a placeless world

I fancy myself a jack of most trades.

Most, I say, because I can't really play basketball or crochet. But I'm generally good at most things I try.

A few months back I changed out the alternator in my car. I was really proud that I got the damned thing out and a new one in all by my lonesome, even though it later turned out that it wasn't the reason my car wouldn't start after all.

Rather than a confidence boosted, that really should have been a hint. But I suppose that, as a consequence of being generally good at most things I try, I'm slow to figure out that which I'm not good at. (Through college, I fancied myself a pretty solid basketball player even as I was picked last every time I played — in co-ed games, no less.)

I wish — oh how I wish — I'd realized just a bit earlier that I'm simply not a car guy.

No need to make this a long tale, it's simply not one.

My wife's car leaks oil. Not a lot, but enough that our mechanic said we should keep an eye on it. So when the oil lamp went on a few weeks ago, I filled 'er up. And when my parents were in town last week and we were all going to go to the mountains, I put in a little extra for comfort.

We hadn't made it five blocks when the car started clunking and smoking.

Turns out that there is an internationally recognized best practice for putting oil in your engine: You check the dipstick, add a quart, then check again. Everybody at my work knew this.

But somehow, I never learned this trick. I thought that you were supposed to fill up the tank until you could see the oil by looking down into the filler hole. Yes, I've put 8 quarts of oil in my wife's car in two weeks.

Yes, the damage was extensive. Yes, I'm simply a jack of some trades.

Good news is, she's not too angry. In fact, she really likes her brand new Honda Civic.

August 2, 2005

Brad Anderson
President, Best Buy Inc.
7601 Penn Avenue South
Richfield, Minnesota 55423

Dear Mr. Anderson:

I’m writing to let you know that my family won’t be shopping at Best Buy anymore.

It’s not the prices — you folks are quite competitive. Your selection remains the best we can find, and the staff has always been kind, knowledgeable and helpful. But we’re done spending our money at your stores — and all it took was 15 minutes, a salesman’s misunderstanding and a manager mired by inflexible “policy.”

Here’s the skinny: I was taking down the prices on a few different television sets at your Salt Lake City store when Josh, an energetic salesman with a toothy grin, walked up and stuck out his hand.

“Checking prices?” he asked. “That’s great! Check around at the different stores in the area. I doubt you’ll find the same item for cheaper, but if you do, come back and tell me and we’ll beat it by 10 percent.”

I thought it was a lovely idea — and I had some time on my hands. So I ran down the road to a few other stores to price the 27-inch Philips flat screen that I’d found at your store for $289. Most places didn’t have it stocked. A few did and were more expensive. But Wal-Mart had it: For $247.

I did the calculation in my head: Going back to Best Buy meant I’d save $24.70 off Wal-Mart’s price. Certainly not a king’s ransom — but not bad for my efforts, to be sure. I drove to my friend’s home to borrow his truck and headed for your store.

Josh wasn’t there when I arrived, but the man at the front of the store told me all I had to do was go to the customer service desk and they would arrange the discount. When I did, however, I was told that the discount I had been promised was only given to people who had already bought the product at a different store.

“That’s not what Josh told me,” I noted.

“Sorry,” the woman behind the counter said. “He must have misunderstood the policy.”

I asked for a manager. And Grace Gregson soon arrived. Very polite. Very calm. But very disinterested in taking responsibility for her store’s mistake. And moreover, she appeared to believe that I would be satisfied to know that Josh “who is new,” “will be dealt with.”

Dealt with? For making me a happy customer? For convincing me to return and spend my money at Best Buy rather than Wal-Mart?

No, for making a mistake that would cost your store a whopping $67 — if your manager did the right thing and honored her salesman’s promise, which, of course, she didn’t.

“I’m really sorry,” she said. “But I’m not authorized to give you the discount.”

“It’s not the money,” I told her. “It’s the principle. Your store made me a promise. I spent my evening driving around town to take advantage of the deal you offered. And now you’re telling me that you’re going to let a few bucks get in the way of your customer’s relationship with this store?”

“Yes,” Grace answered. “I’m sorry but I don’t have the authority to give you the deal.”

And because she was the highest ranking manager at the store at the time, Grace said, there was no one else who could help me, either.

That Josh was not better informed of the store’s pricing policies before being sent out to sell television sets was not his fault. The store and it’s managers are to blame. Sadly, I fear Grace will tell him it is his fault that the store has lost a customer — and that is not true.

Frankly, it does not appear to be Grace’s fault either. As a senior manager at the store, she should be empowered to make a decision that — though costing the company $67 in profit — would honor a promise, make a sale and ensure a customer’s satisfaction.

Your company’s policies, it would appear, are to blame. And that is why my family won’t be returning to Best Buy. You can also be certain that I will advise my friends and coworkers to stay away from your stores. And just for kicks, in this age of worldwide personal publishing power, I’ll probably put a copy of this letter on my blog (where, I’ll admit, it won’t be read by many.)

And perhaps none of that really matters. What does one dissatisfied customer mean against $4 billion in annual sales?

Well, it means Wal-Mart is $247 richer. And if that’s all, so be it.