It's so easy to fix a snake

 No, Mungo! Never kill a customer! -from Monty Python's Dirty Fork sketch

Those are certainly words to live by. I have never come close to killing a customer. At least, so far as the police know. But I have snapped at a couple of them.

Several years ago during a period when we were extremely busy and running about one week to ten days behind in repairs (not unlike now quite honestly) a guy walked into the old barn. He had a machine which wasn't running and wanted me to take a look at it. I said I would, but that if it required anything serious he'd have to leave it and I'd get to it as soon as I could.

I followed him out to his van and he produced a little General Sewerooter Junior which had wires hanging out of the motor in a terrible jumble. A real bird's nest, me Pops used to say. It would have taken an hour simply to sort everything out, to get all the wiring back in place so that I might then start diagnosing the real problem. On top of that, his cable was tangled inside the drum. I shook my head and said to the man, "You're going to have to leave that with me."

He began, "Well all you have to do is..."

I cut him off right there. "Then you do it," I replied, admittedly rather harshly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Then you do it," I repeated. "If it's all that simple, why are you bringing it to me? Why don't you have it done already?"

"You don't have to get that way, man," he protested.

In me best Grandpa Joe voice I half yelled back, "Yes! Yes I do! Everybody thinks their mess is so easy to fix after they messed it up worse and then expect a miracle from me! I'm not putting you in front of anybody else for this!"

The man left. I didn't kill him, but I haven't seen him since either.

Hold Thy Tongue Marty

As a general rule, it really is best to hold your tongue. But, hell, sometimes that can be hard.

I sent an order UPS to a customer. Okay, I sent my brother out with the package to UPS it to a customer, but potato, pa-tat-o. After he had left the old barn, and as they had prepaid, I sent an email explaining that the order was on its way and that I would be snail mailing a paid invoice later that day. That's a standard business practice, right?

The next day I received an email from said customer wondering why, as they received the parcel, there was not an invoice enclosed. They enquired, would I be sending one by the regular mail?

I might not have been quite so upset with the question except that they asked it in a reply to the original email informing them that a paid invoice was forthcoming in the regular mail. 

Bite. Thy. Tongue. Marty. 

I cannot tell you how badly I wanted to reply to the email by asking if they actually read their emails. I cannot tell you how seriously I considered a smarmy, snide response. Something along the lines of, 'What? You didn't get an invoice? I will overnight air one to you immediately!' or some such. But no, I calmly replied that one was already in the mail, and to let me know if they didn't get it soon. 

I'm easing my anger by writing this blog entry. But I'll bet you know the feelings I'm dealing with, eh?

No Real Help

I don't mind assisting people. I really don't. If you need help, I will aid you if I can. But holding your hand is a whole 'nuther story.

Awhile back, a customer called for advice. That's cool; perfectly fine. Indeed it's part of the job, and I readily accept it on that level. Shoot. Tell me how I can help.

He described the problem exactly; indeed his diagnosis was spot on. I told him what he needed and that I could sent it right out. He offered thanks, but explained that he had the part I described, knew its application and that it could be used to solve the issue he had (which, I remind you, he understood thoroughly). He simply wanted to make sure how to employ the tool before he tried it.

Oh-kay. You understood the issue. You had the part which you knew would address it, and fully comprehended how to employ it. But you called me to be even more certain. 

Why not? I have nothing else to do. Take five minutes of my time. Ask my advice when you are already 100% sure of the answer. Don't think twice about it.

Of course I did not express such sentiments to the man. That doesn't mean I can't think them.

Check It Out

From an article I read on AOL (so it must be true) Costco, WalMart and many other chain stores are rethinking their self checkout lines. They may be getting rid of them. Well, okay. Personally I like the process. I feel that it gets me out of the stores faster than traditional checkouts. But, whatever floats yer boat.

Many folks have complained that they don't like to use them because they don't work at the store. A-hem: you just spent an hour walking around the place to pick and choose the items you put in your cart, that is, self-serving, yet you're high and mighty about self serve at the register? I ain't impressed at the complaint. If you really mean what you say about not 'working' at the store then how about you move to Hooterville and have Sam Drucker collect your purchases from behind a counter, price them and bag them? Otherwise, you're just virtue signaling.

But here's what struck me about this 'rethinking' process. The stores in question are considering a return to human cashiers because, they say,  customers want it. Oh, and due to theft and/or loss because of wrongly checked foods and what not. 

A-ha. It ain't customer service concerns for them. It's about the profit margin.

I get that. As an essentially self employed man myself, you have to be in the black. You can stay home and go broke, me Pops used to say. No point working at it. Yet Big Box Stores are at the same time trying to sell (I love puns) the back to the past idea due to customer demand. People, at least some of them (curmudgeons such as I aside) like 'the human factor' and WalMart and friends are trying to appear empathetic.

