AAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!
I love phone calls that begin with someone screaming at you, especially when they come before you are officially open. I enjoy them even more when your computer won't boot up, and you realize you will have to start the morning off handwriting invoices until you have a few minutes to figure out why the electrons have gone on strike. The only thing more special is the army of appointments scheduled for that day arriving en masse in the midst of all this insanity. I guess I should buy a lottery ticket this afternoon, because all three phenomena aligned themselves to test both my patience and my resolve this morning.
The woman at the other end of the phone began her diatribe by shrieking her displeasure with our shop at me in terms I'm not sure I have ever heard before. In fact, I'm not sure anyone has ever been so vicious without using at least one X-rated expletive. According to her, we were right up there with the 'World's Most Wanted' serial killers, child abusers, murderers and thieves. We had not only violated her checkbook; we had broken her car in the process. Normally, something like that would have really pushed me over the edge, especially that early in the day. But, for some reason, I just moved the phone away from my ear and waited for a break in the assault. While she was behaving like a fool, I was waiting for an opportunity to find out what could possibly have happened between 6:00 last night and 7:30 this morning to facilitate this kind of transformation. After all, it isn't every day a seemingly normal, middle-age woman is able to transform herself from a mild-mannered, professional woman into a snarling monster.
No one person, no 'thing,' could keep up a verbal assault of that intensity forever. Even monsters have to breathe occasionally. Sooner or later, even demons run out of energy, and she was no exception. What didn't make any sense to me was the 'why' of this explosion of vitriolic rhetoric. All we did was an oil change, a safety service, a clutch and a rear main seal. The car ran fine when it was road-tested. It started every time we needed it to start. There wasn't an ocean of oil pouring out from under the vehicle. It was finished on time, and the customer had been notified about the additional charges for resurfacing the flywheel and replacing the rear main seal before the work was done. So, the price for the job as estimated and agreed upon wasn't, or at least, should not have been a problem. What could possibly warrant this violent a reaction?
The invoice was wrong, her car wouldn't start and she was unable to get to church this morning.... church? With behavior more consistent with a satanic sacrifice, church was the last place I thought she would be headed! All I could think of was the '60s when pacifists blew up buildings to promote the cause of non-violence.
I started with the invoice because I wanted to know where it was wrong... The amount was incorrect. Why was it incorrect? Because she was charged $417.32 for labor and that was more than she was quoted. How much more? Thirty-two dollars and ninety one cents more!
Now, I have to tell you, this woman was vicious. Her phrases were clipped, and her language could cut diamonds. While she ranted and raved, I worked the numbers over in my head and on my calculator. The total for the whole bill was right on the money, literally. However, the labor total was $417.32 just as she said it was and that's when I realized where she had made her mistake. When I was finally able to insert a word or two, I asked her if she had added up the labor, parts and tax. She said she had and I asked what the total was. When she couldn't answer me, I knew she hadn't done it, and I had her! I asked if she would please add the numbers up again, just to humor me. After a few minutes of silence, she told me they were wrong. They had to be, because if you added up the labor, parts and tax, the total was $32.91 higher than the price she paid. I told her that was because the $32.91 for the "Safety Service" was credited off the bill because she was a Priority Service customer, something that was about to change as soon as I got off the phone!
I was even more frustrated at that moment because I had attempted to explain the charges to her yesterday when she came to pick up the vehicle. That is our policy. Regardless of how busy we are, regardless of the number of people waiting to pick up their cars or trucks, we always try to spend a few minutes explaining what was done and why. In this instance, I had asked her to allow me to go over the bill with her twice, but she wasn't feeling well and didn't have the time. Now, I was sorry I let her leave without forcing her to listen.
And then, all of a sudden, she had nothing to say...
No longer having price as a justification for her abuse, she addressed the fact that her car would no longer start. "Why won't my car start? What did you do to it?
It worked perfectly before!"
I didn't have any answers for her. Or, at least none that she would accept. I was at the shop, and she was four and a half miles away. She had the car, and all I had was a headache! All I could do was remind her that the car started for us every time we needed it to start. Did she have any difficulty starting the vehicle when she went to leave the shop? No. Did she go straight home? No. She stopped at two different places before heading home. Did the car start each time? Yes. Then why did she assume that all we had to do was find a way to prevent her from starting her car? It's not like we had anything to gain by keeping her from church!
I was fairly frustrated at that point. We've spent our lives fixing cars . . . not breaking them. We've also developed a pretty good reputation in the community for being successful far more often than not. She wasn't impressed.
Finally, I asked her how she was feeling, and she told me she had the flu. I asked if she had been 'well' before she came down with the flu. "Of course, I was well before!" Then I asked her how that was possible. After all, if she was always well, she should always be well ... She certainly shouldn't get sick without any warning. I reminded her that people can be alive and doing just fine, and then just suddenly fall over and die. And, light bulbs can and often do blow out for no apparent reason at all. I tried to explain that it really didn't take much for a battery to die the way hers had done.
I'd love to be able to tell you that logic prevailed and that she understood and apologized, but you already know how unlikely that would be. She was not only frustrated and angry, she was ill, and now she was exhausted as well. I could empathize. After our conversation this morning I wasn't feeling too good myself.
When all was said and done, I sent a technician up to her house with a battery booster, a set of cables and some test equipment. We don't usually make house calls, but after the way she acted on the phone this morning, it made more sense to look at the car in her driveway than it did to have her waiting in my office.
I wasn't sure I would be able to control myself if she started another tirade and we were face-to-face instead of telephone-to-telephone.
I hung up the phone, took a deep breath and sent my most dependable (and patient) technician to her house. I can't tell you how much I enjoyed the next few moments. Even though we were busy writing service, the normal routine of doing that with people who were not malignant seemed a joy. Ultimately, the telephone rang again. This time it was the technician calling for price and availability on a battery to fit her car. Her battery had died - not that hard to believe after more than six years of service. We didn't have one. We probably could have either ordered one for morning delivery or purchased one from a local vendor. In the end it didn't matter, because after she heard the price she didn't want one anyway. At least, not one of the batteries we stock and sell. She wanted a less expensive battery, a $20 or $30 battery. At that point, I felt we had done enough. Her car was running. The problem had been identified, and it was perfectly clear, at least to me, that our services were no longer necessary.
By the time our technician returned, I was so deeply involved in the business of running the business, I didn't have the time or the desire to think about my assailant. All I cared about was our performance and our reputation in the community, and at that point I felt we had gone above and beyond what anyone else might have done.
Interestingly enough, she had become a whole new person by the time our technician arrived at her home. She was courteous and appreciative, even a bit remorseful for the way she had treated me on the phone. Of course, she never told me that. Nor, did she call to apologize or thank me. But, she was courteous to the man... and civil to me.
Me? I was just relieved; relieved to be rid of her and her awful mouth even though she had learned to behave herself by the time our conversation was over. Despite the toll it may have taken on my psyche, I felt good about what had happened. I didn't lose my temper. I didn't fly off the handle. I didn't say things I was sorry for, then or now. Through patience and performance, we caged the monster. Through professionalism and perseverance, we tamed the shrew. I suppose the only question I have now is... Now that I know how to tame a shrew, would someone please tell me why I should have to?
