Well the last post certainly got some attention. In fact, it was even read by some of the fine folks at Comcast. I was at Best Buy on Sunday looking for one of those fancy astronaut remotes that control everything in your house, and guess who was setting up a kiosk to pimp out their latest ripoff?

They all had their Comcast shirts on, a festive frozen drink maker, a bunch of movie posters, and a pile of forms you can fill out if your life could use some added misery. I told them I would fill out their form on one condition – that they visit Salamitsunami.com and read what people are saying about them. I was very insistent, and one of the guys had it on his laptop screen as I walked away, leaving them with a fully filled-out application.

What did I put on the application? Well, back in February I had a check stolen. The company I work for sent me a check for about $700 and it just never showed up. After some digging it was discovered that the check had been stolen from the mail (presumably) and cashed right here in Atlanta. A little more digging on my part revealed that one Cosmas P. Magalle was the guy who stole it – forged my signature and everything.

Have the cops done anything? No, and they won’t, because Mr. Magalle does not have any money. Look at the stuff that really gets law enforcement moving; you will find lots of dollar signs in and around it. No resources to chase down this asshole even with a name and address, but somehow all the time in the world to ticket a law-abiding taxpayer with a broken tail light.

Georgia just started “click it or ticket” – a delightfully rhymey little campaign to get more money from people who have cars. No seat belt? Guess who gets a fine and has to pay more for insurance. This begs the question – ever seen a seat belt on a fucking school bus? You know, those big yellow vehicles hurtling down the highway full of our most precious little gifts from heaven? Seat belts? Anyone? No. Why? Because kids don’t have any money to pay a fine for not wearing one, that’s why. I’m pretty sure my check fraud case is about as high a priority for the cops as customer service is for Comcast.

Just to clear things up, I do not think cops are dicks. Some are, but the traffic cop has become more of a mobile tax unit than a champion of safety/protector of citizens.

I still haven’t gotten the money from my vendor (even though I sent them a notarized forgery affidavit and jumped through all requisite hoops – and no, I’m not going to sue them or make a big deal about it just yet, as I do not bite the hand that continues to feed me), but I did find out quite a bit about the guy who stole it, including his phone number and address.

I keep this information with me for occasions just like this. I confirmed that he does still live at the address I found and has the phone number I found, and he has had an interesting past few months. I do hope he has enjoyed it and that he spent the $700 on something good, because I’m pretty sure he has lost his job. He might also be NAMBLA’s newest member and have some white supremacist literature on its way to his house. It’ll look good when the Hoveround (r) sales rep shows up. Allegedly.

One day I will write an entry about getting even. Or as I like to call it, “Giving the karmawagon a little shove in the right direction”.

It is 3 am and I am watching an infomercial about a bracelet that uses “Magnetic and ionic energy to create natural frequencies that improve balance, strength, and flexibility”. First of all, happy birthday to my brother. Second, how is this legal? If I wanted to cut down a tree on my own property, I would have to pay thousands of dollars for soil studies and endangered species protection just so I could be told I couldn’t do it. But it’s okay for grifters to go on national television and tell outright lies? Really? Didn’t I mention in the last post that sometimes I just can’t blame the terrorists for hating us just a little? Not enough to kill us by the thousands, but if I had my house egged or a flaming bag of dog poo appeared on my porch, I might just shake my fist in the air and say “Youuu. You…rascals.” and chuckle to myself.

Oddly, I have yet another customer service story. However I will balance this one out with a heartwarming tale of the sort of thing that reminds me that there may be hope.

Last Friday I was helping my buddy move into his new apartment. You may remember “David” (those are air quotes) from the radio show and this entry. Well, update time – he has moved into an apartment with his dogs and seems about as happy as I have ever seen him. We left at 7 am to pick up a truck he had rented for the move. He called Penske and reserved it two days prior and was told to come pick it up at their facility on Marietta street, about 5 miles from his house.

When we got there, they were unable to find his truck. They shuffled papers around importantly and asked him a bunch of questions. He confirmed that he had called the number that makes the phone ring in the building in which we were standing, double checked the name, etc. Finally they located the reservation and said “Oh. Here it is. Your truck is in Forest Park.” Forest park is fifteen miles to the south and we have folks showing up at his house in 30 minutes, so things were complicating slightly.

This is where my ears rotated toward the problem and my brain started formulating a solution. “David” (who told me he is okay with everyone knowing that his real name is Christian) said, “Well, what else do you have? I don’t think I really need the 24 footer. Is there anything else available?”

