March 2006

Notes from the Old Noank Jail by Ed Johnson, Noank, CT

Customer Service?

Having lived in this area now for over 25 years, I still marvel at some of the problems that rear their ugly heads as time moves along and as businesses try to cut costs. Maybe this story will ring a bell with some of you.

Possibly I have discovered one version of the 9th Circle of Hell. No, it is not shopping for food in the local “megamarts” (some of you already know I don’t do that very well). Instead, it is being forced to suddenly buy gasoline at a local IN-convenience store. It is the only place open for customers at an hour when I have to make an unexpected trip out of town on family business. Foolish me for not refueling earlier in the day.

Step one, I try to gas up directly at the pump with my credit card. No go. The pumps are not operating properly, so I have to go inside to get credit approval first from the attendants. Nothing really prepares me for what comes next.

Step two, I am now standing in a line of ten people who are picking up various food supplies and the man directly in front of me smells badly. The single attendant at the register appears to be moving slowly with his transactions, possibly because he is holding a portable phone to his ear with one hand, apparently conversing with someone and not fully concentrating on the customer’s needs. The fourth person in line finally orders a large sandwich which is really interesting because the attendant only uses his one free hand most of the time to make the sandwich. It is, naturally, a slow process. The high point comes when the attendant tries to hold the telephone against his ear with his shoulder, still talking to someone, while he cuts the sandwich. Whoops. Suddenly, the telephone slips and makes a swan dive into the container of mayonnaise on the counter. More delays.

Step three, time has passed, and my beard has grown longer. I am closer to the register, with only 4 people in front of me. The “one-armed” attendant is still talking on the phone and making small mistakes with each transaction. I now realize that he has the rather blank facial expression of someone with the IQ of french bread, and seems oblivious to the customers. And the person on the phone? His girlfriend.

Step four, the man in front of me is now directly at the counter and I suddenly realize why he smells so badly. It seems he has had a few drinks before his arrival, is feeling argumentative….. and guess what he wants to do?

He wants to play the “Power Ball” lottery…on several different numbers.

A sudden blast of warm air from a space heater gives me the reassurance that the gates of hell are probably opening for me.

Step five is a separate operation which takes approximately six minutes and is actually a contest of wills between Mr. Angrily Intoxicated versus Mr. One-Armed French Bread. There are complications with the former slurring his words while the latter manages to misinterpret almost everything being requested because now the girlfriend is yelling at him on the phone about something. It is not a pretty picture. The intoxicated customer finally leaves, very angry about the attendant’s mistakes which have obviously interfered with his liver reduction time.

Step six goes much faster, as I hand the attendant my credit card, go out to pump my gas, and come back to finish my transaction, eager to depart on my journey.

The line at the counter is even longer this time and Mr. French Bread is still on the phone.

I consider taking a vacation…possibly in Iraq.

And I now gas my car during the day at our local garage when the gauge hits 3/4 of a tank.