When there isn't a line at Customer Service (HAH!), one of our duties is to sort through the buggies and buggies (and buggies and buggies and buggies) of returns and re-shops (things people leave around the store) and prepare them for transport back out to the respective departments.
Our Customer Service area has a counter with four registers, then a low wall (more of a ledge) with a shelf behind it that bins sit on top of and under. We can reach over the shelf to fill the bins for the returns we get in the "popular" departments (Shoes, clothes, Electronics, Toys, Domestics Infants), but we have to walk behind the wall - and thus out of sight of the customers - to dump stuff into Hardware, Sporting Goods, Garden, Auto, and things we don't take back as much of.
When a particular bin gets full, we dump it into an empty shopping cart and call for pickup. Theoretically, associates from the departments should be dropping off their re-shops (items customers leave in their area) and picking up their own returns every hour - but this is the House of Wal. They dump a buggy on us at the end of their shift and flee without taking anything.
Anyway. To make a long story longer .... I have a blessedly quiet half-second Saturday night (probably because of the torrential rainstorm that is overhead) and I'm loading up carts. I'm behind the wall loading up the Hardware buggy - FOUR toilet seats (who returns a toilet seat? or carries one around the store and decides they don't want it?). I try to listen for customers and peek every thirty seconds or so. It's not like I'm just walking away and going shopping.
I'm doing my best Mario and Luigi impression on these toilets, plus an assortment of other Hardware items and trying not to crush the light bulbs in the process. Then I hear a banging, like a hammer being literally taken to wood and a voice yelling "SOMEBODY BETTER GET OUT HERE!" Keep in mind I've been out of sight maybe 30 seconds tops - and I've been on camera the entire time.
I'm thinking "These people cannot be serious." I look around the corner and it is a pissed-off looking old man, who has picked up a defective alarm clock I've not had time to put away and is BANGING IT ON THE COUNTER in a bid to get my attention.
I decide to play this one for all it's worth. I've had it with the House of Wal and the entitlement issues suffered by the fools who shop there.
"Yes sir. Can we heeeeelp you sir? What do you need sir?" I snarked it out just like that. Like I'm some snobby British shopkeep. Or from "Are You Being Served?" And I give him a look like "Are you crazy?"
His reply? "You better hope you can." I don't better hope nothing. I can and will tear that broken alarm clock from your hands, brain you upside the head with it and then fix it and use it to be on time for your funeral. Where I will proceed to dance a jig, throw flowers and finally hold a seance to call up your spirit and shout "Neener-neener."
"Well what did you need sir?" Delivered in my best Customer Service faux politeness while looking down my nose and over my glasses (but I secretly hope for a team of ninja warrior trolls to come along and slice you, dice you and cook you with carrots, potatoes, onions and a dash of celery, garlic and a touch of thyme for stew) voice.
His reply? "We want some help in Housewares. We've been waiting for 15 minutes." Again with the royal We. All this entitlement I'm going to have to start talking in the third person just to keep up. Or maybe in the fourth person.
Me? "Sir. There may not be anyone in Housewares." Or maybe you just have bad B.O.
His reply? "Well, I want someone."
Let's break this down. I'm not saying the request for service is unreasonable. IT ISN'T. There should be someone there to help you. You are a customer and you are allegedly going to give us money for products (unlike a good number of our erstwhile "patrons). However, this is the Wal-Mart. You get what you pay for. Are you really paying for service? No. End of discussion.
Now, what you want and what you need are two entirely different things. You might want cheap plastic crap. What you need is to be chopped into small pieces, put into a big Rubbermaid tote and dumped into the Everglades to feed the alligators.
This man is so pissed of he managed to walk right by two managers. You know, the kind you can identify because they're have that "manager" look. And oh-yeah, they have walkie-talkies and big key rings and are carrying around clipboards and are standing around doing nothing.
Me? "Sir, do you see those two people right there? The African-American woman and Hispanic gentleman with radios? Those are the two managers on duty. You walked right by them. Either one of them would be very happy to help you."
His reply? "I want them to come talk to me." OK. Because walking eight feet is just going to break an ankle? I'll play that game though.
Me? Starts yelling. "JULIO! MANDY! JULIO! MANDY!" Waves arms, makes motion to come to Customer Service.
All the man wanted was a vacuum cleaner down off the top shelf. *sigh*
I am sure it will get returned in a week anyway. "It doesn't suck." No, but you sure as hell do.
Showing posts with label complaints. Show all posts
Showing posts with label complaints. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Friday, August 03, 2007
I'm not a complainer
I almost bit my tongue in half this past weekend trying not to blow up at a man. I'm not a fan of yuppies. We all know how I feel about howler monkeys, much less yuppies with howler monkeys. Yuppies with multiple howler monkeys need forced sterilization.
Anyway. I lost my joi de vivre after about an hour of the heat and the stupidity on Sunday. I couldn't make jokes about people returning babies or husbands. I just didn't care. There's only so much of white trash returning $145 dollars worth of stolen fishing line you can deal with per day.
So Yuppielicious rolls up with three kids. Two are standing in the shopping cart with a Ziploc bag of goldfish crackers. A trip to the Wal-Mart do not necessitate provisions. This is not the Oregon Trail! Before they're gone, there are enough goldfish and goldfish crumbs to start seventeen Zen water gardens and possibly feed a family of mice for a year.
Then there's the blonde and mouthy pre-adolescent - the proto-Paris - who actually turns out to be pretty cool.
Yuppielicous has some pool thing he wants to return. But before he even starts the return, he starts waving an empty jar around goes on a RANT about peanuts. I can't remember. I don't really care.
The rant was about how we don't have the specific type of unsalted peanuts he wants. How there is no shelf space for them but that the other Wal-Mart he goes to has them. Why doesn't this Wal-Mart have them anymore?
Do I look like I know? I can get someone for you. That's all I can do. See that man over there. Go talk to him. He's got a radio. He can get someone who might know something. Me, I just mash buttons. DID YOU NOT HEAR WHAT I JUST SAID? I really don't know why we don't have your precious peanuts. Seriously. You got to shut up. Eh. Wait. Let me get a word in. Nope. Not now. Maybe now. Sir. Sir. If you .. fine. Talk to the air. I'll sit here and nod. OK. That's all about peanuts? You can talk to Daniel over there when you're done.
He shuts up about the peanuts. Seems to accept the fact that there is nothing I can do. Maybe he just needed to vent. I can accept that.
