2011 begins

Here's the ubiquitous "Happy New Year!" And I mean it. I hope we all have a happy 2011, happy being whatever, well, makes you happy. If 2010 wasn't so good for you, then may 2011 be much better.

2010 was a good year for us: we've traveled, made plans to travel more, been with our family. I survived a thyroidectomy with only a scar--and a lifelong prescription for Synthroid--to show for it.

And I've wondered about making a resolution. I've never been big on them, their life span being somewhat less than that of any feral cat I've rounded up, had spayed/neutered, given proper vaccinations, and then watched get hit by a car crossing the street or who decides to go walkabout on my nickel. In other words, I've shied from resolutions.

But I have thought of two though and I'm really, really, really going to work on one of them. Really.

First of all, I'm considering jumping into the Facebook pool. I had a "lesson" from a friend yesterday. I can see where this can be a huge time-waster and a lot of fun.

Second--and this is the one I'm serious about--I'm going to pay more attention to names. I've written down the names of every customer service person I've talked to on the phone for years, the time of the conversation, the problem, the outcome. I've had the feeling that if I have to call back with a further complaint, I could say: "But John told me on June 14 at 3:10 PM CDT, that my refund would be forthcoming!" Pause. "What do you mean you've never had someone named John work in your customer service?"

Maybe that won't happen.

But the names of people in other customer service jobs, those are the ones I'm going to pay attention to. "Hi, I'm John, and I'll be your waiter tonight." When I walk out of the restaurant (and know where John has a new job now that he's no longer employed above), I want to remember that John waited on us. Or Beverly sold me the dress. Or Mick did the tire exchange.

I'm going to pay attention. It's a resolution. And now, it's public.

Chatting to say good-bye

I like the customer service 'live' chats which many websites offer. For the most part I've found them speedy and helpful. But then comes the awkward moment: how do you say good-bye? In other words, after all the thank-yous and I-sees, where do you just quit?

I don't want to be rude and click the Close button too soon and have them mark my account as ungrateful. I shouldn't switch to talk about the weather because then I'm taking up someone else's time. Eventually the conversation is just over and a good customer service rep will let you know that it's time to let go and answer the survey which will pop up next.

Now if I can just incorporate this into my personal iChats. Saying good-bye in a timely manner, not the survey.

Chico's responds

So I sat down and composed an email about the fabric content of the Chico's jeans line and sent it merrily on its cyber-way to customer service. I promptly had an answer which thanked me for my comments.

Maybe if enough of us comment, the answer will be longer next time.

It's all in the timing

So Monday I realized that there were several dangling shopping problems that needed an answer around here. My emails about these items had either been ignored or the website had been too "busy" to accept my web form. It was time to take matters literally into my own hands and--egad!--use the telephone.

I know, how old fashioned of me. Well, occasionally technology defeats us and we have to resort to the old ways. And this is how it went:

Problem 1: Tickets for a play the end of Oct. The Romance Readers are going, my card is charged for 9 tickets, and the confirmation email said they'd be mailed in 7 days. That was 21 days ago as of Monday. So I punched the number. Answered promptly. Seems they were just then getting the tickets printed. My name was found, the tickets were confirmed verbally and I was assured they'd be sent out that day and I should get them within the week. Tuesday they arrived.

I guess I should have waited to call, but how can you ever really be sure? It's like getting a computer. You have to jump on the wagon some where. But, I REALLY should have waited on the next call.

Problem 2: We'd placed an order with a company in August for 4 items. Two they were shipping and two were shipped from the vendors. Three items arrived in two packages quite promptly. They were on my credit card bill. No problem. The problem was the fourth item, a piece of luggage which we really want for an upcoming trip. I knew it was back-ordered until mid-Sept. Looked at the calendar. It was mid-Sept. I tried the website, but it was no go. Everyone else must have had it tied up. So I called.

Fifteen minutes of listening to the same voice tell me the same thing over and over and I was looking for things to do. I dared not hang up. Finally, a customer service rep answered. I use that term lightly because no matter how I tried to explain the situation, I was told the article had been shipped the end of August, it was delivered to my post office, I was charged for it (she gave me the amount for one of the other packages), and there wasn't a thing to do about it until 30 days had passed. As there was no arguing with this, I said I'd check with my post office.

