A Bit of Restraint

Tags

customer service, karma, mindfulness, teaching, travel

I’m feeling quite prolific today.

After my last post and a stretch break I sat back down in my usual writing spot to compose a letter of complaint to Mr. Andrew Cornish, Customer Experience Executive at an airline with which I recently flew.

My regular readers will recall the train debacle that lead to a missed flight at the end of my recent vacation. Since then I have been embroiled in an ongoing dispute with a member of the airline’s Customer Care Unit.

In my letter to her superior I cited specific details of her ineffective communication. I enclosed supporting materials documenting her repeated refusal to answer or even acknowledge my questions.

The internet has made it easier than ever before for consumers to share experiences – positive and negative – with their social circles. The thought occurred to me that I might make today’s letter an open one and use this blog as a platform to promote it. Consumer reviews and word of mouth can make or break a company – why not remind them of that?

I thought better of it.

Being a teacher involves a considerable amount of “customer service.” I’ve been on the receiving end of a few scathing letters over the course of my career. I’ve also dealt with dissatisfied individuals who, rather than asking for clarification or reconsideration of an issue, launched straight into public criticism through mass emails or the good old-fashioned rumor mill.

I found the experience incredibly hurtful.

It made me think at great length about the many ways, effective and not, that one can voice a complaint. About the importance of going through the proper channels of communication. About the value of clarifying questions. And empathy.

Dealing with a faceless customer service representative from another country is not the same as dealing with a teacher from your own community. But I suppose the same principles ought to apply.

The internet is full of complaints about products and services that fail to meet expectations. These reviews are valuable tools that help consumers to make informed decisions about where to spend their money. But I sometimes wonder what’s behind the online negativity. How many of the writers took thoughtful and reasoned steps to resolve their issue?

We reap what we sow. There is more than enough toxic negativity on the internet. I don’t want to contribute to it. So I am changing my tune a little bit. I am resisting the urge to smear this company’s reputation. Perhaps if I sow a little good karma, it will come back to me.

I’m still holding out hope that the airline will offer a satisfactory resolution so that I may continue to fly with them. No harm, no foul.

Your move, Mr. Cornish.

Gina Gets It.

Tags

Aer Lingus, customer service, Expedia

Sometimes I fear that customer service is a dying art.

In 2001 I took my first overseas trip. I spent a week in Dublin – at the time I was dating someone who had moved there for four months. I flew on an Aer Lingus flight that I had booked on Expedia.com. Since then I have repeatedly returned to both companies for my European travel.

Upon returning from my recent vacation I reviewed my credit card statement and was perplexed to find a mysterious $7 Expedia charge. I studied my email confirmation and made a mental tally of all the travel expenses I had incurred over the course of the week. I couldn’t figure out what this charge could be for, so I called Expedia. The operator explained that it was a booking fee assessed for an itinerary that made use of multiple airlines.

“But your advertisements state that your prices include all taxes and fees.”

She explained that yes, all taxes and fees are included in their advertised prices, except for this one.

“But I never consented to this fee. It was not disclosed when I placed my order.”

She apologized, but she remained unmoved. I accepted defeat and hung up.

I considered the idea that a $7 refund might not be worth my time in pursuit. Perhaps $7 is a small price to get off the customer disservice merry-go-round and get on with my life. After all, it was a fraction of a percent of my return ticket. A relatively minor nuisance. So I was prepared to suck it up and pay the fee.

But then I remembered two important truths: first, that I can be incredibly stubborn; and second, that there is a reason I can afford to take frequent European vacations, and it’s precisely because I don’t waste my hard-earned money on pointless $7 fees to which I did not consent.

Dissatisfied with the results of my phone call, I composed an email to the company expressing my displeasure. Several days later, I received a generic reply that did not address my specific concern but did include this little gem:

… we know that there are some instances that our guaranteed excellent customer service is not met and we would like to apologize for that.

Really, Expedia? Really?

I couldn’t resist pointing out that a guarantee is a promise, and that promises should not be made if they can not be kept – that, in fact, failure to uphold a guarantee is a behavior akin to charging undisclosed booking fees when you advertise your transparent, all-inclusive pricing.

I have booked dozens of flights with Expedia over the last ten years. I do not intend to cut back on my travel habit any time soon. In upholding a $7 booking fee they lost thousands of dollars in future bookings.

Meanwhile, I have been trying unsuccessfully to appeal to Aer Lingus for a partial credit on the flight that we missed last week, citing their malfunctioning phone line as a major hindrance in our pre-flight communication. Once again, my complaints have fallen on deaf ears (or should I say blind eyes? Aer Lingus notably does not provide a US phone number for customer relations – only an email address and fax number. Hmmmm.)