See, this is an example of a customer trying to create his own service where none may exist. Here is some advice for Penske and every other retail company out there – even if every truck is gone and there is no way to make things right, take a second to just pretend you give a flying fuck about the person in front of you. Even if you genuinely want them to drop dead at that moment, just put on the appearance of having a shit to give. look at your computer monitor with intense concern, say something like “Let me check with Mr. Penske” and go back into your office and play with your balls while we think you are looking for every possible answer to the problem. Then come back out and say empathetically, “I called around and we really do not have anything available at all except the one in Forest Park. We only have one guy there or we’d have someone drive it here for you. I apologize.”

And if you want that customer to return someday with more money and possibly more customers, say something like “We’ll charge you the 18 foot rate for the 22 foot truck since you have to go into the fucked up breeding ground of laziness and poverty known as Forest Park to get your truck. Here. Borrow my gun.” or “Can I offer any boxes, packing blankets, or perhaps this helpful Mexican gentleman for your trouble?”

See, gestures like these cost you almost nothing. Lack of gestures like these cost you untold thousands in lost business because we will never return, never recommend your company, and one of the guys standing on the other side of the counter is a self-important blowhard who will put the whole story on the internet for thousands to read.

Instead, we heard “We don’t have anything. Everything is rented. When you get to Forest park, ask for Jim.” Don’t quote me on the name. Dunno if it was Jim or not. It was whomever answered the phone at 7:38 am on Friday, July 30.

It wasn’t my fight, but I was reading the pricing guide to see what we could use as leverage. Christian is not wealthy and neither am I. He was trying to rent a truck at the cost of $175 for the day plus $1 a mile. We just added $30 to the tag for an unnecessary drive to and from Forest Park.

When we got in the car, I said “This place sucks. How hard is it to get your shit together enough to have a truck 15 miles north of where it is with two days notice?” Christian was dialing the number, saying, “Now watch, since I’m late picking it up, these assholes probably rented it to someone else. If I ran this show, I’d have someone driving that bitch up here right now. That’d be a power move.”

“Well, it’s your call, but if I were you I’d see if they can waive the mileage fee for the extra 30 miles since it isn’t your fault.”

“Oh, I’m sure they’ll waive that, if they didn’t I’d be- Oh, Hello Jim? Yes, this is Christian. Just left the place on Marietta. I wanted to make sure you had the truck…Yeah. About 20 minutes probably…and hey, since I’m having to drive an extra 30 miles, can we take that mileage off the price? I’ll still pay what I would have paid if the truck was where it was supposed to be…”

And then I overheard something with the words “can’t do anything for you there.”

I was trying to keep my voice down and the car on the road as I came unglued. You know how you try to yell in a whisper like if you’re trying to execute a panty raid at the juvenile women’s detention center and your dumbass buddy is making a lot of noise in the maternity ward and you need to get his attention without waking the sleeping expectant mothers? That was me all scream whispering – “TELL THAT DANG BUTTHOLE TO JAM IT UP HIS WEINER. GOSH VVVV-MMMM. DARN JERKS THINK THEY’RE THE ONLY GAME IN TOWN. THEY CAN JUST..TAKE A HIKE.”

I’m sorry, but ranting without a good F-bomb just lacks the power required to convey true anger.

Christian and I are a pretty good team when it comes to solving problems. We have built things and repaired stuff together, and we both tend to think on our feet fairly well. He is also good-looking and single, ladies. After he hung up and I was free to say so, I recommended we invite them to have intercourse with themselves. However, we really didn’t have many options on short notice. Howeverever, there is more than one way to rape a cat.

I exited the highway in midtown. “Wrong way. We are nowhere near Forest Park, Captain Scott.” Christian politely remarked.

“I think I have an idea. Let’s check and see if The Home Depot has any trucks for rent. They’re open topped, but we’re only going three miles and it’s not going to rain today.”

“Spot on, Dusty. I’ll call the guy in Forest Park and tell him we’ll be a little longer.”
“Fuck the guy and fuck Forest Park. Make his stupid ass wait. Hopefully it costs them money.”
“True. After all the shit I have been through in the past few months, I am done being a goddamn doormat. Of course, if Home Depot or Lowe’s don’t have anything available we’re headed down there anyway.”
“I wouldn’t rent a towel from those assholes if I was covered in muskox urine and spiders. I’ll strap your shit to my back and carry it to the new place if I have to.”

