The Extra Mile
Have we become a minimalist society? No, we at NIPPIES don't mean living with the least amount of luxury or money. Obviously, those of us who have the choice are not doing that.
What I am talking about here is doing that little bit extra not because you'll be fired, ostracized or chastized because you didn't do it. What we at NIPPIES are speaking of is doing that little extra because we should, and because we want to treat others the way we would like to be treated. You know, the Golden Rule thing. The following are two little stories from my personal life. Both instances occured on the same day- within hours of each other. The Golden Rule was most decidedly not followed.
THE MISPLACED STEAKS...
On the way home from dropping off the little one at school, which is now several towns away because her old school closed (and that is another sad story), I spied a sign at the locally owned and operated grocery store. I do most of my shopping at this store - let's call it Brownie's - because we at NIPPIES preach supporting the "little guy", and we practice, most of the time, what we preach. Anyway, the sign announced, "ONE DAY MEAT SALE."
Indeed, there were some price reductions on meat, althought Brownie wasn't exactly giving away the store. I perused the meat counter, found some nice sirloins at $6.99 a pound (normally 7.99), and selected two packages of two steaks each. 4 nice steaks in two packages. Total came to over $15.00. I also splurged on A-1 Steak Sauce®, which was NOT on sale and cost more than one steak, and a large bottle of Suave® conditioner, a bargain whether it's on sale or not.
Because I only had four items (two packages of steak, one bottle of conditioner, and one bottle of steak sauce), I chose the "Express Line". I was the only one in line, and I didn't have to hurry as I pulled out my "Nice Card", which offers discounts on items if you have one. The girl took my card and totaled up the very small order. She waited patiently as I wrote out the check, and used the "Nice Card" to verify the check.
"Paper or plastic?", she asked. "Plastic is fine," I answered. "Do you want the conditioner in a separate bag"? Thinking this over and picturing the conditioner spilling onto the expensive sirloins, I said, "Yes, please."
Naturally, in my mind, I pictured two bags: one for the conditioner. One for the steaks and the steak sauce. I grabbed the only two bags I saw, said "Thanks. Keep the receipt, there's nothing I'll be returning", and then I headed past the bubble gum and claw machines and out the automatic door.
When I got home, as is my custom, I put everything away. Two bags, I noted. One for the conditioner, and one for the steaks and steak sauce. I then proceeded with my everyday morning must-dos. Feed the dog and let him out if necessary. Feed the cats- both indoor and strays which sit outside the bathroom window waiting for a plate of food to be dropped. Clean the litter box. Change the dogs and cats' water. Start the laundry, straighten the downstairs, do whatever dishes are sitting there from the night before, etc.
After the chores, I settled down at the computer to update my various web sites, and something made me think of how pleased my family would be with the juicy, tender steaks I'd brought home. Suddenly, it occured to me that I didnt' remember putting the steaks in the refrigerator! I jumped up, ran to the refrigerator. No steaks. Looked in the television room, near the front door, on the porch, in the car and the car trunk. I'm ashamed to admit I even looked in the dryer and in the garbage bags I'd just taken out to the side of the house. No steaks. After nearly an hour of scouring the house, I called "Blackie's".
"I was down there at your store an hour ago and bought about $15.00 worth of steaks and can't find them. Are they there?", I asked, trying to hide the panic in my voice.
"Yes, ma'am," the girl on the other end said. "We just put them back in the meat case, but I'll have someone get them back."
"I'll be right down," I said.
And I did run right down. Or, I should say, drove right down. And they were there at the Express Check-Out/Customer Service dounter - and so was the girl who'd rung them up for me. She recognized me and told the other clerk, who was busy selling Pennsylvania lottery tickets, to hand me the steaks, which were under the counter in a bag. I walked out relieved to have my expensive dinner purchase back where it belonged- with me.
But it wasn't long before I got to thinking, I could not believe that no one at Blackie's had bothered to call me to tell me that my steaks were down there. That I'd left them behind. Steaks I'd PAID for! It would have been easy...the girl obviously remembered me. I'd used a "Nice Card", so she saw my name. I'd paid for the steaks by check, so the check had to still be in the drawer, because the same clerk was still on duty. AND I'd left my receipt there, with the "Nice Card" number on it, so they could have fished that out of the little trash can under the terminal and used that to trace back to their database for my phone number, which is not on the check.
Hey, hadn't someone from Blackie's called me at home only last month when I'd forgotten to sign a check? Yes, they had. But they didn't bother to make sure I knew where I'd left my steaks. Instead, they put them back to be resold.
