The Customer, The Company, and Complaints
Facilitating Campaign Clinic Panels is the reason we planners hate the 3rd Monday of the month. It is on that day when one of us pledge allegiance to the Office, and throw our selves to a pack of angry wolves in the form of disgruntled, middle-aged female customers decked in knock-off gold jewelry and glossy lipstick. You pray to all the saints in heaven that these women don’t bring issues so early in the morning, issues that the Sales Planning Group (and not the Marketing Planning Group where we belong) should have cleaned up before they went about mindlessly launching activation programs without enough resource.
Don’t get me wrong. I should say this, just in case my blog falls into the wrong hands and I start breaking people’s egos. The Sales Planning people are competent, level-headed, sensible, and hardworking. But in the not-so-rare instance of getting us all killed via stock shortage of customer freebies, I begin to suspect that the term Sales Planning is some form of oxymoron. Like Military Intelligence.
Anyway… back to the pack of wolves.
The previous Monday was my turn in the wilderness. Whereas I don’t usually wear make-up at the Office, I was early in the executive powder room layering on concealer-foundation-powder-blush-eyeliner-eyeshadow-mascara, and putting on a serious mauve lipcolor. Make-up was obligatory when facing our customers. “Look Beautiful” was Rule Number One.
I entered the small panel room and suddenly the ladies hush like they didn’t want me to hear what they’d just been talking about. Eleven of them were in that day. The room was heady with the mix of strong aldehydic and floral perfume notes in the air. I wanted to throw up; I knew what I was getting myself into as this was Panel number eight for me. There was a certain bad vibe emanating from the filled seats. Nevertheless, I flicked on the presentation and put my best cheery face forward. Must not let them know you are a wreck inside. Rule Number Two.
I hadn’t even gone past the introductory slide when a one of the older ladies started complaining… No, no, no. Let me rephrase that like all good employees do. One of the senior ladies started bitching about the previous Saturday’s Super Sale. Apparently, they ran out of stocks of the 7-in-1 wonder pot which was a freebie for every P500 purchase of make-up and toiletries. Fellow customers went wild in the branches, even stealing from unguarded carts that were lined-up at the cashier.
This woman who brought in her Sales Planning-related issue was shaking with anger as she recounted her horrible experience that weekend. I was afraid she was going to get a cardiac. The other ladies joined in, fighting for my attention to listen to their story of woe. One even started to cry, close to cursing this company for not taking care of customers like her.
My plastered smile hanged on to my face. Don’t let me down, don’t let me down … Oh Dear God please don’t let me buckle in front of all these women. I am so not trained for this aspect of the job… I am analyst, for heaven’s sake! I don’t have a frigging degree in psychology to use to calm these people! The budget for Customer Service Training has been slashed again this year!! Will somebody please shoot these ladies with tranquilizers?? I need another one for myself!!!
... Suddenly, an epiphany.
A vision in blue caps and striped shirts. A McDonald’s frontliner smiles through a cloud of irate customers and says to me in slow-mo: “I’ll … just … get …. my … manager.”
Get my manager. That is just so right! I don’t have to deal with this on my own! I can call Joel and have HIM endure this torture!
I excused myself from the panel and quickly looked for Joel. (Marian, my real boss, was on leave that day.) I explained to him the situation, and asked him finally to join me face the ladies.
Twenty minutes after returning to the room, Joel was still standing up in front, quietly absorbing the brutal blows from the panel. When he decides to talk, all the women in the room listen. Every question, every concern, every issue that was raised had an answer tactfully delivered by this old, senior manager. I may not have agreed with some of his replies, but I highly admired how he dissipated the violent tendency of that moment.
He delicately ended the gripe session by asking everyone to join him in a couple of breathing exercises. Surprisingly, the panel obliged, and began inhaling and exhaling inside the cramped room. After ten counts, the room seemed a lot bigger and spacious. The faces of the ladies appeared more relaxed and composed.
“And now, we shall start with the clinic.” He gives the floor to me with a knowing smile. I have never felt more relieved in my life.
posted by Elyss @ 10:49 PM
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