15 August 2012

Actually Going Postal

One of my many talents (shaking my head wryly and sarcastically) is that I am very charming to the venders, repair and delivery people at my work.  I diligently work at remembering their names and being friendly.

This is not altogether altruistic.  I know that if I'm charming and friendly, they will be also nice and friendly. Everyone is happier.  I also know that they'll remember how nice we are and might go the extra mile if we ever need it.

Let's talk about our postal carriers.  The first one I remember was named Jeffrey and we loved and spoiled him. We saved Starbucks pastries for him.  Then we had Jeremy, a temporary worker, who you could set a clock to when it came to deliveries.  We liked him a lot as well, even inviting him to have pizza with us.  Then came Courtney. Courtney was pregnant with a boy, her last child, when I threw myself down the stairs and was due in July.  We like Courtney as well.

Now, we also understand that the route that my work on sucks and blows.  It's a mixture of business and residential and it's filled with college-kid-filled apartments and two transitional living programs.  And it's uphill.   So I understand that the carriers probably literally play Paper Rock Scissors to get out of taking our route.  We are patient when it's late or they don't know where they are going or whatever.

Okay, that's a lot of necessary background. That being said.  Oh, that being said.

Last week in walks Dude, as he shall be referred to.  Dude has his IPOD blaring rock music.  Dude doesn't acknowledge greetings.  Dude has a tantrum about how we handle our "return to sender" mail.  "You need to do it this way or you'll just get it back."

Ahem..."You need"?  Umm...How about "Can you please?"  or "It's easier if..." and Oh, how about the other twenty carriers that we have that have never had an issue with it.

At first, I thought he was kind of being flippant but I realized he was being a dick so I took myself out of the conversation.  His final shot was "Well, you'll just get all your mail back." as he was walking out the door.  Again, all this said over rock music being blared out of his IPOD.

I detest bad customer service.  I won't tolerate it from anyone.   I walked right over to the phone and called Dude's supervisor.  I explained what happened, made light of it when I could, indicated that he's the only one that's ever had an issue, and gosh what can we do about this?

The supervisor was horrified and apologized.  He did clarify, rightfully so, how we handle our return-to-sender mail just to make sure we were doing it correctly. And we were.  (Oh, including clearly printed labels with the YWCA logo. Above and Beyond, Mr. I Clearly Hate My Job)
The supervisor said he would talk with him and it would never happen again.

Then I forgot about it beyond stating to one of the other substitute carriers that I was happy to see him the next day.

Until today.

Dude strolled in with a chip the size of Texas on his shoulder.  He was twenty feet away from me when he began talking.  Like a defiant teenager he began with "So you called my supervisor about the other day.  I think that was uncool."

I will admit I smirked.  Smirked because clearly he never left middle school. And I was "uncool."  I responded with "Okay..."

He continued, now raising his voice. MY FAVORITE.  “I can't believe that you took the time to look up the number and call, that is just uncool. I think YOU were the one with the attitude.”


One of the interns thought he was kidding (I don't know how, but she's an intern so there's that) and kind of sassed him but he didn't acknowledge her.  

He continued to rant about my allegations   He reiterated the process for the return to sender mail.  “All I asked was…” This explanation was quite pleasant in comparison to the original one. But he undid it by continuing to rant.

He admitted that his music was on.  He claimed that it was just “his crappy little radio on his phone” and seemed incredulous that I would dare comment on it.  He did backpedal and admit that it probably was too loud then followed with: “but it’s not loud if I‘m outside, just when I came inside.”   Seriously.  Again: never left middle school.

I work in social services so I see "crazy" people every day.  I'm good at not-responding.  I didn't comment beyond "Okay", if I commented at all.  He continued to rant.  The social worker walked in to show that there was another person who was in the office. Her presence pinged off of him like he had on Wonder Woman's bracelets.  

He finally turned to leave but continued to rant.  I said "I understand that you feel that way."  Validation of the other's feelings is what you're supposed to do in a confrontation, right?  Not So Much.
He turned and advanced back to the reception desk then continued about how I have an attitude.  Again, I'm Not the one Yelling...and how he just asked....yadda yadda yadda.

Finally he ran out of steam and left.  We were left incredulous. 

I called his supervisor again this morning.  As I reiterated the story, he was laughingly horrified. I enjoyed that he laughed when I repeated that "I wasn't cool" and apparently woke up in middle school yesterday.

So now I am sending a statement and the supervisor is taking it to "the next level".  I'm not sure what that is but I find myself being the youngest child thinking: "Ooooh, he's in so much trouble!"

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