On self-fulfilling prophecies

3a.jpgHad this customer the other day who creeped me out.  He was really rude when I greeted him when he came into the store and then was hugely demanding once he decided that it was time to be paid attention to, as if part of my job was to read his mind rather than, say, treat him like a human and try to help him out.

He demanded a quote on a couple of pieces of furniture.  Now, normally during this process I collect everyone’s address and phone number and all that other nonsense.  Naturally, Creepy was in a huge hurry for his quote once he’d decided I was worthy to serve him for a moment, so I just put the store’s phone number in and wrote it up, figuring there was no actual goddamn chance he was going to come back and buy.

So of course he came back the next day and dropped a couple grand on a leather sofa and a recliner.  He wanted delivery, and was a complete ass about 1) transit times (I cannot transport furniture instantly from Mississippi, and I do not have the warehouse space necessary to retain four or five examples of everything on our enormous fucking sales floor) and 2) delivery scheduling (I cannot give you a time window for your delivery when your furniture has not arrived and your delivery is not scheduled.)

All the while, he was creeping me out.  Mean and creepy is not a great combination, guys.  This dude is both.  In heavy doses.

“He’s gonna be an issue,” I told my boss, who was fully aware of (and shared) my creeped-outedness.  “Something will happen.  I guarantee it.  This will be an issue, and I’m going to regret ever selling anything to this guy.”

His furniture arrived yesterday.  Not only on time– early!  I unloaded his sofa from the truck myself and checked it over for anything that looked remotely like damage.  It was clean.  I double-checked that we had availability for Saturday deliveries, because he’d informed me that he had a job– no one else has one of those!– and was therefore only available for Saturday delivery.  And then I called him.

And then the phone rang.  And I cussed, because that’s annoying, when someone calls while you’re on another call.  Especially with creepy guys.

And then the recording that my store uses when we don’t answer the phone kicks in.  And I cussed again, because for some reason I’ve done this a couple of times before– the store’s number is on the invoice too, and sometimes if I’m in a hurry I won’t realize what I’m doing and I call the store instead of the customer.

And then I noticed that both of the phone entries had the store’s number.  Because when he’d come in and bought, I’d just updated the quote with his actual address, and hadn’t remembered that I’d used the store’s phone number.  And he’d refused to give me an email address because he “could think of no reason that I required it” (ha!) and so I officially had no fucking way to contact the guy at all.

I spent about ten minutes searching our invoice archives in half a dozen different ways to see if he’d bought from the store before.  No dice; one guy with the same name and a different address, but the number was dead.  I checked Facebook to see if I could find him.  Nothing going there either.  And then I sent him a Goddamn actual snail-mail letter, asking him to call the store, because there was no other way to get ahold of the fucker to let him know his shit was in.

I’m hoping he calls and schedules his furniture when I’m on my weekend.  Cross your fingers for me, ‘k?

Sigh.

2 thoughts on “On self-fulfilling prophecies

  1. Oh, b’jeebus that sounds like 8 nightmares at once. Here’s to him calling back AND scheduling when you’re off.

    Or maybe he was an alien from Tau Seti Five and you’ll never hear from him again?

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