Then, like a bad relationship, when the wife takes the cheating husband back, we move on into a whole 'nother realm of dysfunction.
ME: "Do you want to return that."
YUPPIELICIOUS: "Yeah."
ME: "What's wrong with it?"
YUPPIELICIOUS: "It didn't work."
ME: "What specifically is wrong with it? We need to be able to tell the manufacturer. Did the seals blow out, did it break, what?" It was a plastic, blow-up pool toy of some sort.
YUPPIELICIOUS: "Yeah. We tried to blow it up but it has a hole in it."
ME: Looks at receipt. Purchased May 15. Is now July 29. School starts in three weeks. Funny how it manages to get a mysterious hole after you've gotten a good ten weeks of use out of it.
YUPPIELICIOUS: "We never used it once. Everything we buy here breaks." Continues for a while. Their pool filter is malfunctioning. His daughter's bike is bad. He didn't like some strawberries he bought last week. His paper shredder makes funny noises. You're still shopping here .... you're still shopping here ....
ME: "But you're just returning it now? You bought it more than two months ago."
YUPPIELICIOUS: "Well we can still return it can't we?"
ME: picks up package, notices distinct smell of chlorine, processes return. "Do you want me to put it back on your debit card or cash?"
YUPPIELICIOUS: "Can you give me cash, we're going to the bowling alley later? Can you believe it, the bowling alley charges $4.75 per game. A man can't take his family out. That's just too much money." Continues in this vein for a while. I get an earful about the bowling alley, the high cost of living, the difficulty of finding family entertainment, etcetera.
YUPPIE'S BLONDE DAUGHTER: "Daddy, you said we weren't going to go bowling. You said we couldn't go." PWNED. By a seven-year-old.
YUPPIELICIOUS: "Well we might go later this week." Dude, seriously. Your parenting issues are not my problem. But if you have to lie to me about your kids in front of your kids, you have more issues than Newsweek. And then lie to your kids about the lies you just told me about your kids? That's just .... messed up. You should not have been allowed to spawn!
ME: "Uh. Here's your money. Sign this."
YUPPIELICIOUS: "OK."
ME: internally "Please Jesus. Just make this man leave. I am about to gouge out my eyeballs with a spork."
YUPPIELICIOUS: "I'm not a complainer, but I got to talk to someone about the peanuts."
ME: "But you're complaining right now." I swear, this slipped out before I could bite it back.
Fortunately for me, he was so in love with the sound of his own voice he didn't even notice I said anything.
ME: "Like I said, you can talk to Daniel right over there. See, that metal box? Go talk to him. He's the manager on duty."
YUPPIELICIOUS: "Him?"
ME: "Right there. Black guy. Blue shirt. Dark brown pants. Holding the radio."
YUPPIELICIOUS: "OK."
ME: Make it leave, make it leave, make it leave, make it leave, make it leave, make it leave, make it leave, make it leave, make it leave ....
I officially had craptastic karma all this weekend.
Anyway. I lost my joi de vivre after about an hour of the heat and the stupidity on Sunday. I couldn't make jokes about people returning babies or husbands. I just didn't care. There's only so much of white trash returning $145 dollars worth of stolen fishing line you can deal with per day.
So Yuppielicious rolls up with three kids. Two are standing in the shopping cart with a Ziploc bag of goldfish crackers. A trip to the Wal-Mart do not necessitate provisions. This is not the Oregon Trail! Before they're gone, there are enough goldfish and goldfish crumbs to start seventeen Zen water gardens and possibly feed a family of mice for a year.
Then there's the blonde and mouthy pre-adolescent - the proto-Paris - who actually turns out to be pretty cool.
Yuppielicous has some pool thing he wants to return. But before he even starts the return, he starts waving an empty jar around goes on a RANT about peanuts. I can't remember. I don't really care.
The rant was about how we don't have the specific type of unsalted peanuts he wants. How there is no shelf space for them but that the other Wal-Mart he goes to has them. Why doesn't this Wal-Mart have them anymore?
Do I look like I know? I can get someone for you. That's all I can do. See that man over there. Go talk to him. He's got a radio. He can get someone who might know something. Me, I just mash buttons. DID YOU NOT HEAR WHAT I JUST SAID? I really don't know why we don't have your precious peanuts. Seriously. You got to shut up. Eh. Wait. Let me get a word in. Nope. Not now. Maybe now. Sir. Sir. If you .. fine. Talk to the air. I'll sit here and nod. OK. That's all about peanuts? You can talk to Daniel over there when you're done.
He shuts up about the peanuts. Seems to accept the fact that there is nothing I can do. Maybe he just needed to vent. I can accept that.
Then, like a bad relationship, when the wife takes the cheating husband back, we move on into a whole 'nother realm of dysfunction.
ME: "Do you want to return that."
YUPPIELICIOUS: "Yeah."
ME: "What's wrong with it?"
YUPPIELICIOUS: "It didn't work."
ME: "What specifically is wrong with it? We need to be able to tell the manufacturer. Did the seals blow out, did it break, what?" It was a plastic, blow-up pool toy of some sort.
YUPPIELICIOUS: "Yeah. We tried to blow it up but it has a hole in it."
ME: Looks at receipt. Purchased May 15. Is now July 29. School starts in three weeks. Funny how it manages to get a mysterious hole after you've gotten a good ten weeks of use out of it.
YUPPIELICIOUS: "We never used it once. Everything we buy here breaks." Continues for a while. Their pool filter is malfunctioning. His daughter's bike is bad. He didn't like some strawberries he bought last week. His paper shredder makes funny noises. You're still shopping here .... you're still shopping here ....
ME: "But you're just returning it now? You bought it more than two months ago."
YUPPIELICIOUS: "Well we can still return it can't we?"
ME: picks up package, notices distinct smell of chlorine, processes return. "Do you want me to put it back on your debit card or cash?"
YUPPIELICIOUS: "Can you give me cash, we're going to the bowling alley later? Can you believe it, the bowling alley charges $4.75 per game. A man can't take his family out. That's just too much money." Continues in this vein for a while. I get an earful about the bowling alley, the high cost of living, the difficulty of finding family entertainment, etcetera.
YUPPIE'S BLONDE DAUGHTER: "Daddy, you said we weren't going to go bowling. You said we couldn't go." PWNED. By a seven-year-old.
