#classicjosh

Originally posted in December 2003

Small note - So, I had I few problems with an order at work.  I actually wrote this and sent this in to the supervisor of the three poor, unsuspecting service representatives that were force to deal with me.  I'm told it had been passed around the whole office within three days of sending it, and was printed out on a poster and mounted on the wall of their customer service center.

To Whom it May Concern:

My name is Josh, and I'm the Purchasing Agent at the <Workplace>.

Almost a month ago, I purchased your 46" Lane Bi-fold Executive desk and hanging Keyboard tray from Staples National Business Advantage.  When it arrived, I had a tray.  I had the top of the Desk.  I was missing four legs for said table.

No problem, I thought...these things happen.  I alerted their Customer Service, explained my problem, and they agreed to pick up the limbless desk and bring me a new one.

I waited, again, and soon enough, the new desk arrived.   Guess what? Still no legs.

After what I felt was an extremely warranted session of cursing, I got back on the phone with Staples and attempted to reason with them without crying, whining, or otherwise throwing a hissy fit.  I was successful with controlling my behavior, but not with finding any kind of solution...they told me they had done all they could, gave me your company's phone number, and told me I would have to take it up with your people.

So, I called on July 17th, timid and fearful, hoping that I would meet with kind and useful souls who could help me with my tragic lack of desk legs.  I talked with Brandon, who, in a matter of minutes, had everything in hand, told me that an order had been placed, and that I would see my new legs in 5 business days.

I was relieved, and proceeded to move on with my life, which is usually far less wrapped up in concern over table legs.

Cut forward to yesterday. Author's note - Monday was 7 business days later.

I start receiving calls from the Director of our Marketing department, curious as to why her people have no legs for the desk of their brand-new multimedia center.  She expressed even louder curiosity in what my proposed response would be to this dilemma.  This distressed me greatly, as I am a simple, peaceful soul, who goes to great lengths to keep such exalted individuals such as Department Directors from taking personal interests in his affairs.

Once again, I flew to the phone and spoke to your representative Justin.  He agreed that the delay did seem a bit odd, and promptly supplied me with the UPS tracking number for the package containing to legs.

Filled with gratitude, I thanked him, and flew to the UPS website to find the package's location.   I then discovered UPS had no idea where the package was.  They knew who they were supposed to bill for the package, and had already done so, but they didn't seem to see how taking money to deliver something in any way obliged them to know the item's location, or, indeed, even deliver it.

At this point, panic began to bloom at the root of my soul.  I called your people back immediately and spoke to Nate.  He was as surprised as I was in hearing of UPS's Zen-like "non-delivery" deliver policy, promised me that he would attempt to get to the bottom of the issue, and would call me back.

Somewhat pacified, I left for the day, feeling confident that my problems were over, that Nate would call me back, assuaging all my worries by telling me the package did, indeed, exist somewhere, and was not stuck in some forgotten delivery Limbo.

I came in today to a phone message from Nate, informing me that UPS had never picked up the package, and that it was looking like he would have to order me a new one.

This was a regrettable situation.

What made the situation MORE regrettable was the selfsame Director of Marketing from earlier in this Saga calling me roughly 43 seconds after I had finished listening to this message, demanding an update.  I (reluctantly) informed her of all the current facts of the situation.

What followed was an inelegant and barbaric dance of bureaucracy, finger-pointing, and generally throwing me under the bus.  My call sheet now included not just said Director, but my boss, my boss's boss, the Vice President of Marketing, and our General Manager.  Apparently, they all felt that the most vital thing they could do to speed up the process of my acquisition of their needed table legs was requesting explanations, full reports, and status updates for two hours.

At this point, the aforementioned panic in my soul was in full blossom, and I was seriously considering taking holy orders in a quiet, remote monastery where people take oaths of silence, and vow to never trouble themselves with earthly matters, such as wealth and desk legs.

Now, my soul wounded and my heart heavy, I could only pick up the phone and once again cast my voice, weak and tremulous, across the digital divide of phone cable and electrical pulse to your operatives' waiting ears.  The ears waiting this time belonged to Nate again, who listened with what I felt was saint-like patience and angelic compassion to my heavy tale of sorrow, Vice Presidents, and woe.

I, in unmanly fashion, actually broke down and implored Nate to show mercy on my wretched self, and send the legs as swiftly as he could, whether by plane, costumed superhero, cartoon Roadrunner, or possibly even sub-atomic light speed transmission, if he had it available.

"Damn the expense," I proclaimed, "I'll pay it and more to conclude this matter."

