their modest showroom, I suddenly came across the refrigerator that my wife and I had lusted after all these years--and it was in black!
Don’t you love happy endings? This was the Amana of their dreams, you see. Elsewhere, they’d been told it only came in white and tan.
Perhaps one needs the shopping gene to invest so much time finding the perfect refrigerator. McDonald’s advice to me, in essence, was to be a more informed shopper.
He thinks I don’t know that? Some people have no sympathy for the shopping-impaired.
Mark Luni of North Hollywood wasn’t just unsympathetic, he was downright critical:
I am sorry to say that I do not agree with you, or your motive for writing this column. I work in a service industry. . . . I really can’t recall all the times someone has said something to the effect, ‘I work for a [newspaper, TV show, magazine] and I intend to do a story on how badly I’ve been treated.’ No one ever offers to do a story when they receive a really good job. . . . Which brings us to your sad situation.
If I read the column correctly, you wanted the fridge right away. You were told it would be there the NEXT day, with a four-hour delivery spread; between 3 p.m. and 7 p.m. After showing up late, you found a note on the door. Have you considered WHY they have these notes? Do you think you are the first customer not to be there when the delivery is scheduled? These things happen all the time. And when one customer is late, it throws off the deliveries for everyone scheduled for that day, and possibly the next day. Consider yourself lucky you were probably one of the first on the list.
Scott, take a chill pill and stop writing columns blaming others for your mistakes.
Well!
Mark Luni is right, but he’s also wrong. Yes, I agreed to be home by 3 p.m. and arrived home 12 minutes late. Guilty as charged. But I would have been happy to receive my fridge at 6:55 p.m. Indeed, after waiting those 44 minutes on hold, the “customer service” rep assured me that the truck would be radioed and I’d get my fridge that night. I still wouldn’t have been happy about those 44 minutes, but at least the time wouldn’t have felt like such a waste.
Luni also wondered whether I received my new fridge. When I first wrote of my refrigerator woes, I ended on a small note of suspense, if only because I had to rush home for the rescheduled delivery. This time, I arrived home a few minutes early and, yes, I got my fridge. For about a day I suffered buyer’s remorse, because it looked enormous in my skinny kitchen. But now I’m rather pleased with the purchase.
The story doesn’t end there. On the Sunday the column appeared, Mary the sales lady called and was relieved to learn the fridge had indeed found its way to my kitchen. The next day I received a call from an apologetic Montgomery Ward executive in Chicago. Somebody had faxed him the column. He thanked me and assured me the company would remedy the problem.
I wonder whether a simple letter of complaint would have generated such a quick, high-level response--and the gift certificate he offered to send.
I said no thanks. Ethics, you know. But then I figured it would be OK to accept a gift certificate designated for a charity I know to be worthy.
Besides, a major retail chain wanted to ease its corporate conscience, and who was I to say no?