YUPPIELICIOUS: "Well we might go later this week." Dude, seriously. Your parenting issues are not my problem. But if you have to lie to me about your kids in front of your kids, you have more issues than Newsweek. And then lie to your kids about the lies you just told me about your kids? That's just .... messed up. You should not have been allowed to spawn!
ME: "Uh. Here's your money. Sign this."
YUPPIELICIOUS: "OK."
ME: internally "Please Jesus. Just make this man leave. I am about to gouge out my eyeballs with a spork."
YUPPIELICIOUS: "I'm not a complainer, but I got to talk to someone about the peanuts."
ME: "But you're complaining right now." I swear, this slipped out before I could bite it back.
Fortunately for me, he was so in love with the sound of his own voice he didn't even notice I said anything.
ME: "Like I said, you can talk to Daniel right over there. See, that metal box? Go talk to him. He's the manager on duty."
YUPPIELICIOUS: "Him?"
ME: "Right there. Black guy. Blue shirt. Dark brown pants. Holding the radio."
YUPPIELICIOUS: "OK."
ME: Make it leave, make it leave, make it leave, make it leave, make it leave, make it leave, make it leave, make it leave, make it leave ....
I officially had craptastic karma all this weekend.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
The juice is on the loose
Look. I know you were yakking away on your cell phone while the cashier was scanning your groceries. I know you were glad the lines weren't really long, and that you managed to get reception inside the store so you and your friend Belinda could talk about "dat ho" that your brother is going out with. Seriously though, it is not our problem if you can't keep up with what goes into your cart.
This is how the system works. You, THE CUSTOMER, hereeafter referred to as YOU, push the metal cage thingies with wheels (buggies, carts, trolleys, shoplift-o-matics) up and down the aisles. You cast a gimlet eye over a selection of cheaply made merchandise produced in Chinese factories and tainted with botulism, melamine and a thousand other poisons. You put things you might possibly at some future point in the linear space time continuum intend to pay for in the metal cage devices with wheels. This process is know as SHOPPING.
After you've tired or bored (likely both), you push the metal cage thing up toward the front of the store and stand in a line with some other people with more metal cage things - all filled with useless plastic crap. Unless of course you're a scammer, then you just walk out past the greeter and pray you didn't pick up anything with a security tag.
You pile your selections on the piece of rubber which magically moves toward the cashier. Ohh. Lookee thar Myrtle! Rolling rubber. It's not magic. Just pissed-off Oompa-loompas chained to a treadmill. If you're at my store, there's probably a surly cashier barely speaking English that does her job of scan and bag - most likely badly and with an attitude - but what do you expect for $7.0o an hour from someone who has to stand on their feet for 8 hours a day and deal with whatever washed up on the beach of humanity?
If you're a decent human being who's intent on going to the good place after you croak from eating, using or wearing our footwear or merchandise, you might help the cashier bag. If you're intent on experiencing the Dante Alighieri version of the afterlife, you just stand there with your howler monkeys and watch or maybe talk on your cell phone and not even place the full bags into your cart.
Every move the girl makes is in full view of you and that black globe thing that hangs over her head. That camera is so sensitive it can read the names (and allegedly account numbers) on checks and the denominations on bills. Yeah. Wal-Mart don't play with the money. So she's not "adding things" to your total.
After said surly cashier fills up seventeen plastic sacks full of toxic off-gassing plastic crap and poisonous food for you, you sling some coupons, some wadded up cash you dug out of your Playtex CrossMyHeart Extra Underwire support bra and a nice dose of attitude across the checkstand, get your change and leave.
Then you decide to get off your phone, stop yakking to your friend and see what you actually paid for.
Cue the stupidity.
ME: "Can I help you ma'am?"
HER: "I didn't get this. I don't know what this is and I paid THREE WHOLE DOLLARS for something that is not in my buggy."
ME: "Can I see your receipt ma'am?"
HER: "I do not like this. I am not happy. I want to know EXACTLY what this item is and EXACTLY how it got onto my receipt because I am sure I do not have it." I'm not happy either. I have to listen to people like you all day who walk through life on a cloud and have ze-ro concept of personal responsibility.
ME: punches in numbers, reveals department 90, grocery. "It is a grocery item ma'am. What food did you buy?"
HER: "None. I didn't buy no food. I DEMAND AN EXPLANATION FOR THIS AND I WANT HER FIRED." Woman, I can see groceries. You just gonna straight up lie to me over three dollars? Do you need bus fare that bad?
ME: "OK. Let me come around and look at your buggy." Just leaning over the counter, I see food products, like crackers and some orange juice. She's obviously into making a scene.
ME: "Ma'am. Right here. It's the orange juice."
HER: "No it isn't."
ME: "Yes it is. Right here, this is the barcode for OJ. These same numbers are on the juice and on the receipt."
HER: "No. That is orange juice." And she points to something that is labeled ORG something on the receipt with a different UPC.
ME: I dig around and come up with some kind of Original Homestyle Chicken Soup or some mess like that. "No ma'am. That's soup. It's not the name. It's the barcode and the number."
HER: Holding the juice. "So this is the same as that?"
ME: "Yes."
HER: "Well, I guess I did get juice."
ME: thinking, "But obviously not any good sense."
This is how the system works. You, THE CUSTOMER, hereeafter referred to as YOU, push the metal cage thingies with wheels (buggies, carts, trolleys, shoplift-o-matics) up and down the aisles. You cast a gimlet eye over a selection of cheaply made merchandise produced in Chinese factories and tainted with botulism, melamine and a thousand other poisons. You put things you might possibly at some future point in the linear space time continuum intend to pay for in the metal cage devices with wheels. This process is know as SHOPPING.
After you've tired or bored (likely both), you push the metal cage thing up toward the front of the store and stand in a line with some other people with more metal cage things - all filled with useless plastic crap. Unless of course you're a scammer, then you just walk out past the greeter and pray you didn't pick up anything with a security tag.
You pile your selections on the piece of rubber which magically moves toward the cashier. Ohh. Lookee thar Myrtle! Rolling rubber. It's not magic. Just pissed-off Oompa-loompas chained to a treadmill. If you're at my store, there's probably a surly cashier barely speaking English that does her job of scan and bag - most likely badly and with an attitude - but what do you expect for $7.0o an hour from someone who has to stand on their feet for 8 hours a day and deal with whatever washed up on the beach of humanity?
