So I’ve been dealing with a really & truly & seriously dumb customer for the past three weeks, and I am in no way above laughing about her to all of the internet for two reasons: she is obsessed with PETA and literally cannot say the word “feminist.” Quelle surprise that these two go hand-in-hand, non?
She has a vague connection to PETA and called me up to order truffles for Ingrid Newkirk’s 60th birthday. In our many phone conversations (it’s taken me more time to talk her through the ordering process than to make the truffles) she has namedropped Ingrid’s name about 60,000 times, and each time when I respond with polite silence or a flat”hmm” I can tell she is utterly perplexed over why this vegan chef she’s talking to is not falling all over herself to get these truffles to *****INGRID*****NEWKIRK****!!!!!
As you know, I CANNOT STAND Ingrid Newkirk. This made for many conversations in which I am the most polite and fake person you have ever met–the consummate business owner who is 100% business—kind in a closed-off sort of a way, answering her many many extremely idiotic questions in a cheery, vapid, detached monotone.
It is clear to me, from our hours together on the phone, that this woman has no idea how the world works and has never had to work a day in her life. She clearly fritters away her life on various boards of directors, and she clearly had her “consciousness raised” (I’m sure that is the phrase she would use) about animal issues in a complete vacuum and has no greater understanding of their connection to larger concerns.
I’ll try to restrain myself from getting into the myriad hilarious details about how much trouble this poor (in all but money), sad sack has had in ordering three boxes of truffles. It’s taken three weeks and six phone calls (yes, I looked back into my caller ID to see). It’s taken me repeating the same simple sentences many times over, sentences like:
“I know the last time we talked you said that you were trying to order from a file of my website from two years ago that you had copied and pasted into a Word document. I just want to mention again that that information is outdated, and the words that say ‘order here’ aren’t actually links, so you’ll have better luck if you go to the website and order them there.”
“Yes…I hope I explained it well last week—when you called on Friday and I mentioned that we make everything fresh and ship truffles every Friday, I hope I mentioned [I KNOW I DID] that you need to place an order by Wednesday night, since as I said we make them on Thursdays. Um…now it’s Friday again and unfortunately because I didn’t receive an order from you…” (she will say that she thought that last Friday she called later on and maybe this week since she was calling earlier and…I could go on and on and on.).
[I just want to insert a little bit here about how I know that LL can be an annoying business to order from—orders go out every week, not every day, for one thing. And if people are on a time deadline and have questions about the ordering process and whatnot, I am more than happy to talk to them about it and help them out in any way I can. Of course! I love 99.99% of my customers dearly, and they are almost always amazing, interesting, brilliant people that I am proud to attract.]
It took three weeks, but finally the order was placed today—well, she says it was, but clearly something went wrong because I haven’t received any notification of it and I’m sure that’s going to entail another round of calling and me suggesting again that instead of using a credit card, something she seems absolutely incapable of doing, she just send a check—after she called me with perhaps the most hilarious question of all:
“So, I am placing my order and it says that it needs a 3-digit confirmation code from the back of the card. I have a MasterCard, and there are seven numbers on the back. Can I give you the seven numbers? Four are on the signature place and three are in a little box.”
“Ah. It’s just asking for those last three numbers.”
And people wonder why I am a grumpyass bitch all the time? For $45, I have spent THREE WEEKS on the phone with this person.
None of this would annoy me, however, beyond the little pinch of annoyance that comes with daily life when you are smart and awesome and the rest of the world is not, if not for one thing. Because of this one thing, I am pretty much enraged by this woman.
She kept telling me that she wanted to get these truffles to Ingrid ASAP. I kept explaining the truffle schedule (see above) and she kept missing it. I refuse to sell people truffles that are more then 2 days old, so I wasn’t about to make extra just in case she ordered them. I make truffles to order, end of story. On the other hand, I explained to her about 50 times that 4 of the 6 Bonbons are not as perishable and we mostly have them on hand all the time. If she wanted Vandanas, Vulvas, PB Cups or Patties, I could send them out THAT DAY.
But she didn’t want anything to do with that shit. She started reading the little bit about the BBs over the phone, and her mouth could barely even say the word “feminist.” That put the kibosh on everything. No matter how many times I tried to tell her how lovely the boxes are (I always steer people to the BBs and away from the truffles because although I like making them both, the BBs boxes are so much prettier—true confession!) and how so many vegans order the peanut butter cups and peppermint patties (they do), the “f” word just clamped her mouth shut and that was that.
She kept saying that “getting my candies [insert truffles-are-not-candies rant here] into the hands of Ingrid would be such a great opportunity for me” and that “PETA has an online store where they might want to sell them” [this would never happen for 80,000 reasons] and I was just gnashing my teeth and thanking her profusely and trying to be polite.
Because she was a very nice lady.
A sweet sweet idiotic dumbbell.
And now I’m off to call her to see why her order did not go through.
In happier news, I read Noel (pictured above) a very very very XXX note a vulva customer wanted included with her vulvas to be sent to her long-distance girlfriend, and, as I knew she would, she laughed and appreciated and loved it. If I didn’t have the Noels of the world to balance out the PETA people, what would I do?