I ain't impressed by that any more than the whining about self serve checkouts. Y'all just be honest about things, the both of you, and I may learn to respect you each just a tad more.

Not nearly enough info

An older gentleman came in the Shop the other day, wanting to know about a switch for his snake. When I asked what he had, he stooped over and with bowed arms demonstrated that his had a large drum. I apologetically said that that didn't really help me. I needed a make and model to get him the right switch. 

He went right back into the same motion, the same position, explaining, "It has a big drum, like this." 

"Sir, that simply doesn't help. Drums can be cage type, spun aluminum, or plastic. Maybe something else. And there's dozens of snakes with large drums." 

He was obviously dejected at that. "So I have to bring it in to you?" 

"Either that, or call me with a make and model. Even then I'd rather see it, because things can get changed over time. Maybe someone put a different motor on it. An older machine might need a different switch from a newer version." 

"Well, let me see if I can get someone to help me bring it to you." I genuinely felt bad for the old gent. But what he was asking was like needing a part for your car and describing the vehicle as having four tires. He simply wasn't giving me enough information to help

Yet I still feel bad for the guy.

Pride goeth

I related a tale of woe to yon reader yesterday, of an admittedly minor hassle I had to deal with. You might refresh your memory here if you like:

https://thesublimetotheridiculous.blogspot.com/2020/06/no-good-deed.html

Yet that does not tell the whole story. I rather wondered even at the time whether God was giving me a minor lesson in humility.

You see, when I decided to go ahead and assemble the customer's machines, I was quite proud of myself and my decision. 'Yeah Marty, you're the man, showing all this consideration for your customer' I was figuratively thinking to myself. 'You know what good customer care is'.

Then the hardware, the parts I needed to set up the second machine, weren't in the box so that I had to go grab them from my supplies. And I can't help think that perhaps the Almighty was sending Marty a message that maybe he shouldn't be quite so happy with himself over simply doing his job well.

I'm giggling at that thought, on no small account that I was a little too proud of me indeed.

No good deed

A customer had not one but two units shipped to him which were, unfortunately, defective. The base plates were not properly machined out on either one. Consequently, I picked them up to make corrections. So it goes; all things made by human hands are subject to issues. It's part of the job.

He had repacked the units into the shipping cartons so that I had to unpack them at the Shop. No big deal: it only takes an extra thirty seconds to remove them. I start with one, replacing the defective part. But rather than repack again I thought I'd just assemble the machines for the customer. It would save him time and be good customer service. And, why repack, right? I proceeded to completely assemble unit one.

That done, I unpacked unit two. I discovered that the hardware, the nuts and bolts and clips and what not which are necessary to put the thing together, were not there. Either they hadn't came from the factory or, more likely, the customer had inadvertently not included them in his repackaging of the machine.

What's a fellow to do? I wasn't about to disassemble the first one because I couldn't more easily assemble the second. I went to my own supplies for the various items and put unit two together. All the while giggling that no good deed goes unpunished.

First World problems, eh?

The confused customer conundrum

A customer called yesterday telling me he needed a reversing switch. I said come on down, I have them in stock. He came on down. But his reversing switch was not the problem.
My first clue, as I started to do the job, was the badly damaged cord which ran to the on/off switch which also had no on/off switch at the end. There were only exposed wires. "Where's your switch?" I naively asked.
"It's gone, Cosgriff."
Sighing heavily, I responded, "I see. Pray, where hath it gone? Towards what destination didst thou last spy it goeth?" Okay, I didn't say that. I said something like, what happened to it?
"It fell out of my hand when I was using it Sunday and hit the handle of the machine, breaking it and shorting my reverse switch."
Uh-huh. So that switch, a switch completely separate and distinct from the forward-reverse switch, broke, and that broke your reverse switch. Yes, Cosgriff.
I set to work opening the reverse switch box, thence finding my second clue. The clamp which secures the cord to the missing on/off switch was bent upwards; the cord itself ran through an open hole unsecured. "Nobody touched this?" I asked, knowing somebody touched it.
"Nope, Cosgriff."
"Because I would not have left this like that," I explained dryly. "Neither would my brother Phil. It would not have come from the factory like this. So we didn't do it."
Ignoring my unassailable logic he replied with a straight face, "Nobody touched it Cosgriff."
I took the cover from the box, removed the reverse switch, and took all the wires off of it. I wired the switch directly to the power cord so that the machine would start as soon as I plugged it in, if the reverse switch was okay. The machine ran. Both directions. "So I don't need a reverse switch, Cosgriff?" the customer asked, with a wide grin and the delight of a child at Christmas.
"Well, no," I kind of sort of chuckled. "But you need a cord for your on/off switch and an on/off switch. You're looking at 90 bucks installed."
"Aw, Cosgriff, you told me 40 bucks on the phone!" he protested.
Calmly yet pointedly I responded, "I told you 40 for a reverse switch installed. That wasn't the problem. You stood right here as I showed you that."
"So I need 90 dollars to fix it?" he queried. Yes, I answered, even though we had just established the fact. I fixed it, he paid me, he left.
I guess my question is, was I the idiot there?

