I just spent a fabulous weekend visiting my lifelong friend, Ardeth Funicello Frangipani. (Not her real name, but I ran it past her and she loved it.) This is my oldest friend - as in the friend I've known the longest, not the one who has celebrated the most birthdays. Ardeth moved to Holland, Mich., about 17 years ago. I hadn't made the trek across the state for at least five years, and we had a lot of catching up to do.
So while Ardeth's hunky husband was whipping up some scrumptious curried something or other Friday night, the two of us ran to the store to get necessary items like Ben & Jerry's and guacamole fixings for us. And Orange Crush for the chef.
The last six-pack of Orange Crush was one short, so after scanning the shelves, Ardeth popped a bottle of Grape Crush into the vacant spot, the most expedient solution. While we were in the checkout line, I was engrossed in reading about Jen's pregnancy and other important world events until I heard the super-serious voice of the checker-out guy, "Ma'am, I'm afraid I can't sell that to you." Well, that caught my attention. What sort of contraband had Ardeth slipped into our cart? I peered over the pile of groceries and saw that the 5+1 Crush pack was the object of controversy.
The picture of calm and serenity, Ardeth stated her case, but checkout boy held his ground, citing store policy and possibly homeland security. You can only purchase full 6-packs. No mixy-matchy allowed. In her nicest, sweetest, most patient, experienced customer service professional voice, Ardeth suggested options: ask someone to find a full 6-pack; sell the defective package at a discount; ring it up under miscellaneous. From the look on our Eagle Scout candidate's face, you would've thought she'd asked him to burn the flag while dancing naked.
By this time, even I could see it was a lost cause. I was especially concerned about our melting Imagine Whirled Peace ice cream. But I could see the steam streaming out of Ardeth's ears. A little out of her nose, too. "It's the principle of the thing," she muttered through tightly clenched teeth before demanding someone search harder for a full 6-pack. We waited for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only about 3 minutes and 37 seconds. She asked for the store manager's name ... and then we left.
On the way to the car, I tried to lighten the mood with talk of garlicky guacamole, bottles of fermented nectar of the vine and oodles of girl talk in our very near future. But then we began to share other examples of representatives of the "service industry" failing to find a solution to a minor challenge. Like the time my daughter just wanted a roll and a slice of cheese at a well-known coffee, donut and sandwich joint, thoroughly perplexing the counter helper. There's no button on the register for that. And it wasn't covered in the corporate training program. How to ring up such a thing? "Perhaps just ring it as a bagel with cream cheese," I offered. "I can't do that! It will mess up inventory! Here - just take it!" Hey, now that was a great solution.
If I didn't know so many highly intelligent, out-of-the-box-thinking young people, I'd be seriously frightened about the future of our planet. (D'you think this "my-head-is-so-far-in-the-box-it's-now-cube-shaped" way of thinking is where the term "blockhead" came from?) I refuse to believe our collective destiny is in the hands of the blockheads of the world, but this behavior still fascinates me a little teeny bit.
So, solutionators out there ... Care to share an example of blockheadedness you've confronted and either successfully thwarted or that still has you shaking your head in disbelief? C'mon, it'll be like group therapy.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
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I probably have caused blockheadedness rather than thwarted it. Being of sarcastic mind and soul, I once was at a larger retailer that starts with an "M". I put a six-pack of beer (my six-pack had all six, though), a thing of deodorant, and a 25-pound bag of dog food on the conveyor belt. When the checkout lady asked if I'd like a bag for the beer I said, "No, but I'd really like a bag for the dog food, though." She actually looked beneath her counter and came back and stated, "I don't think we have one that big."
ReplyDeleteBut you made her THINK. Nice try, sarcastic one.
ReplyDeleteNow wait a minute. I feel I must stand up for the blockheads of the world, being one myself. Some people are born blockheads and some people have blockheadedness thrust upon them. (Not sure which in my case.) But mostly people just want to do the right thing, follow directions and not get in trouble. And, honestly, who would cause more trouble to that poor check out person, Ardeth or his manager? Hate the sin, but understand the sinner. We can't all make waves ... the world really does need a few smooth sailers.
ReplyDeleteYOU a blockhead??? Puhleez. You, my dear, are one of my favorite questionnators. But do you really think checkout boy was doing the right thing? He may have thought he was trying to, but one thing that struck me as especially funny was the tagline on all the employees' nametags at this place that said something like "Our people are the difference." I think there was a key problem-solving aspect of customer service that was missing in both of the cases I referenced.
ReplyDeleteAhh ... I think you hit the mother point. Not that checkout boy was a blockhead but that he wasn't trained to be anything but one. Matt is reading a book called The Tyranny of Dead Ideas. I don't think it applies to this case specifically. However the author does propose that, as a society, we are "tyrannized" by ideas because they were once successful, even though they have no bearing on today's world. Interesting. (And I have to admit that my blockheaded self does have a bit of devil in the mix.) I'm left to wonder, though, if someone else was faced with a 5-pack Grape Crush dilemma.
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