If you're a decent human being who's intent on going to the good place after you croak from eating, using or wearing our footwear or merchandise, you might help the cashier bag. If you're intent on experiencing the Dante Alighieri version of the afterlife, you just stand there with your howler monkeys and watch or maybe talk on your cell phone and not even place the full bags into your cart.
Every move the girl makes is in full view of you and that black globe thing that hangs over her head. That camera is so sensitive it can read the names (and allegedly account numbers) on checks and the denominations on bills. Yeah. Wal-Mart don't play with the money. So she's not "adding things" to your total.
After said surly cashier fills up seventeen plastic sacks full of toxic off-gassing plastic crap and poisonous food for you, you sling some coupons, some wadded up cash you dug out of your Playtex CrossMyHeart Extra Underwire support bra and a nice dose of attitude across the checkstand, get your change and leave.
Then you decide to get off your phone, stop yakking to your friend and see what you actually paid for.
Cue the stupidity.
ME: "Can I help you ma'am?"
HER: "I didn't get this. I don't know what this is and I paid THREE WHOLE DOLLARS for something that is not in my buggy."
ME: "Can I see your receipt ma'am?"
HER: "I do not like this. I am not happy. I want to know EXACTLY what this item is and EXACTLY how it got onto my receipt because I am sure I do not have it." I'm not happy either. I have to listen to people like you all day who walk through life on a cloud and have ze-ro concept of personal responsibility.
ME: punches in numbers, reveals department 90, grocery. "It is a grocery item ma'am. What food did you buy?"
HER: "None. I didn't buy no food. I DEMAND AN EXPLANATION FOR THIS AND I WANT HER FIRED." Woman, I can see groceries. You just gonna straight up lie to me over three dollars? Do you need bus fare that bad?
ME: "OK. Let me come around and look at your buggy." Just leaning over the counter, I see food products, like crackers and some orange juice. She's obviously into making a scene.
ME: "Ma'am. Right here. It's the orange juice."
HER: "No it isn't."
ME: "Yes it is. Right here, this is the barcode for OJ. These same numbers are on the juice and on the receipt."
HER: "No. That is orange juice." And she points to something that is labeled ORG something on the receipt with a different UPC.
ME: I dig around and come up with some kind of Original Homestyle Chicken Soup or some mess like that. "No ma'am. That's soup. It's not the name. It's the barcode and the number."
HER: Holding the juice. "So this is the same as that?"
ME: "Yes."
HER: "Well, I guess I did get juice."
ME: thinking, "But obviously not any good sense."
Monday, July 30, 2007
Going out with the Tide
Today's episode of "Behind the Counter" will feature a bit player sure to be well-recognized by faithful watchers of BTC's adventures, the infamous "woman of a certain age." Despite calls to make this a recurring character, producers and directors prefer to pay day wages and rely on Central Casting to send over talented and supremely bitchy old-lady actresses to fill out the WOACA roles.
The casting director decided to dress today's fat and frumpy suburban grandmother in a fetching shade of lilac-fading-to-puce (striped blouse, solid pants and knit jumper) and douse her liberally in White Diamonds. Add a straw hat with a purple ribbon and some sensible Keds and the outfit is complete.
ROLL TAPE.
ME: "Can I help you ma'am?"
WOACA: "I certainly hope so! I want a manager." She waves a receipt around. See. You can already tell that there's no way this ends well.
ME: "OK. Just tell me what happened and we'll see if I can do something to help."
WOACA: "This girl on register whatever overcharged me a dollar and sixty-some cents for some Tide detergent." And this is a federal case? Lord, I hope you never get into something major.
ME: "Okay. I can take care of that. Can I please see your receipt?" And she won't let me have it. Control freak.
WOACA: "This always happens to me."
ME: "Ma'am. I'm sorry. I need to see your receipt to fix the price of the detergent."
WOACA: "The last three times I've come here something has rung up wrong." And yet, you come back and buy some more. Using that logic, if I slapped you upside the head every day at 3 p.m., you'd come back tomorrow for more?
ME: "Ma'am, you can watch as she scans the items. If you notice anything is the wrong price, the cashier can fix ANY item if you let them know before you cash out. You can also request a printout before you cash out and look over your total. You have to do it before you cash out though."
Because some people don't know they can get a printout and look over it. Look. EVERYONE involved would rather you fix it at the register than stand in another line at Customer Service. But it involves either paying attention as the girl scans or requesting a printout. Wal-Mart is stupid for not having the right prices. Customers are stupid for handing over money and not knowing exactly what the hell they're paying for.
WOACA: "Well the bags come off that little round thing so fast ...." Point of interest - she had five bags and the guilty bottle of Tide detergent in the cart. And if the girl moved slow you'd complain about that.
ME: "Just ask her to stop and give you a printout when she's through. She can correct the price of ANY item right there."
WOACA: "This happens all the time."
ME: "If the cashier won't correct the price, ask for a supervisor. You should not pay for something you don't think is the right price anyway."
WOACA: Crickets.
That finally shut her up. Geez. Take some responsibility. Wal-Mart is a gigantic sucking hole of stupidity and incompetence. The stores are staffed at the minimum possible level to keep product on the shelves and maintain customer throughput. You consistently reward that behaviour by returning to spend money even though they screw up day after day after day.
ME: "Ma'am, I can give you the detergent for the correct price. You'll also get three dollars back because of our pricing policy."
WOACA: More crickets. Dunno what the hell she was thinking, but it has obviously gotten through to her that she's getting nothing but detergent and a price adjustment.
ME: Finally manages to pry receipt from Miss Havisham's hands. Mash buttons. "Here's your refund."
WOACA: Tumbleweeds.
ME: "Can you sign this for me please."
WOACA: Gives me a death ray glare.
ME: "You have a nice day ma'am."
CUT.
The casting director decided to dress today's fat and frumpy suburban grandmother in a fetching shade of lilac-fading-to-puce (striped blouse, solid pants and knit jumper) and douse her liberally in White Diamonds. Add a straw hat with a purple ribbon and some sensible Keds and the outfit is complete.
ROLL TAPE.
ME: "Can I help you ma'am?"
WOACA: "I certainly hope so! I want a manager." She waves a receipt around. See. You can already tell that there's no way this ends well.
ME: "OK. Just tell me what happened and we'll see if I can do something to help."
WOACA: "This girl on register whatever overcharged me a dollar and sixty-some cents for some Tide detergent." And this is a federal case? Lord, I hope you never get into something major.
