Remember the barista who coughed up a spitball the size of her front tooth into the latte at Starbucks? (Still waiting on the response Starbucks) the American Airlines representative who booked my ticket starting in the city I was going to and wouldn’t change it without my buying a second ticket? (I still don’t fly them) When your path crosses someone who didn’t do their job well, you want to make sure the company knows about it. While I’m sure you want to go all sabre-wagging, “Oh no you didn’t!” crazy on someone, simmer down. Trust me, the pen is mightier than the sword.
First the zen part of this; the act of writing out what happened to you is going to make you feel better. All corporate offices get feedback from their customers. The bad ones ignore it. The good ones read it. But the great ones act on it. So if you want a great company to act on something bad that happened to you, follow my simple rules for writing a complaint letter:
1. Don’t get crazy. Dropping the F-Bomb in your first sentence is not going to get you the attention you want. And painting yourself to be more of a saint than you actually were is not going to win you any brownie points. Write your account of what happened and then sit on it for a few hours. Go back and take out the undue emotion. You’re dealing with a company here, not your spouse who hangs on your every word.
2. “Just the facts, Ma’am.” Joe Friday said it best. Companies want to know what happened and how it made you feel about them. “I delicately set my suitcase on the weigh station when the ticket officer lunged at my throat and screamed, “IT’S TOO HEAVY!!” is not going to do you any favors. Because unless that letter is accompanied by a police report, we all know that’s not how it went down. Try “I was really disappointed in (insert company name here) when your XXX did YYY.
3. Offer them an opportunity to make it right. I always like to use, “I’d like to think this is an opportunity for you to show your customers what you think of us.” It’s like telling your Mom, “I just want you to love me.” Cue harps, angels and hopefully a discount.
4. Remind them how this experience doesn’t jive with what they advertise. I give shout outs and props to the cats at Delta. They got a new head of customer service or something, because the folks listening to my in-flight complaints about broke down TV’s, arm rests and the like are actually listening. I nearly fell off my chair when I told them that their new multi-million dollar ad campaign was not in line with my experience. They said two words that made all the difference, “You’re right.” Do huh? I’m right? From a corporation? They followed up the e-mail with a nice pre-stamped paragraph that basically read, “we’re trying as hard as we can.” They then deposited a few thousand points in my account as an apology. Go Delta!
5. Promise, don’t threaten: Again, don’t get crazy! State facts and promises that will effect the companies bottom line. “My family of 4 goes out to eat at least three times each week. While we frequent your establishment I’m afraid we don’t feel comfortable as patrons in an establishment that will not make good on such an event as we had last time.” You just told some shift manager that he’s about to lose a boat load of money. If he’s not smart enough to resolve this, you really shouldn’t be going to this joint.
6. Finally, act on those promises: You have to do it. If no one tries to make good on your situation, it’s time to bolt. It’s the same reason you don’t stick with an abusive lover or eat hot dogs from the street corner. You just won’t be able to live with the feeling in your gut that says you shouldn’t be here anymore. But then drop a note to the company on occasion letting them know you’ve spent hundreds or thousands of dollars with their competition.
Follow these simple steps and let us know how it goes. If a company reacts well or poorly, we’d love to hear.
A serious debate has been brewing among our friends lately. How much do you tip food delivery drivers? On one penny-pinching hand some friends believe that one long trip from the restaurant to their dining room table gets the dishwasher, who had a few extra minutes to drop off some food, a couple of bucks and a “see you later”. On the other more generous hand, delivery guys are seen as waiters who happened to get the table 1/2 mile outside of their assigned dining room section. And they should have their shot at providing 20% service like everyone else back at the restaurant.
Larry Fox shakes with his generous hand and feels adamantly that delivery drivers should get larger tips . He started the blog 15Percent to call out bad tippers in his Greenpoint neighborhood. According to his web site, “15 Percent is a blog documenting people, and companies who have never seemed to work in the service industry, or don’t think to tip at least 15% on deliveries, and instead opt for 2 dollars on everything.” If you live in that area you might want to check out his site to see if your tip made the list, because bad tippers are called out by company and address for all to see.
So in trying to decide what to tip a delivery person, I asked myself what a waiter in the restaurant does to get their 20% from me. I want them to know the menu and specials, and be able to answer questions about how the food is prepared. They should be personable, attentive and keep an eye on whether we need something at the table. Oh, and they should know how to serve wine correctly. I’m not really looking for much more.