Wow. Doesn't ANYONE go that little extra mile for others any more? I'm not perfect, but I can tell you with no uncertainty that I would have made it my business to trace back the owner of those steaks. Even if it took more effort than opening a cash register drawer and looking at a customer's name and address. (Our phone number is in the book).
THE PAGER STORY...
Now, as if the steak incident wasn't bad enough, there is more. After the steak schkeveel, I decided to take a short nap, as I hadn't slept much the night before. Taking a nap means getting the pager out and doing a test call, as the pager is the only way my daughter's school can get in touch with me in an emergency. (We get a lot of phone calls on our home line all day long, which necessitates shutting the ringer off if we want to sleep.)
So, pager in hand, I dialed the pager number, punched in my own home telephone number as a call-back, and then tapped the pound sign, and waited. Instead of the usual "Thank You", I heard a busy signal. Hmmmm. Odd, I thought. So I dialed again. And again, and punched in more numbers. The pager never went off. Ut-oh, I thought. This is my life-line to the school. I better call the pager company and find out what is going on.
Unfortunately, I could not remember the exact name of the pager company. I was pretty sure it was Penn-Tel or Penn-Tele or something like that. So, instead of rooting through old bills, I did an internet search to find the telephone number of a pager company in Pennsylvania named Penn-Tel. I came up with a phone number that turned out to be an Indian restaurant. Back to the drawing board.
Fifteen minutes later, I located not only the last two bills, but the check numbers, as well. And both checks were written out to a company that was not named Penn-Tel, but something entirely different. A takeover, I figured. But there was not a contact number on the bill. And so, once again, I did an internet search. This time I got a phone number. I dialed a Philadelphia phone number.
"Hello, may I help you?" the representative answered. "I hope you can," I said very patiently. "My pager isn't working, and I don't understand it. I am paid up until the last day in February."
"OK, ma'am. What's your pager number?"
"Is that the bar code number on the back of the pager?" I asked. Nope, she said. It's your pager phone number. I gave it to her.
"Oh, you must have been a Penn-Tel customer," she said. "Yes, I was," I replied. "But I've been paying your company for the last 5 months and there has never been a problem with service. What is going on?"
"Well, ma'am. Let me just do a check." I could hear her tapping away. "Oh, yes. We took that frequency down last week."
I didn't quite know what to say, I was so shocked. The new pager company took the frequency down on my pager and didn't bother to let me know. I took a breath and tried to be nice.
"Well, what am I supposed to do about a pager now? The only way my daughter's school can get in touch with me when I'm not near my home phone is through my pager."
"Well, ma'am. You can buy a new pager for $45. And there's a $12.00 per month charge for service."
"Wow. I only bought the other pager a little over a year ago and really hate to have to buy a new one. And your service charge is about 50% higher than what I was paying with Penn-Tel!"
"Well, ma'am... you are getting a much larger coverage for your pager now."
"But I don't need a larger coverage area," I replied evenly. "My daughter's school is only a few miles away."
"Well, I'm sorry, ma'am. That's our price. Furthermore, if you don't notify us in writing that you no longer want service, we will continue to bill you."
Now I was losing my patience. Was I really being told that not only had I paid for service I wasn't getting, not only had the service been removed without prior notice, but now I had the burden of informing this company in writing that I no longer wanter "service" or I would be billed into perpetuity?
"Wait. Are you saying that I have to write to you to discontinue service or you will keep on billing me?"
"Yes, ma'am. That's right. Here's our fax number. Ready?"
And so it went. She gave me the fax number. I was not happy about it, but I composed a letter and a cover sheet and fired off a fax informing the company that I did not appreciate not being notified of the discontinuation of service, that I did not appreciate being told I now had to purchase a new pager to have continued service, and that I had paid for service for a month which I was not receiving. Furthermore, in business-like language, that I intended to inform the proper agencies if I didn't receive a prompt refund of my last month's pre-paid service.
As of this writing (three days later), I haven't heard a word. So I think I can safely assume that the company will say they never received my fax. On Monday morning, I will have to go to the post office and mail the letter I already faxed, with proof of mailing, if I want to have any chance of receiving a refund.
This, dear readers, is what goes on in America now. The burden of proof is always laid at the feet of the consumer. Take it or leave it. How I miss the old days when the companies from which you purchased services were local, and you could march in and ask to speak to the owner face to face or you would take your business elsewhere. Too many times, in this age of takeovers, there is no where else to take your business.
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