ME: "Okay. I can take care of that. Can I please see your receipt?" And she won't let me have it. Control freak.
WOACA: "This always happens to me."
ME: "Ma'am. I'm sorry. I need to see your receipt to fix the price of the detergent."
WOACA: "The last three times I've come here something has rung up wrong." And yet, you come back and buy some more. Using that logic, if I slapped you upside the head every day at 3 p.m., you'd come back tomorrow for more?
ME: "Ma'am, you can watch as she scans the items. If you notice anything is the wrong price, the cashier can fix ANY item if you let them know before you cash out. You can also request a printout before you cash out and look over your total. You have to do it before you cash out though."
Because some people don't know they can get a printout and look over it. Look. EVERYONE involved would rather you fix it at the register than stand in another line at Customer Service. But it involves either paying attention as the girl scans or requesting a printout. Wal-Mart is stupid for not having the right prices. Customers are stupid for handing over money and not knowing exactly what the hell they're paying for.
WOACA: "Well the bags come off that little round thing so fast ...." Point of interest - she had five bags and the guilty bottle of Tide detergent in the cart. And if the girl moved slow you'd complain about that.
ME: "Just ask her to stop and give you a printout when she's through. She can correct the price of ANY item right there."
WOACA: "This happens all the time."
ME: "If the cashier won't correct the price, ask for a supervisor. You should not pay for something you don't think is the right price anyway."
WOACA: Crickets.
That finally shut her up. Geez. Take some responsibility. Wal-Mart is a gigantic sucking hole of stupidity and incompetence. The stores are staffed at the minimum possible level to keep product on the shelves and maintain customer throughput. You consistently reward that behaviour by returning to spend money even though they screw up day after day after day.
ME: "Ma'am, I can give you the detergent for the correct price. You'll also get three dollars back because of our pricing policy."
WOACA: More crickets. Dunno what the hell she was thinking, but it has obviously gotten through to her that she's getting nothing but detergent and a price adjustment.
ME: Finally manages to pry receipt from Miss Havisham's hands. Mash buttons. "Here's your refund."
WOACA: Tumbleweeds.
ME: "Can you sign this for me please."
WOACA: Gives me a death ray glare.
ME: "You have a nice day ma'am."
CUT.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
How does your garden grow?
Like I've said before - if you want to make a statement - make a statement. Don't just complain to a manager, hit them in the pocketbook. I had a man do just that Saturday. Good for him - although it created a major suck for me.
So Nature Golf Daddy has one of those green carts from the Garden Center loaded down with plants. He's also wearing plaid pants and a newsboy cap. Maybe he's buying the plants for the clubhouse. I dunno. He's got ugly trousers and major attitude.
Turns out that eight of his 70-plus individual plants were mis-marked and rang up $0.29 cents over what they were supposed to be. He noticed and told the cashier. She was apparently either new or didn't speak English - and couldn't figure out how to do a price override. So she rang him out and told him to come up to Customer Service.
Great. So now I'm talking to him. Cue one very hacked of customer.
He's got every right to be mad. I'll never dispute that. Our girls make rocks look smart. He's telling me his story:
"I stood in line out there forever. I understand but it still took too long. And then I get charged the wrong price. What kind of store are you running here? And then she tells me I have to come stand in ANOTHER LINE? Is this any way to run a business?" Well, no. It isn't.
I apologize and ask to see his receipt. I can tell from her operator number that she's new. I apologize again and tell the customer that the cashier is new and that I can fix the price on the plants for him.
His response? "No. You know what? Return them all. I shouldn't have to deal with this." Inwardly I was cheering and wanted to say 'Good for you.'
Underneath THAT I was thinking - "Frell me. I gotta return 70-something flowers off this long-*** receipt."
I smile and put on my best customer-satisfaction face. "Certainly sir."
I motion to the cart of flowers and start to say "If you could just ..." What I'm trying to do is get him to roll the cart of flowers close enough so I can scan the barcodes to return them, instead of typing the UPC numbers in by hand off the receipt.
He interrupts me and starts ranting again. "Don't they train the people before they get them helping customers?" Really, no. I think of the "training" I had and shudder to think of my poor customers during the first few months I was there. Nearly everything I learned I had to learn on my own or in bits and pieces via trial and error.
"Yes sir. But I can tell my supervisor and they can give this person some more training. If you could let me see the cart of plants ..."
"I'm never coming here again." Good for you. Now shut up and wait, because I'm going to punish you like you're punishing me. Right now, you're about as welcome as LiLo at a Straight Edge meeting.
And I have to stand there and type about 37 12-digit UPC numbers in by hand because he won't shut up and listen to me. He finally clues in to what I'm doing and starts shifting from side to side, foot to foot and making impatient noises. I keep working.
I can tell he's about to blow again when I go "All done. That's going to go back on your American Express card. I'm so sorry that happened to you sir. Here's your receipt and your credit slip. Sign this one for me. I hope your morning gets better."
All this over a grand total of $2.32, plus tax.
I UNDERSTAND. It is the principal of the thing. And yes, you're doing EXACTLY what I said to do. If you don't like it, don't spend your money there. Just please don't be a tool to someone else in the process. Your negative energy is going somewhere.
So Nature Golf Daddy has one of those green carts from the Garden Center loaded down with plants. He's also wearing plaid pants and a newsboy cap. Maybe he's buying the plants for the clubhouse. I dunno. He's got ugly trousers and major attitude.
Turns out that eight of his 70-plus individual plants were mis-marked and rang up $0.29 cents over what they were supposed to be. He noticed and told the cashier. She was apparently either new or didn't speak English - and couldn't figure out how to do a price override. So she rang him out and told him to come up to Customer Service.
Great. So now I'm talking to him. Cue one very hacked of customer.
He's got every right to be mad. I'll never dispute that. Our girls make rocks look smart. He's telling me his story:
"I stood in line out there forever. I understand but it still took too long. And then I get charged the wrong price. What kind of store are you running here? And then she tells me I have to come stand in ANOTHER LINE? Is this any way to run a business?" Well, no. It isn't.
I apologize and ask to see his receipt. I can tell from her operator number that she's new. I apologize again and tell the customer that the cashier is new and that I can fix the price on the plants for him.
His response? "No. You know what? Return them all. I shouldn't have to deal with this." Inwardly I was cheering and wanted to say 'Good for you.'