But as patrons we also have a civic responsibility in this fiscal exchange. If we leave the table looking like a post-apocolyptic scene from the Titanic dining room it’s our job to compensate the people who will have to clean it up. And just a friendly reminder that the Cheerio explosion left by your precious little one below the high chair won’t be cleaning itself. And finally, if we chat about the world’s problems for three hours over one order of cheese fries and a diet coke, have the sense to know that you are paying the person who brought you 15 free refills more than a dollar.
Personally for a delivery driver I usually shoot for 15-20%. We order from the same places quite frequently, so good service from him is paid with a good tip from me. If he’s done his job well–kept the cheese from sticking to the top of the box when I open it; and made sure the food is there and hot in a relatively short amount of time, there’s no reason he shouldn’t expect to be compensated for his time. And if the conditions are crappy–bad weather or it’s 10 minutes before closing, I have no problem slipping him a little extra. Because the next time you order food you will be so amazed at how quickly it magically appears at your front door.
There is a reason the government mandated cigarette boxes carry warning labels. It’s to deter you from smoking. When you have to carry around a box that reads, “May cause low birth weight” and “Increases chance of cancer” the theory is you may smoke less. It wasn’t until last week that I found out the frozen yogurt industry didn’t get that memo. If you put the actual effects of your product on the box people DON’T want to buy your product. This is especially true if you post a big sign in your shop offering your customers a chance for decreased diarrhea and a shot at conquering rheumatoid arthritis. Where’s my spoon?
Much loved by post-step class sorority girls and tweens alike, frozen yogurt has been a part of Americana for decades now. But my-oh-my how far yogurt has come. The latest trend to hit the west coast is the serve yourself yogurt shops. They start you out with a bowl the size of a toddler’s head and invite you to fill ‘er up. We visited one of these shops last week and the next thing I knew I had a bowl of three yogurts with three toppings. But as we sat down to enjoy dessert I noticed the sign below that touted the potential “benefits” of yogurt.
With the Huckleberry yogurt with sprinkles I found out I was swallowing a chance to lower cholesterol and strengthen my immune system. Delish! But as I moved to chocolate and coconut shavings I found out this yogurt was helping me with my osteoporosis and rheumatoid arthritis. My what? I have what? I’ll call the doctor on Monday. But I finally hit my panicky tailspin while enjoying vanilla with strawberry tapioca. I read that my yogurt would also act as an anti-carcinogenic and anti-tumor agent. I have tumors? What? How could I have missed those at my annual physical? Screw my doctor. I’m selling my place and living out my last days on the beach.
Maybe next time we just let the digestive benefits of yogurt stay on the down low. We will let frozen yogurt take a cue from breakfast, instead of cigarettes. You read the side of the Fiber One box while enjoying your morning cereal. Nowhere on the side of the box do you see expedited bowel movements or sudden urges to grab a magazine and head to the toilet, but you know what’s coming at the bottom of the bowl. It’s an understood agreement between you, your breakfast and now your dessert–while enjoying you can look forward to a heaping helping of fungal combatants, we just don’t have to talk about it.
Nov 1
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Take a close look at the picture. Someone at the restaurant supply store in Queens has not taken advantage of their company’s Employee Assistance Program. Can you spot the rum and Coke, minus the Coke? Though honestly it’s not a big surprise we found it. When we first walked into the store a group [...]
Have you ever been tempted to order squab at a restaurant? It sounds a little fancier than chicken; and healthier than grilled cow butt. But did you know it’s pigeon? The dirty birds you see littering the streets and begging for crumbs are now being served to you with a side of fries for $16.95.
The waiter will tell me a lovely story about how it was raised in a cage free environment and fed an ethical diet of grains and berries. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I just can’t get images of pigeon poop-stained boulders in Central Park out of my head. Or Wednesday when I was having a nice lunch in Dag Hammerskjold Plaza. I’m just minding my own business and eating my frozen yogurt, when an old lady unleashed a bag of bread crumbs across the sidewalk. They flocked in from every direction like owls at Hogwarts.
Restaurants have a long history of renaming food so you’ll eat it. Mahi Mahi is actually a Dolphin Fish. But because we, the average diners, aren’t smart enough to distinguish between that and actual dolphins without feeling pangs of guilt, Mahi Mahi it is. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not advocating a God bless the USA, red-blooded American diet of steak and potatoes at every meal. I’m just encouraging you to ask questions about what’s on the menu, and know what you’re eating. But yeah, I still think pigeon (or squab) is still a hard bird to swallow.
