I went shopping today. Actual, physical shopping that didn't involve a mouse and clicking. The entire contents of my underwear drawer have seen better days, and I wanted to buy a few new pairs of panties.
Two facts: 1) I love.love.love Nordstrom. It's truly my favorite store in the whole world. 2) I hate.hate.hate Victoria's Secret, but I like their Supersoft Hiphugger panty. It fits me well and doesn't give me VPL.
In Beachwood Place today, after splurging on a sale Eileen Fisher sweater and T-shirt in Nordstrom ( with excellent assistance from a very nice middle-aged sales associate), I girded my loins (so to speak) and walked into Victoria's Secret. And none of the sales associates would pay attention to me. No one acknowledged my entrance into the store. After I walked around for a few minutes, one young woman asked if she could help me, then pointed me in the opposite direction of the panties I wanted. When I finally found them on my own, no one was around to help me find my size. After I found and selected five pair, I decided I wanted a pair of lounging pajamas to take to California next month. Again, no one offered to help me find what I wanted. After a few minutes, the first girl noticed me. She didn't really try to help me find what I wanted, but spoke in her earpiece to another associate to ask where in the store the pajama room was. The person she spoke to stuck her head around the corner and saw me coming. When I reached the pajama room, she did not acknowledge me nor ask if she could help me even find my size! I couldn't! I took my handful of panties and headed to the register, where I saw only one clerk and five customers in front of me. I walked back to the panty display, tossed the panties on the counter, and walked out of the store.
After a few minutes in Pottery Barn where several clerks acknowledged me and one helped me buy a set of sheets on sale, I headed back to my beloved Nordstrom. Surely the sales associates in the lingerie department would help me find some good-fitting, reasonably priced panties.
Nope. I walked into the department and started searching the racks. Two associates were busily helping other customers. (Good – shows promise.) One young associate was standing at the register, glancing around the department, not making a move from her safe space. I was very visibly lost in a sea of nylon and needing help, but none was offered. After trying to get anyone's attention, I walked out of the department.
Here's my bottom line: If you can't show me a smidgen of good customer service, my credit card is going to stay in my pocket. I'll gladly wait a few minutes if you just say, "I'll be right with you." But I am not going to beg you to take my money.
There are plenty of people in our geographic area who are out of work and would love to have your job. If you don't know the meaning of customer service, please leave and make room for someone who does.
