On Ex-Presidents and Customer Service Basics

So, we really didn't do much over the weekend. We watched a few movies, both of which could have been better. I made a pot of chili on Saturday night---turned out wonderfully, thanks for asking---and on Sunday afternoon, the husband decided he had a boatload of paperwork to do (he'd been avoiding it) so I decided to go down to Barnes and Noble and see what I could do about blowing the ill gotten gains a/k/a gift cards I'd received for my birthday.

Of course, given my luck, this turned out to be a bad decision.

Now, undoubtedly you're wondering why this was a bad decision. You're thinking that perhaps with the upcoming Christmas shopping season the place was overloaded with holiday shoppers or that the sales staff wasn't being friendly enough, or that perhaps there had been some obnoxious fellow customer who'd ruined the experience for me. In reply, my devoted Cake Eater Readers, I would have to tell you that it was a combination of things that made this an unpleasant shopping experience.

Those and the fact that Jimmy Effin' Carter had decided to have a book signing in that particular Barnes and Noble.

Of all the book stores, in all the world, he had to walk into mine! The bastard!

You see, ever since we descended into Entrepreneurial Hell (TM), I don't get to go and spend money at the bookstore very often. And I miss that. Wandering around a bookstore for hours on end is one of my favorite things to do in this world. I love it. I get a thrill around books. You can walk me into a library and for a split second I'll stand there and let chills run up my spine. There is so much possibility when it comes to entering a book house. It doesn't matter whether it's a bookstore or a library or a friend's house where they have shelf after shelf loaded with books, all of these places signal possibilities---and people who like possibilities--- to me. You have no idea what you could find in those books. You have no idea how you could be enlightened by those books, or, when it comes to a home library, how you could be enlightened by the people who own those books. And that enlightenment creates a sort of awe and wonder in me.

In other words, I treat books the way some people treat the rainforest: there's probably a cure for cancer in there, somewhere, we just haven't stumbled upon it yet.

So, you'll perhaps understand that I enjoy shopping for books. The experience for me is akin to fine dining, or enjoying a particularly nice glass of single malt scotch with a cigar. There pleasure derived from in the act itself and there is also pleasure derived simply because you've done it right. It's one of the finer things in life for me. And, while it's horribly selfish of me to admit this, I just don't get the thrill of it all when budgetary constraints limit me. I know that sounds horrible, but would you go to a five-star restaurant if you were only able to pay for a breadstick? What's the point in that? So, when I'm broke I stay away from the bookstore and stick to the biblioteca. It's a system that works for me and that I'm accustomed to---except when I actually have money to spend, which is when I gear up for a trip to the bookstore, like I did yesterday. My birthday was two weeks ago. I've been holding on to the gift cards and have been waiting for a good moment to go and use them. I was savoring the anticipation of it all. And yesterday turned out to be that moment.

Until I actually got there...

...wherein I walked into the store and was accosted by two eager beaver Barnes and Noble employees, puffed up with their own self-importance, who asked, breathlessly, if I was there for President Carter's book signing. When I said, no, they sloughed me off like I was the dead skin on their loofah, and moved on, breathlessly excited, to the next person who'd walked through the door...who was, indeed, there for President Carter's book signing. As I stood there, taking off my gloves and hat, I, being the Gladys Cravitz that I am, listened to the schpiel. They were to go downstairs and someone would direct them to the end of the line. They were given a wristband the color of a yellow highlighter and were informed that there were no guarantees that President Carter would actually sign their books, it all depended on "how much he felt he up to doing." The very earnest lady on the receiving end of all this breathlessly relayed information, who looked like nothing so much as a Mrs. Potato Head in jersey knit and Clarks' clogs, nodded earnestly and waddled to the escalators, her copy of "Our Endangered Values: America's Moral Crisis," clutched tightly to her expanded universe-like bosom.

Have I mentioned this was at a little after two p.m.? Have I also mentioned that King Bubba the First wasn't expected until six p.m.? And that there were already forty some odd people in line by the time I got there?

Now, I'm not going to deny the moonbats a chance to see their bunny-rabbit fearing leader. I don't really care about that. What I do care about, however, is that the entire freakin' store was given over to this momentous occasion. To the exclusion of all else. The entire fiction section was littered with people who were lined up within the rows. If you tried to go and, God Help You, look for a book in that section you were shot nasty looks and, in one memorable exchange, accused of cutting in line. (Sha. As if!) Another section, upstairs, was entirely roped off as well. It looked to me as if they were preparing it for an extended queue but didn't want anyone in there, at all, until the line needed to be managed. As I passed that section, a book on one of the verboten shelves caught my eye. I wanted to look at it, but considering there were Cake Eater City cops and dogs from the Hennepin County Canine Unit posted nearby, I decided not to risk it. I asked a passing clerk if she would help me, and at which point said sales clerk had to forcibly restrain herself from rolling her eyes and said in an exasperated tone, "If you want something from there, why don't you come back tomorrow? We're a bit busy today," before storming off without extending an apology.

There is one rule of doing business that everyone should be aware of. And if you're not, you're probably bankrupt and you deserve to be so. Are you waiting with bated breath for me to tell you what this rule is, my devoted Cake Eater Readers? I'm sure you are, so I won't keep you in suspense any longer: NEVER MAKE IT DIFFICULT FOR CUSTOMERS TO GIVE YOU THEIR MONEY. While I would generally refer this rule when receiving slow service at a cash register---particularly with stores who only take certain kinds of credit cards, and who sneer at cash, etc.---the rule nonetheless can be boiled down to simply having merchandise you would like to sell. You do everything you can to facilitate sales, because, if you don't facilitate sales, ahem, you will be out of business.

Now, it may not be common knowledge, but book stores have events like these to drive traffic into their stores. These CRAZY managers are working under the utterly mad assumption that, hello!, the more people you have in the store, the greater the chances are you will sell stuff. Bring in a celebrity or two or maybe an ex-President of the United States of America and maybe, just maybe, you'll get an extra few hundred people to show up to purchase wares you just happen to sell, the lure of rubbing elbows with famous people a money-making charm like no other. So, while you'll sell more than a few copies of said famous person's book, you'll also sell a lot of magazines, newspapers, drinks and food from the in-store Starbucks, and especially important this time of year, Christmas presents---I'm sure you, my bright Cake Eater readers, can see that it would be very, very stupid to tell someone they should come back tomorrow instead of helping them today. When they're there, right there and then, with a gift card burning a hole in their pocket.

At that point, I took the one book I had in my hands, went to the cash register and checked out. I was asked if I had a discount card, and then when I said, no, I was asked if I wanted to purchase one. I said, no, again (and, honestly, people if you bought one of those you're, well, you're not a rocket scientist,are you? It's not really a discount if you're paying for it, is it? Like, duh.) and then she handed me my card and my bag and asked loudly if she could help the next customer in line. What did she miss, I ask you, my eager beaver, dying-to-learn-the-basics-of-customer-service Cake Eater Readers? That's right. You, like every five-year-old who's been taken down to DEFCON 1 on a manners alert exercise, caught that she didn't say thank you.

Way to go, Barnes and Noble at the Galleria. You should be really proud of your employees!

Posted by Kathy at November 21, 2005 01:46 PM | TrackBack