Trending
Lessons learned: Support small business
To the Editor:
My annual week-long fishing trip to the wilds of Potter County was not off to a good start. Within five casts, the chilly waters of Kettle Creek filled my waist waders. They leaked like a sieve and were beyond repair. Fortunately a buddy loaned me his extra chest waders to get me through the week. Problem solved.
I appreciated the loan, but I really wanted another pair of waist waders. I briefly considered driving to a store I like to buy a new pair - especially since I have that store's credit card and enough points to cover the cost. The distance was prohibitive, and I chose not to devote seven hours of driving to new waders.
But then the wader gods smiled upon me - or so I thought. A friend along for the fishing trip (let's call him Sam) was suddenly summoned back home to tend to a personal matter. He would leave Monday, return to the cabin on Tuesday, and - the best part - his home was mere minutes from the store! I would simply call the store Tuesday morning to make the purchase with my credit card points, and then Sam would swing by to pick them up on his way back to Potter County. Logical. Simple. Easy.
I placed a call to the store shortly after 9 a.m. Tuesday morning and looked forward to hearing, "Hello, Mr. Zook. We are so sorry to hear of your leaky waders and understand you are in a remote location for the week. We will be happy to help you." But I never heard those words. After telling my story and suggesting my plan, I heard, "We can't take credit card purchases over the phone. Our system can't do that." I begged and groveled until she got the manager on the line.
"Which waders do you want to buy?" she asked dryly. "We may not have any of those in stock."
"Would it be possible for you to send a real person to the shelves to find out how many you do have?" I queried.
Several minutes later, she was back on the line. "We have only one pair left, and we can't sell it to you in case a customer comes in looking for that item."
"But . . . but . . . I am a customer, and I'm on the phone with you right now, ready to buy that pair of waders from your store this very minute. I have this thing called a credit card. It has your company's name on it. I even have a big bucket of credit card points!"
"No, we can't do that. But I can give you an 800 number you can call to order them."
"You don't understand. I don't want to order a pair of waders. I want to buy the waders that are sitting in your store so Sam can pick them up later today. Nobody needs to ship anything. I am in a remote location with limited phone and internet access, and I need them now, not when you can ship them," I pleaded.
"You can't buy the pair we have here in the store." She would not budge.
"OK, I give up. Give me the 800 number." Maybe, just maybe, I thought, they can take my credit card over the phone and do some magical computer clicks to hold the waders for Sam to pick up.
Although the 800-number woman was decidedly more pleasant than the store manager, she was no more helpful. She would be happy to take my order, and the waders would be shipped to me within a few days.
Feeling my blood pressure rise and fighting mightily to control the exasperation in my voice, I repeated my simple request in slow, measured syllables so she could process each word: "Shipping waders to me does not help me. I would like to purchase right here and now a specific pair of waders that sit this very moment unclaimed on a shelf at the store. Doing so will enable my friend, Sam, to pick up said waders later today and place them in my hands later tonight, thereby enabling me to fish in their dry comfort first thing the next morning and for the remainder of the week. You will have made a sale, and I will have my new waders in record time. It's really a win - win for both of us. Can you work with me? Waddya say?"
I ended the call abruptly when she launched into some convoluted shipping scheme involving a gift card.
I had one last card to play. What if Sam were to go in-person to the store, pick up the prized wader box from the shelf, carry it with his own hands to customer service, explain the situation, and then get me on the phone to close the deal with my credit card? It was worth a try.
Later that afternoon, Sam called. He had selected a box from the several available on the shelves. He certainly was not carrying off the last one, calling into question the information I had received earlier from the store manager. When he arrived at customer service, Sam put me on speaker phone so I heard every word as he explained the situation to the customer service representative, begged for her benevolent assistance, threw himself at her feet, and offered to let her speak to me, the loyal customer and holder of the credit card.
The response was sure, swift, unambiguous, and delivered within 0.03 seconds: "No."
With that, she turned and walked away before Sam could utter another word. Later that night, Sam added that she looked mighty put-off that he had even dared to ask the question.
Sam scurried over to a check-out line and bought the waders on his own credit card, and I wrote him a check. I still had my new waders to use the next morning. But I couldn't use my points, and I couldn't even get points on my card for the purchase because we had to use his card. But the most important thing I did not have and will never regain was respect for a company for whom I had been a loyal customer for decades. I will be rethinking that whole customer loyalty thing and shopping around for a different credit card. Will the company notice or care? Nope.
As I reflected on this amusing and disappointing experience, I was reminded of how fortunate we are to live in small-town Central Pennsylvania, where small business owners treat people like their friends and neighbors and often go the extra mile to be helpful. I could cite many examples of that kind of helpfulness from personal experience. I'll bet you can too. Quality products matter, but caring about customers matters even more.
We should support our local businesses so that they, in turn, can continue to contribute to our communities and help us when we get into unusual situations. Sure, a few convenient clicks on big company websites might get stuff delivered right to our doors, but where do those clicks get us when we have an atypical situation that doesn't fit neatly into a computer system or company policy? I know where it got me: up the creek without waders. It won't happen again.
Kevin Zook
Lewistown