I just got home from having a massage and cried from
the stress of the experience.
Normally, the luxury of the spa isn’t a part of my
teaching salary budget. So, I was
pleasantly surprised and even a little excited to receive a spaweek.com gift card on the last day of
school. I logged onto their website and
clicked on the button to find a convenient location.
Perfect—I called to book my appointment and spoke
with Danielle. I confirmed the cost of the massage to make sure my gift card would
cover it and confirmed their acceptance of gift cards.
And so, today I went in and had a lovely, relaxing
massage. Relaxing, that is, until it was
time to pay.
“Oh, we don’t take spaweek.com gift cards,” the woman at the front desk explains.
I tried to explain right back to her that they did
indeed—I even looked it up on my phone and showed her the listing, but to no
avail. I told her that she better tell spaweek.com and Danielle about this
policy because I was getting some bum information.
“Well, that’s suspicious that you even thought you
needed to confirm that we would take that gift card,” the woman tells me.
So, I hand over my Visa and then right there in the
middle of the spa, I started to cry. I
was so embarrassed! So, I end up paying
for my own massage, what’s the big deal?
Why were my eyes turning into broken faucets?
Besides the fact that teachers don’t make a boatload
of money for discretionary spending, we also live in the land of teacher
lingo. We don’t “meet with coworkers,”
we “collaborate with our team.” We
dialogue and discuss. We practice the
seven P’s of collaboration: Pause,
Paraphrase, Probe, Put ideas on the table, Presume
Positive Intentions…sometimes
I feel so much like a Psychologist
it makes me want to Puke.
So when I leave my bubble of the education world and
step outside into the summer sunlight, I may be a little naïve to think the
rest of the world operates the way I do.
I am trustworthy, so I trust people.
I am honest, so I believe others. As a consumer, I believe the
salesperson wants to help me be a satisfied customer.
So, not to sound overly dramatic (well, since you
already see me sniffling in the spa reception area, let’s continue) but I think
I started crying because I felt someone had taken advantage of me. I trusted the website and the person on the
phone. And in return, I got accused of
being suspicious? I think I started
crying because I “presumed positive intentions” and someone didn’t presume the
same of me. I don’t want to be the cynical, distrustful consumer. It isn’t in my nature.
This is also the second time this week that I have
felt like an unprepared consumer. Jack’s
big present for his 16th birthday was a pool table—in stock, on sale, and
ready for delivery! I called this week
to figure out when it was coming since I hadn’t heard from the store and they
tell me “end of July.” How can a pool
table that is in stock take a month to get to my house? The store manager checks and returns my call.
“It’s the legs,” he tells me. “The table is in stock
but the legs are coming from the warehouse.”
OK, not to sound naïve again, but why would you have a pool table in
stock without legs? Is there a big
market for legless pool tables? I
suggest possibly they could mail the legs instead of waiting for the truck
delivery. Heck, where is the
warehouse? Can I go pick up the
legs? Clearly, the store manager has
never lived at home with a teenager. He
seems in no hurry to think outside the box and help figure out a creative
solution. What I see as “thinking
outside the box,” he sees as “batty, crazy lady.”
Again, I want to assume that the store manager cares
about me and wants me to be a satisfied customer. But I’m feeling a little jaded. Because it seems as if now that he has his
money, the month-long delay in delivery is no longer his concern.
Before the end of school, teachers reviewed the
results of our annual teacher survey.
There was some frustration that parents are allowed to leave anonymous
comments that are sometimes downright mean and hurtful. We are told that we need to give parents an
opportunity to express their level of satisfaction. “We’re in the business of
customer service,” my assistant principal explained.
Yet, my experiences this week make me wonder what customer service means
anymore.
Just when I’ve decided to adopt the new motto “Buyer
Beware” and become a distrustful, cynical person, the phone rings. It is the woman from the spa. She’s calling to tell me she is sorry, and
her plan for how to fix the situation.
So what do I do? I burst into
tears again. This time, because her
kindness and concern restores my faith in humanity. It also makes me wonder if I should go back
to the pool table store and start to sob. If being an honest, authentic person
doesn’t get me what I want, maybe I’ll have more luck as a blubbering crybaby.
P.S. Out of
curiosity, I googled 7 P’s of
collaboration and I found out the U.S. State Department uses them as
well. Diplomacy in action! http://www.state.gov/m/a/os/43984.htm