Four hours later, I call back, wait another 15 minutes, listen to the same incessant spiel, and get another customer service rep. A real one. One who said she'd check on the problem, because yes, the item was still on order, and get back to me via phone.

Monday evening, I get an email from another part of the company which says the item has shipped from the vendor.

Now any day I expect two things: the item and the phone call from the second customer service rep informing me of the shipment. I think I know which I'll get first.

An open letter to Chico's

This is my 300th post, so something of a milestone. I've not written every day but when I started this blog 25 months ago, I don't know that I considered there would eventually be a 300th entry.

And, alas, it is an entry of complaint. Real complaint, not some observation about life that doesn't suit me. A genuine consumer comment of the disgruntled kind.

I am the quintessential Chico's customer. For anyone who doesn't know, Chico's is a "boutique" clothing retailer whose demographic is women over, oh, say, 35, who have disposable income for casual jackets over $100 and tee-shirts and jeans in the $50 and up range. Their styles are comfortable, for the most part washable, and well-made. I've been a customer for over 5 years and essentially shop no where else. My closet is 95% Chico's. I belong to their Passport Club, get 5% off of all purchases and if I order online, it's delivered very quickly with no shipping fee.

So why am I complaining?

When I didn't get my August catalog, the one with the coveted, semi-annual 50% off coupon, when my emails of specials dried up, and the store register showed my account as having no coupons available as well, I called customer service. We reached an accommodation on the 50% coupon. I had emailed customer service about it as well and received an answer 3 days later, noting the phone calls. Fair enough. When my September catalog didn't come and I STILL wasn't receiving emails, I put my fingers to the keyboard and wrote a snail mail letter to headquarters. The next day I received my September catalog, but by that point in the exercise, it was irrelevant and continues to be so.

Why? I wrote that letter three weeks ago and I haven't received an answer. Unconscionable. At the very least, I expected a snail mail reply. At the most, I expected to start getting emails, perhaps as if by magic. I am in receipt of neither.

I am very disappointed with Chico's. Very. And I haven't bought a thing since.

An open letter to my local big-box

It's not really a secret whose name appears on my local big-box store. It's familiar to all of rural America except those clever enough to forbid entry to it in order to keep their downtowns in business. Our downtown has been doing a slow-fast-slow downturn ever since the big-box arrived in the mid-70s.

But today, after three decades of being alternately surprised and disappointed in the store, I was sufficiently upset to call the 1-800 customer service number for the first time. Three minutes on hold (I was giving them 5) and I was in touch with a pleasant sounding woman who had heard it all before. "Thank you for calling and I'll refer your comments to the proper people." Or words to that effect.

And my complaint? I went looking for a larger embroidery hoop, (and embroidery was going to be the subject of my today's blog but it will wait until my snit disappears), and not immediately finding it, decided I'd find the embroidery floss instead. (I knew the customer service rep had heard my complaint before because I said 'thread' and she replied with the proper term 'floss.') There wasn't any. None. No three or four hundred colors for me to scan and salivate over, touch and compare. Last summer I'd had a high old time picking out colors for the grandbaby's quilt. This summer looked to be another matter.

So I slunk over to the sales person and leaned in. Had I, by any chance, missed the embroidery thread? No, she informed me, it had been gone for several months and had taken the hoops with it. Many customers had been disappointed. I could call the 800 number and she gave it to me.

Feeling she was definitely on my side, I wasted no time in complaining. Alas, I found out more than I wanted to. Hold onto your shears, fellow fabric craftsmen, the world is changing.

The fabric department as we know it is being phased out. In its place will be a "life celebrations" department. (oh, please) Their research had shown that most people now shopped for wedding, birthday and their ilk celebration items instead of fabric. There would still be fabric, she assured me, it would just be pre-cut and not on the bolt.

I was stunned. This was going to be everywhere, all stores. So, I asked, never mind that the company had made their money on rural America, rural America would be driving 30 miles (in my case) to get fabric? I should have asked about thread and seam binding, but my mouth was already on the floor.

I am so disappointed and I told her so. Not that my opinion counts, but if there are enough of us, maybe eventually they'll see the error of their ways. Or not. But we'll feel better. And then I won't be putting quilting pins in the little box I'd like to make.

If I could find the fabric.