Underneath THAT I was thinking - "Frell me. I gotta return 70-something flowers off this long-*** receipt."
I smile and put on my best customer-satisfaction face. "Certainly sir."
I motion to the cart of flowers and start to say "If you could just ..." What I'm trying to do is get him to roll the cart of flowers close enough so I can scan the barcodes to return them, instead of typing the UPC numbers in by hand off the receipt.
He interrupts me and starts ranting again. "Don't they train the people before they get them helping customers?" Really, no. I think of the "training" I had and shudder to think of my poor customers during the first few months I was there. Nearly everything I learned I had to learn on my own or in bits and pieces via trial and error.
"Yes sir. But I can tell my supervisor and they can give this person some more training. If you could let me see the cart of plants ..."
"I'm never coming here again." Good for you. Now shut up and wait, because I'm going to punish you like you're punishing me. Right now, you're about as welcome as LiLo at a Straight Edge meeting.
And I have to stand there and type about 37 12-digit UPC numbers in by hand because he won't shut up and listen to me. He finally clues in to what I'm doing and starts shifting from side to side, foot to foot and making impatient noises. I keep working.
I can tell he's about to blow again when I go "All done. That's going to go back on your American Express card. I'm so sorry that happened to you sir. Here's your receipt and your credit slip. Sign this one for me. I hope your morning gets better."
All this over a grand total of $2.32, plus tax.
I UNDERSTAND. It is the principal of the thing. And yes, you're doing EXACTLY what I said to do. If you don't like it, don't spend your money there. Just please don't be a tool to someone else in the process. Your negative energy is going somewhere.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
The deli is CLOSED
So part of Customer Service is dealing with hacked off customers. One of those rolled up Saturday night just after 9 p.m. Idiot white people. You're shopping at the Wal-Mart. What the hell do you expect? They don't care about you - they just want you to drop some cash and leave. It's like drugs - but with cheap Chinese crap.
Deli Man: in an angry tone "Can you tell me what time the Deli closes?"
Me: "I believe the deli closes at 9 p.m. every day sir."
Deli Man: working up a head of steam "Well WHAT TIME is it now?"
Me: checks screen "Uh, it is 9:02 p.m. sir."
Deli Man: really hacked off "Well why, when I went over there five minutes ago, the lights were off and they were cleaning?"
Me: "I'm sorry sir." I wasn't going to argue, because there was no winning with this guy.
The answer, although I didn't dare tell him: They schedule the last Deli person to leave at 9 p.m., so all the cleaning and washing up has to be done and that person has to clock out at 9. Not 9:15, not 9:05 - NINE. So they have to shut down before nine to get the cleaning done. Stupid, but true.
Deli Man: "They ought to close at nine and then clean. " Yeah, and then people like you would demand service even though the lights were dark.
Me: "I'm sorry sir."
Deli Man: "I wanted to buy something and they said everything was put away." Well, were they lying? If they are telling you the truth is it really an issue?
Me: "I'm sorry sir. Would you like to talk to someone?"
Deli Man: "This is just the worst excuse for a deli I've ever been to. There is always a problem when I come in. Always a wait and they never speak English." And yet YOU STILL COME BACK!
Me: "Would you like me to call someone?"
Deli Man: "Yeah. You do that. I'm going to tell them how I feel."
*Management to the Service Desk for customer assistance* Minutes tick by. Customers come and go. I try to avoid the man. His eyes follow me like a money-grubber looking for a nickel.
Deli Man: "This person you paged, where is she?"
Me: "I don't know sir. She is the only person on duty right now until the overnight management team gets in."
Deli Man: "I've got to go. I've got cold stuff."
Yeah. In spite of being "so upset," he still bought a buggy full of stuff. A hundred dollars easy. Vote with your wallet, not your words. Your yapper never hurt nobody.
Deli Man: "You're gonna tell her, right?"
Me: "Yes sir."
Deli Man: "Because I'm real pissed off. I got bad service." Technically, you didn't get any service.
Me: "I'm sorry about that sir."
Deli Man: "That manager should be here. That's another thing. They never listen to their customers. You tell her that too."
Me: "Of course sir."
Deli Man: "Yeah. Tell her your deli needs to get better or I might stop coming and spending money here."
Wal-Mart isn't going to change until you do. If you're really that upset, go somewhere else. I know I'm preaching to the choir, but this man would just not shut up and leave.
And yelling at me really isn't going to do much of anything except earn you a potential starring role on Behind the Counter.
Deli Man: in an angry tone "Can you tell me what time the Deli closes?"
Me: "I believe the deli closes at 9 p.m. every day sir."
Deli Man: working up a head of steam "Well WHAT TIME is it now?"
Me: checks screen "Uh, it is 9:02 p.m. sir."
Deli Man: really hacked off "Well why, when I went over there five minutes ago, the lights were off and they were cleaning?"
Me: "I'm sorry sir." I wasn't going to argue, because there was no winning with this guy.
The answer, although I didn't dare tell him: They schedule the last Deli person to leave at 9 p.m., so all the cleaning and washing up has to be done and that person has to clock out at 9. Not 9:15, not 9:05 - NINE. So they have to shut down before nine to get the cleaning done. Stupid, but true.
Deli Man: "They ought to close at nine and then clean. " Yeah, and then people like you would demand service even though the lights were dark.
Me: "I'm sorry sir."
Deli Man: "I wanted to buy something and they said everything was put away." Well, were they lying? If they are telling you the truth is it really an issue?
Me: "I'm sorry sir. Would you like to talk to someone?"
Deli Man: "This is just the worst excuse for a deli I've ever been to. There is always a problem when I come in. Always a wait and they never speak English." And yet YOU STILL COME BACK!
Me: "Would you like me to call someone?"
Deli Man: "Yeah. You do that. I'm going to tell them how I feel."
*Management to the Service Desk for customer assistance* Minutes tick by. Customers come and go. I try to avoid the man. His eyes follow me like a money-grubber looking for a nickel.
Deli Man: "This person you paged, where is she?"
Me: "I don't know sir. She is the only person on duty right now until the overnight management team gets in."
Deli Man: "I've got to go. I've got cold stuff."
Yeah. In spite of being "so upset," he still bought a buggy full of stuff. A hundred dollars easy. Vote with your wallet, not your words. Your yapper never hurt nobody.
Deli Man: "You're gonna tell her, right?"
Me: "Yes sir."
Deli Man: "Because I'm real pissed off. I got bad service." Technically, you didn't get any service.
