Sometimes I am helping my own customer when Janice tugs on my sleeve, apologetic about disturbing me, and asks for help. After I finish with my transaction, I assist Janice with hers and often times am asked by the client if I can take over.
I witness Janice take over two hours to upgrade a cell phone--existing customer, just new equipment. I notice that every time she walks away from the counter to ask a question to a coworker, the customer throws his hands up in the air in frustration. I see normally patient people grow crazy with agitation before my eyes. I am helpless to assist because I have numbers to hit. Janice has 6 months before she will be penalized for missing quota. I will get written up. Especially now that the ‘veteran culture’ is being changed, I have to watch my ass. I can no longer help the helpless and it doesn't feel right. I have to make what money there is and help as many customers who are waiting in line.
I take my lunch break around the same time Janice is taking her first 15 min break(of many). In the hallway-cum-breakroom in the back, there is a graphed white board that we are to fill with dry-erase marked numbers throughout the day. I post mine and pop my lunch in the microwave. Because we stand for 7 1/2 hours per day on the sales floor, sometimes these breaks are necessary. I usually hate taking them while customers are waiting, so this one has been a long time coming. I grab my food and turn to the table that lines the already narrow hallway. No vacancy. There is Janice, no doubt pooped from her one transaction of the day and two other coworkers sitting in chairs. This means I can’t even squeeze between them and the whiteboard to get anywhere. I grab an empty cardboard box that lies near the backdoor and flip it over. I sink in, half squatting to avoid its collapse. It's more of a workout than a break. I plop onto the floor. I began digging into the leftover eggplant parmesan when I almost spit it out from shock.
“Whew, Lordy, what a day!” Janice started at 11am and still had 6 more hours to go but she needs a rest. “I don’t know how you guys do it.”
I eat my food quietly on the floor, not wanting to say anything, not wanting to compare days. The other two coworkers, Brooklyn and Miguel, are commiserating about their customers as well. Brooklyn has a guy I could hear from across the room who had been demanding a new phone. He dives right into the story.
“So this fuckin' guy comes in with a 6 month old Nokia 3230 and he says that he needs a new battery. I tell him...I advise him...that we are out of ‘em. He says, ‘well, find me one!’” Brooklyn is logical, he is helpful, he diffuses these bombs like no one else.
“So I get on the phone and I call the guys over on Melrose and they have it for sale. The guy asks me how much and I say it’s 25 bucks for the battery. The guy says he can’t believe we don’t have it here. I try and make him feel better by telling him if we did have it, it would cost him $50 at our store. The guy gets into me about how we’re always sticking it to 'im. Keep in mind," he throws out some DeNiro hands, "I’ve already gone above and beyond by calling these third party guys to locate a battery because I know no other Company store has 'em either. I tell him I’m sorry about that, but the good news is that they are holding a battery for him only a mile away. He says, get this, he says, ‘I want you to give me a new phone.’”
Brooklyn grows increasingly animated with the retelling of the story. “I stop this guy and say, ‘Sir, I’m sorry we don’t have the battery that you came in here to purchase, but I found one for even cheaper that you can get right up the street. The warranty center can mail you the phone if you want to go that route, but if you want the battery today, I would strongly urge you to go over to Melrose and pick it up.’ This guy says he wants me to either have the battery transferred to our store or for me to give him a new phone. Obviously we can’t do either.” Brooklyn stands up as I eye his vacated seat, then he finishes, “this guy stops himself and just decides he wants a new phone now. He gets loud at me and yells ‘Listen, you guys sold me a phone 6 months ago and the battery went bad. If you don’t have the battery for the old phone, I want you to give me a new phone for free. And, since I know you can’t do anything, I would like to talk to a manager!!’”
Brooklyn grows increasingly animated with the retelling of the story. “I stop this guy and say, ‘Sir, I’m sorry we don’t have the battery that you came in here to purchase, but I found one for even cheaper that you can get right up the street. The warranty center can mail you the phone if you want to go that route, but if you want the battery today, I would strongly urge you to go over to Melrose and pick it up.’ This guy says he wants me to either have the battery transferred to our store or for me to give him a new phone. Obviously we can’t do either.” Brooklyn stands up as I eye his vacated seat, then he finishes, “this guy stops himself and just decides he wants a new phone now. He gets loud at me and yells ‘Listen, you guys sold me a phone 6 months ago and the battery went bad. If you don’t have the battery for the old phone, I want you to give me a new phone for free. And, since I know you can’t do anything, I would like to talk to a manager!!’”
He sits right back down.
“So that’s what he’s doing now.”
I shake my head and keep eating when I hear a strange noise. Hauntingly operatic sounds are coming from somewhere in the hallway. I check the backdoor, thinking it might be the wind in the alley. I undo the security latches and bolts and open the door and throw it open. Nothing. No wind to be found, I throw the cardboard boxes out and come back inside shaking my head.
“What’s up?” Brooklyn throws his head up at me.
“Nothing, I keep hearing this weird sound.”
Brooklyn’s eyes get big and his face turns read as if I had just ruined a secret. Miguel starts giggling. Brooklyn laughs and has to turn around. The noise is coming from Janice. Janice, thankfully oblivious to all goings on, continues quietly singing hymns to herself in a terribly off-pitch operatic soprano. Nice lady, awful voice. I have to interrupt.
“Janice,” I start, drawing attention to the whiteboard, “did you update your numbers?”
“Oh no, I should do that.”
Yes, you should....quietly.
She stands up to the board and grabs a red Dry-Erase marker.
“Let’s see....what does ‘ACT’ stand for?”
“Mmm...activation.”
“Okay, I think I got one of those.” She moves to the next line. “What’s an “UP?”
“That’s an upgrade. That’s when you extend an existing customer’s contract in exchange for a discount on the phone.”
“Oh no. That’s what I did.” She erases her mark from the “ACT” column and moves it to “UP” before continuing.
“Is ‘FPO’ when I sell something?”
“FPO stands for Features Per Opportunity. Did you sell that guy a data package or text messaging plan?”
“No. Is ‘APO’ when I sell something?”
“Yes, if that something is an accessory.”
“Oh no. None of those.”
I attempt to ignore the fact that these are terms that actually should be covered in training. I somehow forgive that she doesn't know this. I look up at my own line of pathetic numbers on the board. Shit. I cut lunch early and head back out to the sales floor.
