Customer No Service - A Flat Tire Story

I set out this Monday with the usual misgivings that Mondays always seem to bring:  "What could go wrong today that just seems to happen only on Mondays like a day with Velcro for bad luck?"

I soon discovered what Monday had in store for me once I had to venture from my Hobbit Hole and to meet the real world for some business intercourse.   Upon exiting my round door and venturing to where my metallic steed was stabled for the night, I discovered my steed was leaning to the right.

(Anticipating a few snickers, and I'm game)

I rounded the right side of my steed and noticed one of its hooves was incapacitated and then proceeded in 80% humidity to change said shoe and recalled that in the 16 years of this steed's life, I have never had to use the spare.

And, yes, it was low on air.    This is a Monday afterall.

So I figure I'd rather tear up the spare shoe than the real one so I put the spare on and prayed that it would get me to the shoe repair outlet before it separated from the rim and did NASCAR-like damage to my Steed.

Upon successfully finding a break in the traffic that would allow me to limp to this shoe sales and service outlet (a place I've passed by many times and never ventured to stop in), I ventured inside this last bastion of the 1950's known to exist in this city, I saw three humans doing everything but recognizing that there was intelligent life on the customer side of the counter.

The first human was an older gentleman who could have starred in one of those anti-smoking commercials.   He looked like the woman who is shown dressing herself and then putting on the wig.   This guy didn't have the wig.   But he sounded just like her (I found this out 30 minutes into my wonderful stay at Tire City) when he answered the telephone.   No need to kick the almost dead horse beyond this point.

Another old fart in a red shirt (they all were dressed differently but the hired help (all black) were all dressed in Service Station Grey).   This old fart didn't notice me either.  The first old fart could be excused.   He was probably thankful he had another moment of life and wanted to savor it.   This old fart in a red shirt was just looking busy.   He knew he was going to have this day and didn't give a damn that I was holding a rubber/metallic shoe and sweaty from pulling it off the steed.

The younger human was dressed in blue shirt and khaki pants and had a facial expression that had evidently frozen about two decades ago and he couldn't manage a smile if you had hooked up a crane on both sides of his face and lifted it.    After standing there for several minutes, he managed to look my way....   Didn't even bother with the effort of "Can I help you?".   This was one of those asswipes where you had to engage him first.

Showing this unpleasant younger man (in his early 30's) my flat tire, I asked him "do you plug tires?"    Not familiar with what the current lingo is for fixing tires, I evidently rubbed the  young asswipe even further to the dark side.

"We patch tires," he exclaimed.   I do overstate his enthusiasm.   He was indignant though not going to expend any more energy than necessary to get his point across.

Seeing that this jerk was going to be just as unpleasant as UV at that time of the month on a leap year during a day after an election of Barrack Hussein Obama, I figured I wasn't going to tell him "tubes are patched" and "tires are plugged" (I learned this when I was 16), so I then just said "so you do REPAIR FLAT TIRES!" and proceeded to get young jerk to initiate the sequence where I'd wait 30 minutes without even a "hello" or pleasantry directed toward me - a humble and innocent (this time) customer.

I made the mistake to have discovered my flat tire on the end of lunch time so I had to wait until the hired help shuffled in (and they did shuffle) with their shirts untucked and migrating enmasse to the soda machine for some more sugar to get through this day.    I sat my ass down into the beautiful 1960's black vinyl waiting room furniture with chrome plated square tube metallic frame.    The vinyl had that nice shine to it that  you only get from really old vinyl where hip and shoulder hard points wear their indents into the vinyl after nearly 40 years of service.   The carpet was formerly some grey low rent industrial carpet but had enough drink spill spots to almost look intentionally patterned.   And the ripples and stretch marks in this carpet further accented the obvious ceiling tiles that had 1960 interspersed with replacements from the 70's, 80's, 90's and this century.   I had sat myself in one of those businesses that  you'd see on a reality makeover show - the BEFORE edition.

After 30 minutes of thinking "I wonder what Gordon Ramsay would say if he did 'Tire Outlet Nightmares'," I then noticed the hired help with my repaired Steed shoe and he mumbled something several times from clear across the room and almost motioned me to come over.   I say almost motioned because I am still not quite sure what he was doing.   I went over to him and he bounced the shoe on the floor (this was evidence the shoe was fixed I learned) and then he asked me where my steed was parked.   Instead of leaving the shoe for me to carry, he leaned it up against my steed.    How nice of him.

Then it came time to pay for my repair - a repair that they never told me how much it would be (and I hadn't asked) - the first old man, the cancer victim, was nowhere to be found - in my stay there it was obvious he was like a floor walker like Captain Peacock in "Are You Being Served?" but this floor walker didn't bother to do the serving part.   The other red guy was now on the phone looking like he was busy, and the blue asswipe was nowhere to be found (though I sense he sat his ass down in the office because business wasn't walking in the door during my visit).   When the older red-shirted guy got off the phone I had to once again initiate the conversation - "I'm here to pick up my tire repair" and he proceeded to look through two stacks of printed invoices and then disappeared to the office.    I don't understand yet why this step was necessary since the same invoice he had in his paws before entering the office remained after exiting the office.

I had heard a female voice during my 30 minute wait and she sounded heavenly - in the morass of very cheap and poor post modern decor there was someone who at least sounded delicious.

And then she came out with another copy of the invoice - this time in triplicate - and, yes, she could have been a phone sex operator.    Just imagine the most delicious female voice and then someone with the body of a two dozen donut per day eating habit.    You got the picture?

At this point I was just itching to get out of here, she told me the repair was $21 (I was expecting $10) and I handed my digital plastic card and prayed I could escape  before I was transformed into a post modern pod person complete with permanent frown and over active appetite.    My digital card took several swipes to engage and I watched the triplicate invoice get separated and stapled and spindled in almost Olympic sport precision - it is obvious she's done this before - and then I got my copy - the one that had been in the hands of the red-shirted old fart, and I was thanked with silence and figured my portion of this nightmare was over and happily ventured out into the near 90 degree, 80% humidity day with a passion not seen since my last new car pickup.

I write this to offer to show what is wrong with American business these days - when people wonder why business sucks, they should look at how awful they treat their customers - not with insults and being mean (I didn't even sense they gave enough caring to put the effort to be mean), but by just existing and making the customer do all the work.    Remember this tire place SELLS new steed shoes and in a few months I'll be making the decision to buy a set of four.   A great experience here could have been enough to journey the less than 1 mile from my home to this place for a new set - even if it was more expensive.    But after having endured how I am treated when I spent $20, I won't  be attempting to see what happens when I spend $300.   I just don't think I can take it without going all UV on them.   And wouldn't you know, I left my purse at home and only carried my wallet today!