Some time back, I had a problem with a purchase from a locally-owned business. Thankfully I discovered it before leaving the parking lot.
I turned the truck off, went back inside, politely asked to speak to the boss and we addressed the problem. It was resolved. Since then, the employee who made the mistake has become someone with whom I can joke whenever I go by that particular establishment.
No voices were raised (at least not in my presence). There was no blustering, no loud demands or anything else. I refused a refund, preferring to get what I wanted instead. It wasn’t a big deal. I still shop there and intend to continue to do so. I am greeted by name when I go in and greet the staff the same way.
I had a similar experience at a drive-thru restaurant not too long ago. I don’t even recall now what was wrong, but I went in, spoke to the owner, and left happy. He even insisted on adding to my next order, on the house, although I tried to refuse. Turned out later the worker who previously waited on me was having a really bad day.
I didn’t remonstrate, curse, or make nasty social media posts. We handled it like grownups, not spoiled adolescents.
I am by no means a paragon of virtue but contrast my experiences with what I witnessed in the same drive-thru one morning.
There were two people in the car ahead of me, and I could hear the raised voice of one of the customers, even though I couldn’t tell exactly hear what was being said. She refused to move over to the side to get her order fixed, instead preferring to block four or five more folks while she harangued the young lady behind the window. Hands were being waved from the car and the few words I could understand were not printable in a family publication.
The upset customer waited until another worker personally brought her order outside, then stayed put and refused to return the original, unacceptable order that had caused the uproar. The angry customer left in a huff and squalling tires.
I saw a post on social media the other night where the world was ending because someone’s French fries were soggy, cold, or otherwise unacceptable. I’m not usually a fan of even good storebought French fries, but that’s neither here nor there.
Rather than deal with the problem in person, the disgruntled customer opted for an online attack against the restaurant – a locally-owned place, by the way, not one of those plastic and neon palaces of pestilence – and encouraged others to boycott the eatery. Never a word about telephoning, much lessactually speaking to someone. I happen to know the manager of this particular place and I know for a fact he would have done everything in his power to make things right – had he been told there was a problem, rather than finding it out when people shared the post on social media.
In addition to this world becoming entirely too feral for its own good, it seems a lot of society has lost the courage to actually speak to another individual. It’s much easier to post a scathing (especially anonymous) online review or make a nasty post where so many are waiting for the opportunity to be sycophants in the name of clicks.
It’s a good thing social media didn’t exist years ago when I bought an offbrand axe whose handle snapped just a few minutes into the woodpile. The handle actually broke in such a way that I took a piece to my forehead. Full of righteous indignation (and sporting a black eye) I returned to the store, which admittedly was kind of sketchy, and demanded a refund. The owner refused, as was his right. We discussed it further, and he held fast. Disgusted, I walked out.
The Old Man heard me ranting and raving about the broken axe handle, and gently pointed out that the store in question wasn’t entirely at fault. True, there was a flaw in the handle but I had known I was buying something cheap. Plus that new axe wasn’t ideal for the job in question.
He also suggested that if the subject ever came up in the company of others, I should let folks know about my experience but be fair about it. If enough people had poor customer service and shoddy axe handles, then the fellow would eventually go out of business or improve. Just let the free market make the decision.
He also suggested that I instead buy a new handle from another, more reputable store, and use the axe I already had. It was a half-century old Council, by the way. It’s now a three-quarter-century old Council, and I still use it, but that’s a column for another day.
As usual, he was right.
Everybody has an occasional bad day; every business occasionally hires the wrong employee; some more than others. I have been both the hirer and the wrong one hired. It seems to be a bigger problem nowadays, since so many folks don’t want to work.
And there are some businesses whose survival makes one wonder if they’re actually laundering money for the Sinaloa Cartel, since the service, product and atmosphere are so awful there’s no way an honest retailer could keep the doors open.
I frequently get called out on social media or (rarely) on the telephone when folks have a complaint about my writing. The callers get a polite conversation, even when they aren’t polite. The social media attacks, I generally ignore. I consider them on the same level as the bully who makes sure he stays across the street under his mommy’s skirts, so he can play the victim. In the end, mud dries and can be scraped off, as a close friend always says, and folks can make up their own minds about who was telling the truth.
There was a time when differences were handled with duels, or at least fistfights. Then came strongly-worded letters, both public and private. While I do not condone violence, I’ll admit I am not opposed to any of those options in the right circumstance.
Then came social media.
I prefer to have a discussion if there’s a problem, whether it’s my work or someone else’s product. I want to know if I or someone under my direction made a mistake, or was perceived to have done so. But maybe that’s just me.
People were already hiding behind keyboards and screens before COVID; the pandemic just made cowardice more socially acceptable, even stylish.
It’s a sad state of affairs when someone is willing to destroy someone else’s life over some soggy French fires; almost makes one wonder if they got bonked in the head with a broken axe handle when they were kids.