I like overpromising when I feel self-righteous. Which is pretty much always.

So we get to Home Depot and they have three trucks that are more than capable of doing what we need. I’m not positive about the exact price, but we were able to rent 2 trucks for far less than the cost of one at Penske. Not only that, but the folks at Home Depot were actually helpful. 10 minutes later we were out the door, each in our own truck. Christian called the Penske place back to cancel his order, and to their credit and my amazement they do not have a policy to charge customers if they cancel an order. That would have spun me into a new universe of violence.

They did hilariously say “Well, Christian, hold on. Maybe we can work something out on that price.”

Too. Fucking. Late. Dick. Head. That window is closed. The opportunity has passed. So has the chance that I will ever rent from you or miss the chance to talk others out of renting from you.

It’s not that it was even such a massive insulting oversight or even would have been such a huge inconvenience. We were not yelled at, threatened or otherwise abused. It is quite simply that this minor issue was SO EASILY AVOIDED AND MADE BETTER. One sentence, even if it was a lie, may have ensured you got Christian’s money. An additional sentence and some way of really “making things right” would ensure at least two loyal customers for a very long time.

Home Depot now has those customers. I like Lowe’s too (because it is closer to my house), but Let’s get to the heartwarming part – When I returned one of the trucks, the guy asked me if I had filled it up. I had forgotten because we had only driven about nine miles and I didn’t think about it.

“Well, You should probably go top it off. If we do it it’s like spladammity dollars.”
“So what? It’s not my money. Have a good one.” *over the shoulder key-toss*

Kidding. I took it to the gas station and proceeded to put $40 worth of gas in it. This means either it wasn’t full when I picked it up or this is officially the least efficient vehicle on the planet.

My mind started spinning up. Surely I just wasted $30 and would have to spend so much time fighting this that it would eventually become not worth my time and I’d be writing yet another angry blog…

Not so.

When I returned the truck, I told the guy “Yeah, I know this is going to end in a gunfight, but I don’t think that truck was full when I picked it up. $40 seems like a lot for nine miles’ worth of gas.

Astoundingly, Matt (the most awesome human being in the universe at that moment) said. Oh, okay. We’ll refund some of that to the card. What do you think is fair?

I thought I was going to weep with joy. Home Depot has hired people who understand how to deal with problems. Not only that, but they are empowered to use their judgment to solve these problems instead of some bullshit “policy” that involves calling a manager and filling out forms in triplicate.

We soon arrived at a number based on the mileage and MPG of the truck, and he refunded it to the card.

“Matt, you have no idea what a great thing you just did.”
Matt looked at me like I had just asked him to recite Pi to 304 places.
“Seriously. I’m writing a letter to your manager. What’s his name?”
“Thanks, man. My manager is Rick and the store manager is John.”
“Yeah, write that down on the receipt so I can keep it straight.”
“No problem. Thanks again.”
“My pleasure. Have a great day.”

And I walked out to my car, thinking about the difference between a positive experience and a negative one. Negative experiences are far more intense than positive ones. That is why so many people spend so much time worrying about the one bad thing that happened while ignoring the dozen or so good things. However, positive feedback is a much better teacher than negative, and I decided a while back to try something different. I have written lots of letters and emails in the past few years praising the people who do the little things to improve the customer experience.

Amanda – the girl at the parking garage who smiled and said “have a nice day” when I paid my $4 instead of regarding me with the contempt of a scorned lover. I was never her lover. Just trying to illustrate the look I usually get from parking lot attendants.

Vermon – the Terminix guy who almost saw me naked and checked the termite bait and recommended a solution even though I didn’t pay for that service.

Marcy – the lady at the Dekalb County Tax Assessor’s office who actually took the time to find answers to my questions, and remembered me when I called back.

Bill – Manager at the Dept of Watershed who helped me get my water turned on without having to threaten anyone’s life

Oh, I’m not letting anyone get away with bad customer service. Trust me on that one. I’m just making sure I am as diligent with praise as I am with criticism. Much easier to be negative than positive, but sweet baby jesus, everybody, we are the consumers. The people with the money to spend. All we really ask is for an unremarkable experience. Anything above that should be praised if we ever expect things to get better.

Knocknocknock – “Sir? Sorry.”
I shat a tad as I was in full daydream when Matt knocked on my car window.
“I need the keys to the truck.”