Me: "I'm sorry about that sir."
Deli Man: "That manager should be here. That's another thing. They never listen to their customers. You tell her that too."
Me: "Of course sir."
Deli Man: "Yeah. Tell her your deli needs to get better or I might stop coming and spending money here."
Wal-Mart isn't going to change until you do. If you're really that upset, go somewhere else. I know I'm preaching to the choir, but this man would just not shut up and leave.
And yelling at me really isn't going to do much of anything except earn you a potential starring role on Behind the Counter.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
I don't know why I even came here
Cue Saturday afternoon, just about 4:30 p.m. The line at Customer Service is starting to back up because the afternoon recreational shoppers are coming in early to escape the heat. I'm returning a pile of children's clothes for a woman who bought stuff for her grandkids and it was all the wrong size.
In the midst of all this, a fat housewife type comes up and asks me "Can I get some help at the jewelry counter?" I tell her I can page for assistance, but that I can't leave Customer Service, especially because I have people waiting in line.
Her answer? "Well, they called 20 minutes ago and no one came. I want to buy something and no one will sell it to me. Is this how you operate your store?" My question is - "Why are you still here? Nothing we sell in jewelry is that nice or that special. Nothing.
"Ma'am, you can talk to the customer service supervisor on duty or I can call again for assistance."
And that opens up a tirade from her.
"I don't know why I even came here. My daughter told me this store was always dirty and disorganized. We always go to the other Wal-Mart and it is so much nicer and cleaner. Why is your store always dirty? Why can't I get help? That new Wal-Mart across town is a nice place to shop." Again, my question is - "Why are you here instead of there? Do you drive nails into your arm in your spare time? Is kidney dialysis your idea of a recreational sport?
To top it all off, she throws her hands up, looks at the line of people waiting on me to finish dealing with her so they can just return some more broken plastic crap and goes "I don't know why I even came here today."
I guess she expected something different from Wal-Mart, like maybe good service. I mean, really, this is the Wal-Mart. Don't get your hopes up.
But she sure as hell rolled by later with a packed buggy. I guess she got over it long enough to spend some money. Thus proving Wal-Mart's lowest common denominator marketing strategy of "Always Low Prices" to be a perfect draw.
I have said it before, and I will say it again - "If your Wal-Mart shopping experience is bad, don't come back. They're not going to change if you don't." But if you kick up a fuss, yell and scream for a manager and get a gift card - TO WAL-MART, MIND YOU - but still roll right out the dor with $200 worth of cheap plastic crap and Chinese poison in your food, who really won that argument?
Yeah, you sure "showed them who was boss," didn't you? You are gonna go brag about cursing out a Wal-mart manager at your church and your Dairy Queen and in your hair salon. All your friends are going to agree with you and say "Yes, girl, that store is a disgrace. I can't never get no help. Don't nobody speak no English."
Everybody down at Shenida's House of Style getting a weave or having their nails "did" is going to agree and you're all going to talk about how filthy the bathrooms are and how nasty the store is.
And on Saturday, you and your baby-daddy and your grandma and your auntie and your kids and your sister and your sister's kids and maybe your sister's lazy, good-for-nothing man are all going to pile into the car and come into Wal-Mart and spend some more money.
Who is winning? You? Or Wal-Mart?
In the midst of all this, a fat housewife type comes up and asks me "Can I get some help at the jewelry counter?" I tell her I can page for assistance, but that I can't leave Customer Service, especially because I have people waiting in line.
Her answer? "Well, they called 20 minutes ago and no one came. I want to buy something and no one will sell it to me. Is this how you operate your store?" My question is - "Why are you still here? Nothing we sell in jewelry is that nice or that special. Nothing.
"Ma'am, you can talk to the customer service supervisor on duty or I can call again for assistance."
And that opens up a tirade from her.
"I don't know why I even came here. My daughter told me this store was always dirty and disorganized. We always go to the other Wal-Mart and it is so much nicer and cleaner. Why is your store always dirty? Why can't I get help? That new Wal-Mart across town is a nice place to shop." Again, my question is - "Why are you here instead of there? Do you drive nails into your arm in your spare time? Is kidney dialysis your idea of a recreational sport?
To top it all off, she throws her hands up, looks at the line of people waiting on me to finish dealing with her so they can just return some more broken plastic crap and goes "I don't know why I even came here today."
I guess she expected something different from Wal-Mart, like maybe good service. I mean, really, this is the Wal-Mart. Don't get your hopes up.
But she sure as hell rolled by later with a packed buggy. I guess she got over it long enough to spend some money. Thus proving Wal-Mart's lowest common denominator marketing strategy of "Always Low Prices" to be a perfect draw.
I have said it before, and I will say it again - "If your Wal-Mart shopping experience is bad, don't come back. They're not going to change if you don't." But if you kick up a fuss, yell and scream for a manager and get a gift card - TO WAL-MART, MIND YOU - but still roll right out the dor with $200 worth of cheap plastic crap and Chinese poison in your food, who really won that argument?
Yeah, you sure "showed them who was boss," didn't you? You are gonna go brag about cursing out a Wal-mart manager at your church and your Dairy Queen and in your hair salon. All your friends are going to agree with you and say "Yes, girl, that store is a disgrace. I can't never get no help. Don't nobody speak no English."
Everybody down at Shenida's House of Style getting a weave or having their nails "did" is going to agree and you're all going to talk about how filthy the bathrooms are and how nasty the store is.
And on Saturday, you and your baby-daddy and your grandma and your auntie and your kids and your sister and your sister's kids and maybe your sister's lazy, good-for-nothing man are all going to pile into the car and come into Wal-Mart and spend some more money.
Who is winning? You? Or Wal-Mart?
Sunday, June 17, 2007
More stupid customers
Chalk this one up to customer stupidity. Or customer clueless. Whatever. What follows is a conversation I had with a woman Sunday afternoon.
I'm doing a return on a ugly Wal-Mart Metro 7 shirt for her and she doesn't have her receipt. I go to hand her back her drivers license and her shop card.
ME: "All right ma'am. You've got $15.38 on this blue card here. You can spend that at any Wal-Mart or at a Sam's Club."
CLUELESS COW: "Oh, I didn't know Sam's Club was hooked up with Wal-Mart."
ME: "Umm. Yeah. It was named after Sam Walton, the guy that started Wal-Mart."
CLUELESS: "I'll just have to start going there."
