Small businesses, take note!
In January, my son-in-law (unvaccinated) and daughter (vaccinated and boosted) contracted Covid-19. Amazingly, I did not come down with the disease; neither did my three-year-old granddaughter. Which is how I, at the age of not-quite-68, came to be quarantined with said three-year-old granddaughter for nearly a week.
And remained sane. Both of us. Imagine that.
It wasn’t easy. At one point, my darling grandchild glared at me, remarking pointedly, “Too many sleepovers!” I agreed, especially as she was the only one actually getting any sleep. I haven’t yet figured out how a child that small could expand to fill two-thirds of a queen-size bed. Add my cats, and make that three-quarters. At one point, I slid right off to hit the floor—hard. Then came the evening that I found myself holding her close to apologize when I’d snapped at her. She’d burst into tears. “You’re making me sad,” she told me between sobs. I tried to comfort her, apologizing over and over; telling her that I was mean and grumpy and she didn’t deserve to be snarled at. “What can I do to make it better?” I asked, and she responded, “We could kiss,” suiting action to her words before hopping off my lap, happy as pie.
What kept the two of us from total nuclear meltdown was her fascination with her newest toys, a dollhouse and an antique babydoll crib inherited from her mother’s own childhood. These, along with a package of dollar shop surprises left on our doorstep by a thoughtful relative, prevented implosion.
Happily (or not, as you will see), days before quarantine descended upon us I’d ordered numerous accessories from various sellers for the dollhouse. A few of them arrived while we were in seclusion, adding new interest to her toy and staving off boredom. Others were due soon, I assured her.
Or were they? I watched my e-mail almost hourly, searching for a shipping notice that did not appear.
Now, in the era of online shopping, we’re all pretty familiar with shipping notifications. Notification in one to two days, superb service. Three days, good. Four days, average. Five to six days, a little slow. Seven to eight days, worrisome. Is the item out of stock? Nine to ten days… Hmmm. The shipper should really provide reassurance: “We value your business. We’ll ship your order soon”. Eleven to twelve days, well, the buyer almost certainly believes that they’re about to be billed for an item that will never arrive.
Day 10 rolled around. I emailed the supplier, a shop specializing in dollhouse accoutrements, explaining that I hadn’t received a shipping notice and asking simply, “Is there a problem?”
Receiving no response to my query, on Day 12 I emailed again, noting that I’d received neither a shipping notice nor a reply to my question. My card had already been charged, I said; my bill was due soon. If it happened that I did not receive the items, I would have to dispute the charge on my credit card bill.
That earned me a reply! The supplier canceled my order.
Dismayed and irritated, I responded that I hadn’t asked that my order be canceled; I just wanted to know when/if my items would ship! The reply I received sent my head spinning off my shoulders. Referring to one of my recent blog posts (Same Argument, Different Decade), which the supplier had apparently read after seeing the link below my signature on my querying email, the seller now quoted me, repeating, “Words have power”, and sniping that I should not threaten a credit dispute for unshipped merchandise.
Say what?! This woman had managed to read my blog post, yet could not be bothered to respond to my email. She took the time to peruse an 900-word essay, but couldn’t press “Reply” to send a 12-word email: “Sorry for the shipping delay. We value your business. Please be patient.” Then, to plop the cherry on the cake of dreadful customer service, she had the consummate gall to fling my own words back at me, blaming me for cancellation of the order that I had not asked to have canceled.
The seller closed her correspondence with a hypocritical, “Have a blessed day.”
While it’s unlikely she genuinely intended those four final words, my grandchild and I were, nevertheless, blessed, as several friends located and sent us (from other sellers) almost every accessory from the canceled order. And though the items did not arrive in time to alleviate the stress and sadness of a three-year-old child quarantined from her parents, they came with the most important factor: love.
Only a few days later, I had reason to compare this customer service debacle to another failed purchase. I’d ordered a hard-to-find metal polish, which shipped quickly, but didn’t arrive. When I queried the supplier, I received a prompt, shamefaced and abject apology: He’d sent my product to the address of another customer. As a small seller needing the business, he told me, he’d like to replace my order, but the polish wasn’t in stock; he could not promise timely replacement. Would I like a refund?
Within two days, my money had been refunded. Although I was dismayed to not receive the product, I was pleased with the seller’s honesty and businesslike conduct. When the polish is available again, I’ll probably choose his small business when I place my order.
That’s how true customer service is done, les enfants.
Little dollhouse companies in a big Western state, take note!
If you enjoyed this post, there are several others you might like. Same Argument, Different Decade just appeared on January 19. Customer Service, or Not is from March 10, 2018, and We Look Forward to Your Apology was published April 14, 2021. All can be located using the Archives, below. Oh, and do be sure to send me a question through the Comments if you would like to know which dollhouse shop to NOT make a purchase from!