This morning I was craving me some donuts. So it began…
“You don’t need any,” the reasonable part of me said, “You’ll be on a sugar high for a few hours and then you’ll crash on the couch worthless for the rest of the day.”
“But I just want two,” the rest of me pleaded.
“How bad do you want them?”
“How about I run first. That’ll wake me up and burn some calories.”
So that’s how the bargaining went down. I ran and then, 45 minutes later, I was standing in Concannon’s Donut shop staring at case after shiny case of glazed, sparkled, filled, iced, and sugared doughy goodness.
I picked my two and stepped to the counter to pay.
I pulled out my credit card.
“Oh,” the donut lady said, “we only take credit cards for orders over $10.”
“Well,” I tilted my plastic-filled wallet void of any greenback for her to see, “I don’t have any money.”
“You could go the ATM,” she said.
Look, if it’s Sunday and you’re selling donuts you should be happy or at least act happy. It’s like when I worked as dive instructor. Our customers were happy because they were on vacation. So even if you were having a crap day, you smiled and were friendly.
I used to smile through headaches, hangovers, and sunburns and I had to ride out to sea for an hour and dive to 100 feet with 40lbs of gear on my back. People die SCUBA diving. All the donut lady had to do was put two donuts in a bag and the worst thing that could happen to her was that she snuck one too many samples of blueberry coffee cake and further clogged her arteries.
Nothing pisses me off more than bad customer service.
Here’s what I wanted to tell this woman:
I realize that accepting credit cards eats into your bottom line. But if I drive to an ATM, on the way I’ll pass 10 other places where I could grab breakfast that accept credit cards for any amount. Everybody accepts credit cards. I buy 50-cent packs of gum with a credit card. I don’t carry cash. Ever. And since I don’t buy more than $10 of donuts at a time, I guess I’ll never be coming here again.
“So,” she said, “what are you going to do?”
“Whelp,” I said, “I guess I’ll grab breakfast elsewhere.”
I did and then when I got home I scoured the Internet for the best way to complain about my experience at Concannon’s. I found their facebook page, became a fan, and left a complaint. The comment was quickly dropped.
They don’t have a webpage, they don’t accept credit cards, they don’t have an email listed, and they no longer have me as a customer (probably, if my will power holds).
There, I feel better. Still, I could go for some donuts.
This must be how it feels when a crack addict can’t stand their dealer.