Nate not only agreed to expedite the shipping, but he even volunteered to investigate your warehouse and see if he could lay physical hand upon the accursed legs in question, so he could verify with his own two eyes that they were packed up, picked up, and shipped, ensuring I would get them with no further delays.  He told me he would call me back as soon as he had it all set.

Confident at last, I hung up the phone a new man...relieved, calm, at peace.  Your representative had proven to be a balm to my soul.

"Surely," I thought to myself, "this must conclude this matter...he seems to be so sure, so dedicated to his goal of the acquisition and shipping of desk legs. Why, it would take an act of God to keep my legs from me now."

Alas... I was proven correct.

I was preparing myself to leave around 5pm (here in Tampa, so around 2pm your time, Author’s Note – the customer service center/table leg repository was in California.) when it suddenly occurred to me that I had not heard back from Nate.  So calmed I had grown that I foolishly went about all the other varied and demanding business of my day, giving the savagely crucial business of the chair legs nary a further thought.

But now... now, doubt had begun to creep in, and I thought to myself, "Why, I'm sure everything fine. But wouldn't it be remiss of me if I didn't check?  Can I endure another day of being the object of attention for such godlike and influential beings as Vice Presidents?  No, no... I am a simple man, and long only for peace and harmony when completing my duties.  Let's give Nate a call, and make sure all is well."

Resolved, I picked up the phone, waited for an answer, certain that all was well and that I would suffer not further disappointment.  My call was answered, and I was once more vocally reunited with Brandon, who informed me that Nate had left for the day.

Now, I will at this point admit, not proudly, mind you, that in my heart of heart, I cursed your employees, wondering what selfish, callow excuse they could offer for not ensuring the safe and speedy delivery of my legs.

"What!?!" I demanded.  "Why?"  I felt keenly that if his reason for leaving early was anything less drastic than the earth itself opening, I would start screaming.

"There's been an earthquake," came Brandon's reply.

Ah.  Well.

At this point, I was devastated.  At this point, despair rushed back into my soul, and I hoped that the earth would crack under ME, and swallow me whole, because I was a cursed man, burdened with a figurative albatross around my neck, and that even God himself was arrayed against the delivery of these desk legs, and thus, arrayed against my salvation.

I sighed, and offered my condolences, and asked Brandon (because, really, at this point, what did I have left to lose?) if Nate had mentioned anything about shipping out my desk legs. Though Staples, UPS, and the Almighty Himself had turned against me, I still obviously held onto the smallest sliver of hope.

At this point, however, a miracle occurred.

Your gentleman told me that no, no mention had been made, but he would check.  What followed, gentle reader, was amazing.  Brandon could find no mention of my order having been shipped, and could not locate the legs.

However, he did not stop there - he went and looked for them personally, and when THAT failed, he even contacted Nate by his cell, and they collaborated to see if any progress could be made.  I begged Brandon not to trouble his co-worker with such trivial business in the wake of such a disaster, but he assured me that there were no fiery homes, deceased relatives, missing pets, or severed limbs at the other end of Nate's phone that he was attempting to deal with, and that I shouldn't worry.

Finally, in the end, no legs could be located, and I thought that my luck had finally run empty...but no. Brandon girded his loins, picked up the phone, and returned to do battle with my original sparring partner in this office furniture train wreck, the Staples National Business Advantage Customer Service Department.  He asked for me to please be patient, and to stay on the line.  As if, by this point, I was even CAPABLE of hanging up with seeing this through to its resolution.

I waited, breathless with anticipation, the minutes seeming like hours as I waited on the phone, with Brandon returning occasionally to ask me for some clarifying point or miscellaneous ordering info.  In the end, he uncovered the gross error the Staples people had made with my initial order, negotiated a price 66% of the original, and arranged for free overnight shipping to ensure that I would not have to wait one second longer for my order.

It was done...Madam (or miss, I intend no disrespect,) your three customer service representatives had, at last, proven successful.

In an order I did not even directly place with your company, they had fixed an error made by several people a continent away, battled through the incompetence and confusion of two major megacorporations, and even overcame obstacles sent by God Himself to get me my desk legs.

They did so while displaying panache, tact, courtesy, patience, and undeserved compassion to a poor, broken man who had been driven beyond reason by what are, essentially, glorified metal sticks.

I sincerely appreciate all there hard work and dedication, and can unreservedly say that I have need had such excellent service, never been treated so well, by any company in the history of my (admittedly young) life.  You are lucky to have them in your employ, and I wish them nothing but success in whatever field they choose to follow.

Thank you, and more importantly, thank them.

All that being said, I hope that for the rest of my (hopefully long) life, I am never forced to become so deeply emotionally and spiritually invested in furniture components ever again.  I think we can all agreed that this would be for the best.