It was the best of Customer Service, it was the worst of Customer Service.
We purchased a power lift chair for Her Ladyship two years ago from a reputable furniture chain. She’s had difficulty getting up and down owing to knee surgery a few years back, and this greatly aided her mobility. We bought the extended warranty, on the assumption that it’s lots of mechanical parts, more like an appliance than a piece of furniture, and might not have the lifespan that furniture typically does. So, off we go.
Fast forward: about two years (and a month) later, the lift mechanism goes up but doesn’t go back down, which is, of course, deeply problematic. She can’t sit for hours in the “upright position”, as the airlines refer to their tray tables. It’s a problem. I contacted the store, and they informed me that the warranty has passed from them to a “product protection” company. OK. The store took my money (actually, my credit card) two years ago, but as long as we’re covered, I’m fine with whoever is going to repair or replace. Meanwhile, the store sent over their “tech guy”. A very nice man, lonely I’d guess because he asked us questions about ourselves, and told us way more about himself than we needed to know. He was, however, able to diagnose the problem as electrical / mechanical, mentioned a relay and something else, took photos, told us that the parts would need to be ordered, and promptly left. Two days later, the furniture store sent me a link to the supplier of the parts, should I wish to order them myself. And pay for them myself. It would take at least 30 days to get the parts, they told me with a Happy Face on the message.
On to the “protection” company, which sounds a bit to me like something slightly gangsterish, but I digress. They told me that mechanical issues are not covered. Damage to the fabric, or accidental damage to the chair would be covered. So, as I pointed out to the agent on the line (and these are my exact words), “if I poured a bottle of mustard on the chair, or I took a sledge hammer to it, you’d replace it?” She laughed along with me, then admitted that, yes, that would indeed be covered. I then asked the fanciful question, “When buying the extended warranty on a lift chair, isn’t the logical assumption that it’s the inner workings, the mechanical lift part for which the buyer is most concerned?” She agreed with me, but then told me that the “conditions are outlined in the warranty agreement.” Ah, that’s the seven pages of miniscule printing that accompanied the purchase, which I neglected to put under a microscope and read in the store at the time. My bad. I went back and forth with the nice lady and her supervisor. I used my “band director on the field” voice a number of times, as I understand it because Her Ladyship could hear me several rooms away. I even used the “my nephew is a senior Assistant Attorney General, and he’d be interested in this situation, seeing as this chair is for his favorite aunt’s wellbeing.”
The upshot of this delightful banter is that they reached out to the corporate office and the store’s corporate office to see what they could do. Next stage: as a “courtesy”, they would order the parts to fix the chair. I got an email to that effect, and it expanded on the time frame – about six to eight weeks out, or possibly longer.
Her Ladyship, quite rightly, couldn’t wait weeks to months to get this resolved. She’d already been a week or more without her lift chair, and was alternating between the upright chair frozen in place and the couch, for which she needed assistance getting up. So, she went online, picked out and ordered an acceptable replacement, to arrive in about two weeks. We thought it was worth it to “eat” the cost of the original, and ok, we can live with the two weeks if we have to. Here’s where it gets really quite fun. Two days after the replacement was ordered, and a day after the replacement chair she’d ordered was shipped, we received an email from the furniture store indicating that they were giving us a credit equal to the original purchase price of the chair. My guess, and here it’s all speculation on my part, is that they couldn’t get the parts to repair the original, so somebody in a higher up position decided to cut their losses before I could shame them on Twitter, and offered a full replacement.
Great. Up I go to the store and, speaking to a delightful saleslady, I pick out a couple possibilities, take pictures on my phone and send them to Her Ladyship, who gives her approval. I ask which ones are in stock that we can get quickly. Several are, so wonderful. Off we go again. The store worked quickly with their warehouse, and we had the new chair in four days. Delivered, set up, and working beautifully. I’m happy to report that Her Ladyship is now enjoying her new chair and her restored mobility.
Meanwhile, in another fun twist, after returning from the furniture store with replacement on the horizon, I called to cancel the “other” replacement chair. The company, working through our online supplier – again, I won’t say which one, but you see their dark blue trucks whizzing around everywhere – informed me that, as it was already shipped, it wasn’t “eligible for return”. Out again comes my band director voice. The first young lady with whom I spoke told me timidly that “there was nothing she could do.” I realized that was probably quite true. if I had even two pennies for every time I’d heard that, I’d be wealthy enough to just accept the second chair and donate it to a charity. But I’m not, so I didn’t. I asked to speak to her supervisor. She put me through to Jerome, who was and is truly wonderful. They need to hang on to him at all costs. Jerome contacted the chair people and let them know they would be accepting a return. Meanwhile, half of that chair arrived and was sitting on the doorstep. I hauled it inside, where it was still awaiting a pickup from the shipper. But, they informed me, there would be a charge to return it, and the charge is rather steep. It will be deducted from the credit card charge they’ve already processed. I may get some of it back, but hope is diminishing, much like “Mission Accomplished” and “Peace In Our Time”. Once again, Jerome swooped into action and told me I wouldn’t be paying that shipping charge. That was his original statement. Now he tells me he’s going to “try” to get it back. I may have to recruit a backup unit from American Express.
Since that time, which was last week, I’m still waiting for a return label to be sent. They send me regular email updates telling me the label will be coming “later”. Once I get that, Jerome will call the shipper and arrange a pickup. Then we’ll get the golden nugget – the tracking number. That will allow me to watch the chair backside’s progress across the Pacific, up the Red Sea, through the Suez, past Gibraltar, and on across the Atlantic to Jessop, Maryland – it’s final destination. At that point, if there is a God in Heaven, I should see something, I don’t know how much, on my credit card statement in five to ten days. Of course, credit card refunds have taken a real beating by the pandemic. Processing goes through like a bolt of lightning, but refunds take much, much longer.
Here we have it, folks. Customer service in the 21st century. I’m a firm believer in the personal touch, even if my voice takes on a slightly edgy tone. On my side is the notification that “this call is being recorded for training purposes.” Great, now they have a record of it, which I have a strange feeling they delete once the phone clicks off. I too make a notation. “Spoke to Eloise at 10:45 on Tuesday”. That sometimes works on the next phone call to Ebenezer.
Well, my good friend Jerome and I had a conference call finally with a pleasant man at FedEx, and the upshot is that, sometime between 8 AM and 8 PM, FedEx will swoop in and will up the chair’s hind quarters from our front porch. (insert note: it’s quarter to three and still no sight of the big truck.). They’d better, because I muscled it out there this morning. If it’s not gone, the next call to FedEx will include my warm, friendly band director from the tower in the stadium voice. Activated once again for the occasion. Then we start working on the credit to my credit card. Oh, God. Another . . . . As I said, Customer Service in the 21st Century – it’s a beautiful thing.
I'm Thinking...No! 