Customer Dis-Service

Because I’m a stereotypically-undervalued arts and culture worker, I don’t have a whole lot of disposable cash to spread around, all carelessly and willy-nilly and stuff. So when I do spend my hard-earned pay, I like to do it at companies that I feel have somehow earned, or at least in some way deserve, my business.

Unfortunately, I’ve noticed a rather unfortunate pattern when I’ve been out shopping around Halifax lately: it appears that many of the bigger businesses have entirely given up on training their staff.

I don’t have any statistics to back up my conclusion, because statistics, as you know, are now considered suspect by our federal government. So, in the new Canadian spirit of going forward without all the information, I will do just that, and draw my own biased conclusions.

First of all, it appears that there is no one out there explaining to the people behind the cash registers that “No problem” is not an equivalent response to “You’re welcome.”

Listen to me: it’s not the same at all. “No problem” implies that there might, in fact, have been a problem.

I’m no marketing expert, but I think that if customers are NOT walking out of your store mumbling, “You wanna bet it’s no problem, Bucko,” then that is a win/win scenario. This is just one example of how a little simple training in terms of customer relations and expectations could possibly go a long way.

Here’s another example of a training void: product knowledge. I recently tried to purchase some house paint, at a chain store whose name combines both our nationality and the round rubber things that support our cars. “Point me to your exterior latex white paint,” I said to the gentleman, who proceeded to point me to a can of primer.

“Perhaps you could direct me to someone who works in this department,” I suggested. “Oh, this is my department,” he assured me. “What about this?” he asked, indicating a can of deck-surfacing substance.

I did not purchase any paint on that occasion.

A few days later, a fan, which had been running pretty much 24/7 at my home for the past month, died. Desperate, I phoned all over town to find a new one, without much luck. Then, I checked a nearby department store’s website, and was excited when I saw that the location closest to me had the fan I needed, in stock.

“Nope,” said the young man, when I called to ask if he could hold it for me. “We ain’t got any fans at all.” He spoke in that dead-sounding, “I-could-not-care-less-about-your-problem” tone of voice. After a bit of back-and forth, in which he blamed me for having the wrong information, I gave up. “Well, thanks for all your help, and thanks for being so polite,” I said.

I believe the sarcasm may have been lost on him.

Perhaps if these things hadn’t all happened within a few days of one another, it wouldn’t have been a big deal, but because it’s becoming a regular occurrence, it’s beginning to feel like part of a bigger problem.

So, how about this? If companies don’t want to invest in their employees, then may I suggest that they just employ robots or set up kiosks or something?

At least a blank stare and a monotone reply from a machine wouldn’t feel quite as ungrateful for my patronage.