Shortly before lunch, I had a guy pop up on my "problem screen," so to speak. My problem message went a little something like this:
Customer entered shipping address incorrectly. FedEx delivered package [12 days ago]. Customer has contacted FedEx and wants to know when we're going to reship his package. Please follow up.
Well...I did a little examining. Yes, indeed, Mr. Customer had typo'd his shipping address. It happens. Most of the time, they notice it pretty quickly and call in. I can fix your screwup if we haven't sent your crap out. And I can even (usually) fix your screwup if your crap is enroute.
But if your crap has been delivered as labeled - more than a week ago - ...well, bub, you're out of luck.
I left the polite version of the TS speech on the gentleman's voicemail.
Hi, this is Abby with Crap Unlimited, calling about this order you placed. Unfortunately, I don't really have any good options for reshipment, since we provided the shipper with the address you gave us, and they delivered it as addressed. If you'd called in before it was delivered we'd have had more options. There really isn't much I can do, but you can give me a call at...
Of course, he called back like 20 minutes later, but wanted to talk to my boss. Because, obviously, I suck and do not feel his pain.
(I was not in trouble, BTW - nothing to be done. But if there's anybody in Fort Worth who wants to pay me even marginally more to do almost anything else...well, the email link is on the left. I can run a floor buffer)
After Mr. FatFingers, I went to lunch. I was out of smokes and went down the road to the gas station to fix that. However, their "computers went down," and the salepeople apparently are not empowered to do cash transactions.
[sigh]
Off to the next gas station (approximately 43 left turns away). I parked and found my way to the back of a line eight people long. As I advanced to the "on deck" position, a woman popped in from the parking lot. Looking irked and in a hurry.
She's here, I thought (like a fool), to get her change from pre-paying. Not worth getting worked up about. I could wait, she could cut in line.
She directed her irkedness at the poor old man behind the counter.
She had, it seems, given him $10 to put on pump 7. Which he'd done. Except she had been confused, and was in fact parked at pump 11. She wanted her $10 on 11.
The gentleman looked horrified. He'd put it on 7, and, times and gas prices being what they are, someone had considered that a nice Happy Tuesday gift. The $10 was gone.
That's not my fault, she said huffily. I want my $10! On the right pump!
You stupid waste of flesh, I thought. It is your fault. You're too stupid to buy gas. And if you get gas, you'll just drive home and call some poor customer service drone and annoy her because you don't know your own address.
I'm okay with stupid. We're all stupid sometimes. But it's stupid and arrogant that makes me insane.
Doing something stupid should equal shame. Not huffy demands about what you're owed because you're an idiot.
I do stupid things with startling regularity, but I like to think I recognize that and act appropriately contrite and humble when I'm begging someone to bail me out.
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