The response from Aer Lingus was better written than but equally as generic as the Expedia email. They apologized for my poor experience but offered not even the smallest gesture of compensation. I am thoroughly disheartened by the airline’s refusal to acknowledge their part in our travel debacle. I wrote a second time to challenge their unsatisfactory accounting for the blocked phone number – indeed they had not even addressed this significant concern in their email to me – and now I await their response.

Stubbornness can be quite exhausting.

Tired of reasoning with the unreasonable, I placed a call to my credit card company to inquire about the possibility of disputing the two charges. Gina at Capital One told me apologetically that she could not help me with the Aer Lingus charge, as my particular circumstance was not covered by consumer protection laws. She did, however, suggest a few strategies for my continued battle with the airline, starting with a letter to their corporate office.

She also advised me not to bother disputing the $7 Expedia fee, explaining that disputes are a lengthy and paperwork-intensive process. She noted that I’ve been a loyal customer to Capital One and kindly waived the charge.

I realize that a $7 loss means nothing to a big bank like Capital One. Writing it off was a miniscule gesture to them. But at the moment I stand on the brink of severing two decade-long business relationships with companies that I have always admired. All I want is to be shown that my customer loyalty means something.

Gina gets it. Which is why, when I book my next flight – even if it’s with Icelandair on Kayak.com – I will undoubtedly be using my Capital One card.

Au Pied de Cochon

Tags

customer service, Europe, France, Paris, SNCF, travel

Immediately upon our arrival in Paris, Eileen and I began to seek out a suitable place for lunch. Having just gotten off a sleepless flight and waged an unsuccessful battle with the customer service reps at SNCF, we needed to feel not just fed but cared for.

So it is hard to say whether chance, fate, or my subconscious led us to Les Halles, a shopping enter on the right bank, where we rounded a corner and found ourselves face to face with one of my favorite memories of this city.

I first dined at Au Pied de Cochon in 2008. It was my last night in Paris, and I happened to find myself without accommodations. At the time I could not afford any of the available hotels, and I was still afraid of hostels (largely thanks to the infamous movie.) So irrational was my fear of hostels that I decided my safest bet was to stay out all night.

Yes, I am aware of how stupid that sounds.

But you’d be surprised by how many options there are for Parisian night owls. Even on a Sunday night, I had plenty of options, including a well-lit and heavily populated park and several hours on a cafe couch. I spent the majority of my night (from approximately midnight to five a.m.) in a booth at Au Pied de Cochon where I consumed French onion soup, magret du canard, and a carafe of Beaujolais while engrossed in a book. The staff was attentive but made no effort to rush me out, even after I stopped ordering food due to a painfully distended belly. I was waiting for the metro to begin running again so that I could catch a train to Charles de Gaulle airport for my return home.

At five o’ clock, as the trains were just beginning to rumble underground, the maitre d’ fetched my suitcase from the coat check room. I walked out the front door of the restaurant and found myself in a light drizzle. I knew I had packed a travel-sized umbrella, and that it was probably at the bottom of my suitcase after a week of sun.

My waiter saw me through the window and came out to inquire if I needed a umbrella. Of course, he asked in French, and I didn’t speak much French at the time. In fact, the only word I understood was “umbrella.” I assumed he was asking if I had one, so I nodded in the affirmative. He disappeared.

Moments later, just as I was pulling my rain gear out of my suitcase, my waiter reappeared with a full-sized umbrella. He would not listen to my protests as he pressed it into my hand. The umbrella was mine to keep, whether I needed it or not.

I still have it to this day. It is not of especially high quality, so it has fallen apart and poses a serious danger to any eyes that come in closes proximity. But I will never, ever throw it out.

The kindness of the staff at Au Pied de Cochon did not end there, for I walked to the metro station only to find it strangely locked. I attempted to occupy myself by walking laps around the nearby park, but they had long since turned off thelights, and the safe garden had take on a more sinister quality. I soon noticed a man trailing me at a distance of several hundred yards. I briskly made my way back to the nearest well-lit area, which happened to be outside of Au Pied de Cochon where the maitre d’ noticed me pacing outside.

The maitre d’ – a large black man by the name of Remi – came outside to ask me if everything was okay. I replied that I was fine, but that I wasn’t sure when the metro was going to open, and that there was a man following me a little too closely.

Remi would hear no more. He fetched his umbrella and strode alongside me to the next nearest metro station, explaining to me that some – like theirs – open later than others. I arrived at the metro station safe, dry, and overwhelmed by the generosity of strangers.