ME: **sigh**
Obviously, Wal-Mart's advertising/PR blitz has missed a customer or two somewhere. Do I get points for discovering this one?
I also got into dangerous territory arguing with a rather stupid woman from somewhere in Indiana who claimed that she forgot two bottles of wine at Register 15 last night. I asked her "You paid $18 for these and you just 'forgot' to pick them up?"
Her response? "We were tired. We just got off the plane. Why don't the cashiers do a better job? Back in Fort Wayne they are so nice." But the fact remains that you are the dingle who paid $20 for merchandise and walked out of the store without it. Stay in Fort Wayne then!
I told her "Ma'am, I'm not trying to be rude, but they make about $8 an hour and stand on their feet all day. Would you care?" She puzzles it out and shuts up.
I've said it before. If you want low prices, come to Wal-Mart. If you want good service, go anywhere else. Wal-Mart isn't going to change UNTIL YOU DO!
I'm doing a return on a ugly Wal-Mart Metro 7 shirt for her and she doesn't have her receipt. I go to hand her back her drivers license and her shop card.
ME: "All right ma'am. You've got $15.38 on this blue card here. You can spend that at any Wal-Mart or at a Sam's Club."
CLUELESS COW: "Oh, I didn't know Sam's Club was hooked up with Wal-Mart."
ME: "Umm. Yeah. It was named after Sam Walton, the guy that started Wal-Mart."
CLUELESS: "I'll just have to start going there."
ME: **sigh**
Obviously, Wal-Mart's advertising/PR blitz has missed a customer or two somewhere. Do I get points for discovering this one?
I also got into dangerous territory arguing with a rather stupid woman from somewhere in Indiana who claimed that she forgot two bottles of wine at Register 15 last night. I asked her "You paid $18 for these and you just 'forgot' to pick them up?"
Her response? "We were tired. We just got off the plane. Why don't the cashiers do a better job? Back in Fort Wayne they are so nice." But the fact remains that you are the dingle who paid $20 for merchandise and walked out of the store without it. Stay in Fort Wayne then!
I told her "Ma'am, I'm not trying to be rude, but they make about $8 an hour and stand on their feet all day. Would you care?" She puzzles it out and shuts up.
I've said it before. If you want low prices, come to Wal-Mart. If you want good service, go anywhere else. Wal-Mart isn't going to change UNTIL YOU DO!
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
I shop at Wal-Mart; I'm too dumb to read
If you buy a TWO YEAR SERVICE PLAN - you are not buying the right to return your product to a Wal-Mart store for two year. What part of "service plan" do you not understand? Do you really think Wal-Mart would guarantee that cheap Chinese (and Korean) junk for two years? It's a fancy name for warranty - broken into two words for the Wal-Mart shoppers of the world.
A two year SERVICE PLAN is a period during which Wal-Mart will repair your damaged item. If you read the brochure that came with the plan, called the 1-800 number or visited the Web site in between visits to howtogetonjerryspringer.com, you might know that.
When you come up to my counter with a trashed out digital camera that looks like you thew it at your son's head and claim "I don't know what happened?" but show me a receipt from February - I KNOW WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN.
1. "Ma'am, I'm sorry, but I can't return that camera for you."
2. You're going to completely lose your cool and act like the world owes you a favor.
3. I'm going to repeat what I just said, but this time, I'm going to pray for a hot stick to gouge out my eyeballs.
4. You're going to continue acting like female dog, just louder.
5. I'm going to take the Service Plan brochure from you and SHOW YOU EXACTLY where the 1-800 number is, where the Web site it, and where it tells you how to get service.
6. You're going to pull a classic move out of the irate customer book by slapping the counter, and say "You better get a damn manager over here right because I need a f****** camera tonight."
7. I'm going to go "Certainly, ma'am" in a tone of voice that would frost the rims of glasses and chill martinis in three ZIP codes. I walk over to the phone and page for Customer Assistance to the Service Desk. I also pray for an small, white-hot meteorite to burst through the ceiling and put you out of your misery.
8. You smirk at me, sure that you've gotten what you want.
9. A manager comes. You wave your hand at me when I begin to explain the situation.
10. The manager politely repeats everything I just said and asks why you purchased a service plan if you didn't intend to use it?
11. You answer "I thought that meant I could return it for two years."
12. "No, ma'am. That means it can be repaired or replaced with a refurbished model. But that doesn't mean you can return it to stores. If you had read the brochure, you'd know that."
13. The manager and the camera woman go back to the Photo Lab to discuss sending the camera out for repair. They don't come back and that $300 camera doesn't get returned.
A two year SERVICE PLAN is a period during which Wal-Mart will repair your damaged item. If you read the brochure that came with the plan, called the 1-800 number or visited the Web site in between visits to howtogetonjerryspringer.com, you might know that.
When you come up to my counter with a trashed out digital camera that looks like you thew it at your son's head and claim "I don't know what happened?" but show me a receipt from February - I KNOW WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN.
1. "Ma'am, I'm sorry, but I can't return that camera for you."
2. You're going to completely lose your cool and act like the world owes you a favor.
3. I'm going to repeat what I just said, but this time, I'm going to pray for a hot stick to gouge out my eyeballs.
4. You're going to continue acting like female dog, just louder.
5. I'm going to take the Service Plan brochure from you and SHOW YOU EXACTLY where the 1-800 number is, where the Web site it, and where it tells you how to get service.
6. You're going to pull a classic move out of the irate customer book by slapping the counter, and say "You better get a damn manager over here right because I need a f****** camera tonight."
7. I'm going to go "Certainly, ma'am" in a tone of voice that would frost the rims of glasses and chill martinis in three ZIP codes. I walk over to the phone and page for Customer Assistance to the Service Desk. I also pray for an small, white-hot meteorite to burst through the ceiling and put you out of your misery.
8. You smirk at me, sure that you've gotten what you want.
9. A manager comes. You wave your hand at me when I begin to explain the situation.
10. The manager politely repeats everything I just said and asks why you purchased a service plan if you didn't intend to use it?
11. You answer "I thought that meant I could return it for two years."
12. "No, ma'am. That means it can be repaired or replaced with a refurbished model. But that doesn't mean you can return it to stores. If you had read the brochure, you'd know that."
13. The manager and the camera woman go back to the Photo Lab to discuss sending the camera out for repair. They don't come back and that $300 camera doesn't get returned.
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