Geek Squad Rule #1: Run From Mom Jeans

Geek Squad Rule #1:  Run From Mom Jeans

Yesterday I went to Best Buy to shop for a computer.  Seeing as how my memory bank is full of irrelevant stuff like the “Gilligan’s Island” theme song, there has been no room in it to learn about new technology.  

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In order to compare computers in the store, I took pictures of them on my iPhone and typed their specs in the “Notes” section of the phone.  Hoping to attract a salesperson's attention, I looked around and spoke to myself out loud..

"When I write in 'Notes,' I wish I could put pictures with it."  

Rajeev, a nice salesman nearby, made the tragic mistake of looking me in the eye.  He was now going to have to engage me in a sales conversation. 

Poor Raj was a fairly new employee, and he had just been thrown under the bus by his “Team Member” pals who scattered at the sight of approaching mom jeans.  

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Rajeev addressed my dilemma bravely.

“Ma’am, this might help you,” he said with a voice of dread, like he was slowly sinking in quicksand.  He pointed to the little jumbled black and white square by the computer descriptions. 

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“Those squares remind me of that game ‘Tetris’ we used to play!” I said excitedly.  

Raj stared at me, silently cursing his Geek Squad agents for leaving him with someone who was alive when Elvis was.

Please note, he did not stare at me like this . . .

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But like this . . .

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“Do you have a QR Reader?” asked Raj, seriously expecting me to know what that was, despite my mom jeans.  “It’s an app.  Here, let me see your phone.”

He searched for a second and found it right next to my app “1000 Glorious Ways to Swear Using Emojis.”  

  
    

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I do not know how either of those apps got there.

He opened the app, “QR Reader” and took a photo of the Tetris-looking box.  Like magic, the picture and specs of the computer I was looking at popped on my screen.   My eyes widened and my mouth dropped open with delight just like when there was only one line on the pregnancy test I took last year.

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I grabbed the phone from Raj and tried it myself.  As Raj babbled on about stuff, I couldn’t get the camera to work.  Raj snapped at me.

You're MISSING it!"

“I am NOT missing your point!” I rebutted, having no clue as to what he was just  babbling.  

“No,” Raj said patiently as he touched my hand softly.  

“Whoa.  Why did he do that?  I know I’m looking nice in my jeans and I just got my roots done.  But Raj, it just couldn’t work.  I’m almost 40. (bwaaahhh ha haaa!)  How am I going to break this to you gently?”

“No, you’re MISSING,” said Raj, interrupting my thoughts.  “You’re aiming at the BAR CODE—not the um . . . Tetris-box.”

“Oh, my bad.”

Raj took a deep breath, implying he wished he was in the break room writing code, as usual, for The Cloud instead of dealing with me.

In a final, desperate attempt to get commission for this freaking sale, he spoke to me slowly on account of me being a moron and all.  

“First, hold the phone over the Tetris-box, NOT the bar code. 

Second, do NOT press the button to “TAKE” the picture!  QR Reader will AUTOMATICALLY take the picture when it's focused, for God’s sake!”

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Why didn’t he say that before?

Well . . . maybe he did.  It’s not my fault I couldn’t concentrate.  While he was babbling, something else was blaring in my mind.

"Here's the story of a lovely lady
who was bringing up three very lovely girls . . ."

3 No-brainer Rules for Customer Service

3 No-brainer Rules for Customer Service

It’s unusual to find a company with great customer service.  When I find one, I’m very loyal.

In the past, I might have gone all Tonya Harding on a few mechanics with poor customer skills.  But for the record, since I now have a writing outlet, it was NOT me who “opened up a can” on the bartender at Applebee’s last week because he wouldn’t extend happy hour by three minutes.  

Here are my Customer Service delights and nightmares:

When Pottery Barn Kids delivered my bedroom furniture, they left a single red rose on the dresser with a note that read,  “We really appreciate your business.”  It doesn’t take much to buy me.

My sprinkler guy is great.  He gives me home-made jam every Christmas, and he arrives speedy quick when my son breaks the sprinkler heads by running over them with the lawn tractor.

I’ve also rented a couple of limos on occasion.  If we exceeded the time limit by thirty minutes, the smart drivers didn’t charge us for it.  Limo companies don’t need billboards.  Just make the middle-aged moms happy because guess what?  We know thousands of friends whose kids will have proms next year.  For all that advertising, he should be paying ME.

Next we have the plankton in the scumbucket of Crabby Patty customer service.  

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Let’s talk technology—Big Gangnam Warehouse Style. The remote control to our home theater system needed reprogramming.  I’m not gonna name names, but the telephone customer service at “Crest Cry” had me searching my kitchen for the cameras from Punk’d.  

I was exasperated with their “Freak Squad,”  and I complained to the heads of Customer Service, Double Agents Lucy and Ethel, to no avail.  

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I fantasized about tying Secret Agent Cody to my barstool and demonstrating the merits of my Cutco collection.  If the knife cuts through pennies, it can handle a pocket protector and a few nerdy vital organs.  

Which leads me to my most recent customer service nightmare.  I’m planning a big party, and I hired a professional to print formal invitations.  (Note:  She charged me a $175 “design fee” which is NOT applied to the price of the order).  

The invitations resembled a Tiffany’s box, and my design included a small paper square glued on the front displaying, “Tiffany & Co.”  No big deal, right?  She delivered the invitations promptly.

The next week, I stuffed the envelopes and noticed half the glued-on squares were not straight—unless you were pretty drunk.  I emailed her a picture of an extremely crooked one and assumed she’d fix the bad ones.  Here’s the good part.  This is what she said:

“I’m sorry you were not happy with the invitations.  I took a lot of time and care putting the squares on.” (while I was high).  “They were NOT CROOKED WHEN I LEFT THEM WITH YOU.” (when I was also high).  

Wait.  Is she implying that I moved the squares?  

It’s one thing to screw up and admit you’re wrong.  I mean, stuff happens, and if you fix it, I’ll probably come back.  Seeing the picture, she couldn’t deny they were crooked.   So she blamed ME? 

Finally, there are three concrete rules of customer service: Treat customers the way you’d want to be treated.  A rose now and then would be nice.  And don’t rankle a writer.