So I was all too happy to pay them a visit today with Eileen. The food was even better than I remembered it – although they still served their signature meringue pigs alongside the post-dinner coffee. We were in no position to seek handouts or protection, but we were nonetheless deeply impressed by our waiter’s friendly and jovial demeanor.

It’s so nice to be able to return to a foreign city and feel like you are among friends.

—

Note to readers: my aforementioned lack of attention to packing means that I cannot share my trip photos with you until my return, due to the absence of one small but crucial adaptor. Sorry.

L’Americaine Stupide

Tags

customer service, Europe, France, SNCF, travel

Those of you who are following my travel plans will be interested to know that I received an email today from a Monsieur Laurence Dramoel at SNCF.

Monsieur Dramoel was responding to my query about the cancellation and partial reimbursement for a train ticket that I will not be using next month.

I really try not to be the idiot who asks the obvious question. Even when I don’t really understand what’s going on due to my tenuous grasp on the local language. So in an effort to avoid the label “l’americaine stupide,” I spent nearly two hours clicking all over the SNCF web site to find the “Cancel My Reservation” button which, I was certain, had to be somewhere.

Why was I going to all this trouble over a non-refundable ticket, you ask? Well, funny story. Last week, upon inspection of my credit card statement, I found an unexpected charge from “ELVIA ASSURANCE BAGNOLET.”  Unsure of whether this was a charge I had personally authorized, I typed the company name into the Google search engine and found …

I had accidentally purchased travel insurance.

I guess that’s what happens when you shop online in a language you mostly pretend to speak.

This only served to validate my stubborn insistence that I shouldn’t have to pay for a service that I will not be using, even it is a non-refundable service. Thus began my obsessive scouring of the internet.

This “Cancel My Reservation” button … it does not exist. I know this. I understand this. But I can’t help but suspect that the cancellation instructions are on the SNCF web site … somewhere … hidden behind a Stupid American Firewall.

Unsuccessful after two hours, I located the web address for the travel insurance company I had accidentally patronized. Their site was quite user friendly and assured prompt reimbursement for cancellation. I was encouraged.

The process began with the completion of a lengthy online form in which I was to document (en français, of course) my reason for cancellation. No problem. Between my high school education, my book of French verbs, and Google Translate, I could handle that. Last step … complete my contact info with complete address, including a drop-down menu from which to select my country of residence.

There were dozens of countries to choose from. There was no USA.

And yes. I did look for les Etats-Unis. They weren’t there either.

Now readers, I think I have a pretty good sense of humor about Franco-American relations. I am of the opinion that the French reputation for snootiness is, well … if not undeserved, at least justifiable. We American tourists can be … kind of obnoxious. Now don’t get me wrong, When I travel, I don’t pretend to be Canadian or anything. But when I encounter any hint of anti-American sentiment from a French person I shrug it off, turn on the charm, and wait for the moment that their crusty exterior inevitably gives way to a warm, chewy center. (No, wait. That’s their baked goods.)

But seriously … my country doesn’t appear on a drop-down menu?

I decided it was time to admit that I may just be une americaine stupide. So I found the contact address for SNCF customer service and sent a simple note:

“Si c’est possible, je veux annuler ma réservation (dossier TBSCAI) et obtenir unremboursement du tarif normal adulte. Merci pour votre aide.”

Translation:

“If possible, I’d like to cancel my reservation (file TBSCAI) and obtain a reimbursement of the normal adult fare. Thank you for your help.”

I composed this carefully-worded note on January 4, 2012. Then I patiently waited. And waited.

Today (January 11, 2010) I received the following reply:

Bonjour Mademoiselle ROEDER,

Vous ne parvenez pas à annuler votre commande dans l’espace «Vos réservations».
Soucieux de répondre au mieux à vos attentes,
vos remarques ont été remontées aux équipes techniques.
Le dysfonctionnement a été identifié et sera corrigé prochainement.
Dans l’attente, pour annuler votre billet,
rendez-vous dans une Borne Libre Service ou au guichet SNCF,ou contactez un vendeur au 3635 (0,34cts d’euros/min) .

Souhaitant conserver votre confiance,

Laurence DRANOEL

 Translation:

Hello Miss Roeder,

No.

Laurence Dranoel

SNCF: Ce n’est pas fini.

(Reminder: I shop on web sites in unfamiliar languages because I refuse to pay what amounts to a Stupid Tourist Tax. In other words, I am cheap.)

(Postscript: I have now spent five hours attempting to recover 62€. I will probably spend at least another hour doing so in Paris next month. In other words, I am too stubborn for my own good.)