One should be suspicious of any business that does not have an accessible information booth or a complaint department. In the olden days, department stores had a complaint department; it was often near the gift wrap and returns, and in the lower level (read basement), but customers could form a queue and politely air grievances about anything to do with their store experience and have a sympathetic ear. Often the ear was also attached to some mild-mannered milquetoast; in later years the person behind the desk may have been more commanding in their presence, such as a woman one might suspect of having worked in a rock quarry (“Yeah, what’s your beef, wimp?”)
I have been having some frustrating issues lately, and no place to talk about them. Facebook, for example, has been limiting my actions on the very page you are reading when it is posted there, and they won’t let me settle the issue. Everything I click on is blocked, so I can’t inquire or provide what they may need to reverse the matter. I am so grateful for the handful of supporters I have now, since any potential new supporters don’t know I exist because Facebook doesn’t seem interested in letting me speak with them.
Microsoft is also a problem to complain to. I had an issue with a game, and when somebody is using a game for brain stimulation or relaxation like me, an issue with playing tends to have the opposite effect. Normally I would turn to the YouTube cheats, in which an expert deftly solves the puzzle while you watch and makes you feel like a total idiot, but this was a rare occasion when I could not find one for this particular game. Sure it’s embarrassing to have somebody hold your hand through a game, but imagine, when there isn’t one, what new level of hell that can be, especially when one is used to ranking in the top ten or twenty on any given day. This particular game cost me dearly when I struggled to reach that point and grew too exhausted to go further, and I ended up in the top 50 somewhere.
Sometimes in my daily job, I field complaints from other people. This past week I got one of my most dreaded classic approaches to complaining: the entitled person who misses their high school debate team years and makes anybody in customer service miserable by being a jerk and not knowing when to stop.
These types follow a predictable pattern; first, they openly admit they didn’t follow the best route to satisfaction, either through misguided actions on their part or downright fraud, and the reply simply suggests another way to get the same result. This then brings another reply stating that our answer is useless. Imagine that: throwing monetary bonuses or the road to satisfaction their way, and they call it useless. I always wonder what type of person does this (Dr. Phil McGraw would probably say a narcissist). After a further review and polite suggestions, another missal (read missile) is launched picking apart the reply verbatim with an opinionated jab or two such as “You’re talking with the flair of corporate speak.” Well, sir, who would you want to reply to your malodorous rant, the local librarian?
Maybe the reason some places did away with complaint departments is that, once one has been complained to all day, the services of a shrink are required, and that’s expensive. The costs have to be passed on to customers, who then complain about that. Gee, we are a complaining race, aren’t we.
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