The duck's back theorem of life

There are a few things he said which I try to live by. I was reminded of one such thing a few days back.

I was quoting a repair to customer A as customer B walked in. Customer A feigned a heart attack when I told him the price. He then turned to B and said that I was killing him. I jokingly told B that he may as well leave, that I wouldn't need his business after I was through extorting customer A.

Anyways, A says he'll think about it and leaves and I began to deal with B. To my delight, B being familiar with what A wanted, he first remarked, "I don't know what his problem is. That was a very good price you gave him." I said thanks. It's always nice to hear that you're actually an honest businessman. He continued, "How do you put up with that?". referring to customer's A's gyrations.

"Water off a duck's back, my Pops used to say," I told him. You can't let obnoxious stuff like that bother you. Let it seep away.

I try to remember that, because customers, hell, people in general, can be hard to deal with. Myself included, quite frankly. You just have to strive not to let it bother you. That whole incident was over in about 40 seconds. Why should it bug me? Okay, arguably I am letting it bother me right now, but to a purpose. I'm using the incident as an illustration. Don't let those things trouble you. Let them flow away like water off a duck's back.

I don't think it a bad way to conduct yourself at all. And by the way, A came back the next day and paid my price with no more issues. I like to think he realized he was being treated fairly after all.

The Harvard Business School is wrong

You know, people are stupid. Really, profoundly stupid. I'm learning that more and more with each passing day.

To be sure, there has been ample evidence of it the last thirty years of my life. What does, yet should not astound me, is how I can still be amazed when it happens.

The latest examples come from my sales job. In directing a potential new customer to my store, I cautioned him not to go beyond Warren Avenue here in Detroit; he would have gone too far if he had. An hour later I get a call from the guy's cell. He was more than a mile beyond our place of business. "I saw Warren and never saw you so I kept on going," he explained to me. You saw the street which I told you was too far and KEPT GOING? It never occurred to you to circle around?

My other phone started ringing, so I hung up on him. I employed Red Foreman's favorite phrase as I did.

Another fella called to asked if he could have his snake (slang for the drain cleaning equipment we sell) repaired by us. "Probably, but tell me what you have so that I can tell you if I have access to the parts you might need," I asked.

"A snake," he responds.

"Okay," I said, trying to be patient, "But what type of machine exactly?"

"Uhh, the kind that opens sewers."

I barked, "I need a make and model number."

"Uhhhhhh, y'all worked on it 'bout five years ago..." he began.

Click.

Dang. I hung up on my only customer from 2011. That was such a good year too.

I tell you, the Harvard Business School is dead wrong. The customer isn't always right.

Marty beats parking technology

Technology is supposed to help, and generally it does. But while it did inadvertently help me this past Saturday morning, it did its boss no favors.

I spent most of last week at a trade show and was trying to get out of the parking structure at my hotel a little before 6 on Saturday morning. There was no attendant, but I had the pasteboard ticket a machine had issued to me on Wednesday when I parked. The rate was $22 per day so I had $66 ready, and there was a self pay mechanism at the exit. So I slid the ticket into the machine. It's almost immediately spit back out at me, like when a Coke machine won't take your single, and a shrill mechanical voice says, "This card is unreadable."

Heck, what do I do? I check to see that there are no creases or blemishes on the card and try it again. "This card is unreadable", I am then again told. Shoot, what to do now?

I see a button on the touch screen which instructs me to push for help. So I push it; several minutes pass, but no response. I push it once more. Another several minutes, and still no one responds to me.

I really wanted to get going. It was the last day of the show and I wanted to park as close as possible to the convention center so I could leave as quickly as possible when it ended. But after a third attempt at hailing some actual human being to come help me I was ready to bust through the gate.

Then I saw a button which said, lost ticket. It'll probably cost me an arm and a leg I thought, but figured I could fight that battle later. I simply wanted to leave. So I press it.

After a series of gentle humming and hawing the screen says: Total $33 dollars. So I take two twenties and feed them into the bill slot; the machine spews seven bucks back at me and the gate opens. I'm on my merry way, finally. But my question is, do I contact the garage company to tell them their own technology and lack of customer service cost them thirty three dollars, or just figure I'm up on them and it's their own damn fault?

Yep, I'm leaning towards the latter. What would you do?