NYC’s Manhattan Transit Authority blow hards tout that the 7 Line would be the nation’s 3rd largest on it’s own, just behind the rest of NYC and Chicago. More people on my commute = greater chances of meeting dipshits = more bitching. Of course the 7 is home to Mariachi bands, blind singing troupes and parents of children undergoing $20K heart surgery (no go ahead, ask them about the surgery). But ride it long enough and you’ll get to meet some of these societal accidents:
Walking Blackberry Lady: You know her. You hate her. Rather than pay attention to the people walking around her, she’s too busy reading e-mails on her smart phone while walking. Apparently it’s my job to navigate around her and her super-important clickety clacking. Karma, however, was on my side today. She literally walked right into me, lost her balance and stumbled into the open train door. The door closed and sent Laverne out of Grand Central off to 5th Avenue. No one likes you walking and blackberrying Laverne; least of all spiteful Lady Karma.
Pussy-Shovey Guy: Some mornings on the 7, you have to throw yourself at the mercy of other passengers to slide into the smallest crevices; and I mean literally throw yourself onto the crowd of people inside. One such morning I found myself wedged half upside down between a woman dripping in Chanel no. 5 and a pock-faced twerp, more interested in playing “Rock’Em Sock’Em Something or Other” on his PSP than being a party of society. So you can imagine everyone’s delight when he stiff-armed himself away from the wall, creating ample game play space and squishing the rest of the riders. Hey Darwin, you missed one.
Umbrella Snatch: On a particularly rainy morning I was toting a large bag of donations into the office for a Holiday drive. You feel warm and cozy for donating to the poor, but on some level you know it’s easier than scheduling an appointment with Salvation Army to bring that truck to your neighborhood, “Excuse me, Miss. Your umbrella is dripping onto my pant leg.” She looked up from her Kindle long enough, “then move in further. I was here first.” Really you self-centered hag? I’m bringing alms for the poor into the city and you want to drip water onto me? I find public humiliation to be an effective tactic. ”Really? You’re just going to pour water down my leg because I can’t lift my bag in any further?” Saying that in a really loud voice in a tone that makes people think you’re just on the verge of tears goes a long way!
McMoron: What’s missing from this picture? I’ll give you a second. Nevermind, you’ll never guess. Not even with 20 questions. It’s a McCafe cup. But where is it? Under the seat? Nope. In the hands of a homeless dude? Nah. It’s on the subway track. Mr. Douchebag in his too-tight T finished off the last slurp, opened the door of the subway as it sped under the East River and threw it on the tracks. What elementary school did you flunk out of? Because you missed the day they taught morons not to do that.
Please tell me your transit woes. Comment on your nightmare passengers. And if you have picture, totally post it. We love to out the idiots who do stupid stuff.
If you’re liking what we’re serving, make sure to sign up for our e-mail list on the home page. I’ll only send you blog updates and the occasional chance to win an all-expense paid trip.
How do you know when it’s time to cut the Facebook status update cord and tweet? My friend LGM and I were having this exact conversation this weekend as I was setting up her new Twitter account. ”Friend, I update my status all the time. I don’t want to bother anyone with all that.” Lori is also a sweet Southern woman living in Big D who doesn’t ever want to bother anyone. On last count LGM was averaging two updates a day but can now tweet to her heart’s content.
I really think only you can answer who in your Facebook friend list has broken up with their therapist and is announcing their issues to the world. If your morning cup of coffee is spent living vicariously through the updates of others, please enjoy. But I’ve taught multiple family members and friends how to “defriend” and hide someone from their friend list because as one thankful person said, “I really don’t care to know that she is doing the dishes, needs coffee, hates Monday or is sitting on the toilet.”
I’d love to hear your thoughts on the matter. How many Facebook Status Updates are too much? And when do you get to switch to Twitter? Comment below. 
Yes, the city is hot. It’s summer and that’s what happens. But for those watching the news you may have noticed, in true NY fashion, we’re going to complain about it a lot more than the rest of the country. Another good indicator of summer in the city is the arrival of our farmer’s markets. Sweet little families travel from Lancaster County and upstate New York to bring crops to the city dwellers and urbanites. But who knew that they were also bringing price fixing and gouging?
Our market opened yesterday in Long Island City. While out walking the dog I overheard the owner of two vegetable stand owners yelling across their tables.
“You can’t charge $2.50 for cabbage. It will be gone too fast.”
“Where’s the list?” asked the woman behind the other stand. She shuffled a few bags and uncovered the list. Flipping through pages she finally happened upon, “Oh, that’s right. That’s the Astoria price. $3.50 for cabbage today.” Apparently our neighborhood has been deemed purveyors of short stemmed vegetables and should be charged for our tastes. With that I headed into Manhattan.
