Recently, I've had a couple of run-ins with that hallmark of American capitalism, service. It's run from the ridiculous to the stupid, with no room for the sublime. It's hard to imagine that these two pillars of American business have the kinds of issues I experienced, but they do.
The first involved Ford Motor Company. As the attorney of a client who recently had to file bankruptcy, I had to notify Ford because my client had garnishments on her paycheck which, with the filing of the bankruptcy, had to stop immediately due to the protections of the automatic stay. When I called Ford, I got a vaguely Asian woman who seemed nonplussed by the inquiry I was making, asking for a fax number or an email address to which I could send the notice of filing. The woman responded that Ford could not take orders other than through the regular mail which, in this day and age, seemed a tad antiquated, if not completely moronic. I told her I wasn't sending an order but a notice, but she was unmoved by my clarification. Frustrated and incredulous, I asked to speak with a supervisor, my go-to move when it comes to bureaucratic red tape.
Hold please, I was told, I'll send you through to the pension department, and before I could object, I was passed through to someone who had a much firmer grasp of English. We debated the principle about regular mail versus fax or email, but because it wasn't her department, she couldn't be much help, no matter how earnest she was. I was given a couple of email addresses to which I sent the notice and prayed that they would work.
The next day I came into work to find an email from some woman with the surname Priya and a phone number that began with 91 02. Now, I don't have all the world's telephone prefixes memorized, but I know a foreign one from an American one. Of course, the surname might have been a giveaway, but I'm quite sure that I was invited to call downtown Mumbai to discuss the matter.
The irony of this is that I was mere miles from Ford's world headquarters, yet I would have to call halfway around the globe to locate someone who would address my concerns, albeit not to my satisfaction. I was again invited to send the notice to a mail address -- again, ironically within miles from my location -- because Ford doesn't use email or fax for orders, completely ignoring the fact that this wasn't an order. I sent the notice to the address and let Ms. Priya rest with the thought that she had guarded the kingdom.
My second incident with Corporate America's evolving service was with McDonald's. Since we're moving, we don't want to heat the house up or dirty up the kitchen cleaning, so we're bowing to fast food on the weekends. I ordered the usual and saw that the menu offered two hash browns for one dollar. I ordered Karen her usual -- a bacon, egg, cheese biscuit with no cheese -- and made sure it was understood that there was to be no cheese. I went for the pedestrian sausage biscuit. It couldn't have been easier.
When I got to the window I paid and drove to the second window, where I read my receipt while I waited for our food. Clearly marked was NO CHEESE by Karen's order, but the two hash browns came out at $1.39. I brought this to the cashier's attention, who asked the manager, who told me that the menu was incorrect. That may be, I told her, but I either want my .39 back or she could have her hash browns back. I got my .39.
Then at home, Karen opened her biscuit to see cheese dripping from it. That was bad enough, but then she pulled a chicken nuggets box out and opened it to reveal my sausage, sans biscuit. I immediately went upstairs and called the restaurant, asking for a manager. I prefaced my comments by telling her in Spanish that I not only wasn't racist, but spoke Spanish, then told her that it was either because someone didn't speak English or because they were incompetent, then outlining the incorrectly filled order. But the manager back there speaks English, I was told. Then the cook must not, I retorted. It's not like there was a long line of customers in the drive-through; I was only the second of three cars in it. We're getting a free breakfast next weekend.
This is on the heels of our ordering at another McDonalds in another state where I watched the cook drop a spatula on the floor, pick it up and put it right back on the shelf with the other spatulas to be used in the preparation of guests' meals. When I told Karen, she told the manager.
American services are in decline. Something is wrong when they can't use a fax, fill an order correctly or use clean utensils. What's more worrisome is that Corporate America doesn't care. Only when one complains loudly enough does it take notice. It should be conducting reviews of itself periodically to ensure that the standards it claims to hold are being held.
(c) 2013 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles
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