In mid-April, a long box weighing about 80 pounds showed up on the front porch of the house I rent. An exterior tag announced that the box contained a four-door media center. There was no address and no name other than “Richard” for delivery. Thinking the console belonged to me, my 81-year-old neighbor – who walks with a cane – somehow managed to drag the box from the porch into the tiny vestibule leading to our apartments.

After a couple of days, I asked the guys in the apartment at the back of the house whether the console belonged to them, but no luck. After another few days – I was sure that whoever had delivered the package would return for it – I wiggled the box around and found a small Walmart label. A quick look online revealed that Walmart sold the console for $177.

And thus began my unpleasant experience with American customer service.

Try, Try Again

Over the next 10 days, I made four calls to the local Walmart. The first two failed because their phone system kept routing me to phones that rang without being answered. On the third call, an operator put me through to an unidentified department with the assurance that “someone” would speak with me. After more than 40 rings – this time I counted – “someone” hung up on me.

On the fourth call, I asked the operator if I could please just leave my phone number and have someone call me. She told me that her desk didn’t handle food deliveries. When I explained for the second time that I was calling about a television console, she said that her job description didn’t permit her to take my phone number and pass it on to management.

That’s when I’d had enough. “I’ve tried to return this box to your store,” I said. “I’m reasonably sure it’s yours. If you won’t take my number and have someone call me, I’m keeping the console.”

“Fine,” she said, then hung up.

And there it ended. Despite my flippant threat, I took her at her word and gave the console, still in its box, to a nice young couple for a home they’re remodeling.

I include these tedious details as many readers have doubtless run into similar problems when dealing with a bank, a hospital, or a phone company.

The government is by far the worst in failed customer service. “The Washington Stand” reports that Open the Books, an independent government watchdog, has found that “the average response time for all federal departments and agencies for complex requests was 267 days.” Some agencies, like the Transportation Security Administration, reply to a request or question within a day or two, while others take more than two years to respond.

One assumes these are written requests for information. Trying to speak to a bureaucrat by phone takes less time, but can easily evolve into a quest worthy of a medieval knight’s tale. For half an hour or more, you’re put on hold with some bad music in the background with recorded reminders to: “Please hold. Someone will be with you soon.” And when you finally reach a being whose temperature is 98.6, their fumbled attempts at the English language leave you clueless and baffled. We shouldn’t fault them, but rather those who, for whatever reason, hired them in the first place.

In-Person Customer Service Has Gone Downhill

Face-to-face encounters all too frequently produce the same dismal results. The sullen grocery store cashier, the grump behind the counter at the DMV, the supercilious county clerk who clearly despises her job and you along with it: that’s a sampling of what we face when customer service bottoms out.

Redeeming this gang of grinches and grouches are their counterparts who offer a cheery hello to customers, ask after their health, and even smile. These employees are the magi of the customer service crew, for they recognize that bringing a little joy to others brings joy to them as well, making the day a pleasure rather than a bed of pain.

There’s little we can do to cheer up the sourballs, but we can, if we keep the right attitude, have some fun with them. It helps if you psych up and steel yourself for the moment you must deal with some down-in-the-mouth clerk or grim and mute cashier, then give that person a big smile and a jaunty, “Hello! How are you? What a great day, eh!” This last comment works especially well if it’s pouring rain outside. Compliment them on their appearance, if appropriate, and be sure to say, “Have a great day!” as you leave.

Will you change the personalities of these folks? Nah. But you can have some fun, and you’ll return home feeling as if you’ve stood up to that Dark Creature of Mordor who just bagged your bread with the canned goods.

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This article was made possible by The Fred & Rheta Skelton Center for Cultural Renewal. 

Image credit: Flickr-Walmart, CC BY 2.0