At the corner of most Midtown streets you can find a fruit guy. In NY there’s a guy for everything. Need your muffler done? I got a guy. Throwing a dinner party and need 100pounds of salami? I got a guy. But the fruit guy’s rush hour happens as everyone is scurrying to work, looking for afternoon snacks and mid-morning pick me-ups to stash in their bags.
“APRICOTS 5 for $1″read the sign. It was cardboard with black magic marker and tucked into the pile of apricots. A Midtown drone enduring a suit and tie in 90 degree weather was standing next to me surveying the stone fruit for just the right five. He handed the bag to the fruit guy who replied “two dollars”. Confused, the customer points to the sign and reminds him “one dollar.” Fruit guy makes his way over to the APRICOTS sign and says, “No, no, no. Yestereday’s price.” And with that he flips the sign over where the bottom half reads “APRICOTS 5 for $2″.
Not even the friendly farmers of New York are immune to price fixing and gouging. It seems like such a shame. If only there were a store allowed to open in Manhattan that offered Everyday Low Prices and had rollbacks, not flip flops.
When my sister was three she got in big trouble. Summer had started and she was ready for potty training. But one afternoon in June and much to my mother’s chagrin, my younger sis filled her diapers. But even a three-year-old knows how much trouble she would get into for tripping up the brand new potty training, so she looked for the next person to walk in the room to blame all of her troubles. Through sobbing heaves she announced to my mother that this load was not her doing. The mess was was my cousin’s fault. ”Tricia pooped in my pants”, she wailed. Logic that only a 3 year-old could believe. Or is it?
Yesterday Apple published a letter 
announcing that the new problems with the much awaited iPhone 4 were AT&T’s fault. There is a super-secret algorithm that AT&T uses to let you know how many bars are in your area. Now, I challenge you to find 5 people in your life who are actually pleased with the AT&T service on their iPhone. AT&T has gone so far as created an app for your iPhone so you can more easily report dropped calls. So, why would Apple build a new platform on faulty service? Good question. And one we will not be answering today.
But now Apple is blaming AT&T for their phone not working. ”Upon investigation, we were stunned to find that the formula we use to calculate how many bars of signal strength to display is totally wrong. Our formula, in many instances, mistakenly displays 2 more bars than it should for a given signal strength.” Apple, one of the greatest brands in history is stunned? I doubt it. I think they just underestimated how bad the problem actually was. So, has this fixed your iPhone problem? No. You will just now more accurately know how many bars you don’t have while you are covering up the antenna with your hand. We’ll just blame AT&T, an easy target that happened to be walking by.
In the end my sister got spanked (it was the 70′s, spanking was allowed) for lying and blaming other people for her problems. Apple, if my Mom happens to stop by Cupertino with a switch from the yard, please remember you have been warned about lying.
World cup frenzy is causing intelligent people to lose their sensibilities. Common sense tells you that watching soccer at 9:00AM with a pitcher of beer will likely end in drunk dialing and/or public indecency. We’ve painted our chests, tattooed our legs and downloaded Vuvuzela iPhone apps that let us blow the South African horn in inappropriate settings. But isn’t it nice to know that from the far reaches of the globe grown men and women from every background under the sun have one common goal– to get a prime table at a local bar that will open early and illegally serve them booze.
But in the midst of this craziness, I will hop up on my PETA soapbox and beg you to leave the animals out of it. They don’t know why you are screaming at the 50″ flat screen box in the corner. And they certainly don’t need to be dressed to support your World Cup office pool. Please note the judging look on our little guy’s face. See how sad he gets when he’s dressed up to support his other father’s Canadian heritage during the Olympics? or even the World Cup where Canada doesn’t have a chance? Trust me, they will hate you for it.
When are the 'bitching' posts coming back? We all miss them!!
C'mon, it's been over a year! Doesn't anybody wanna fight me no more? What's the matter? Chicken?! P
I think Starbucks and places like it are one of the few places where it's OK to leave a tip of whate
I 100% agree with this. If you're not willing to tip properly, then get in your car and go pick up t
This is a great post. I'm a Guest Services manager at a small hotel. The quality of writing in a com
I've been blog surfing and I'm glad I stopped on your site. I really the various pieces I read, Ente
That's true. I should probably slow down on my YogurtLand binges. But aren't anti-tumor agents suppo
I always tip $5 for delivery, its a shit job and anyone who rides a bicycle in New York in the rain
