Patty Unleashed: 7.15.20
I’ve worked in customer service and know never to tell any one “calm down,” “you’re overreacting” or “it’s not my fault.” The right approach to a problem is “Let’s get this fixed.” But I also know that sometimes you have to step back and ask, “Am I the problem?”
I have an Audi that I leased because it is supposed to be easier to renew your plates. When I received notification mine were due, I knew all I had to do was call the dealership and they would handle the rest. Wrong! I was missing paperwork, which resulted in three calls to the dealership, two long calls to Audi Financial Services and one return phone call saying, “Oops, we forgot to pay your personal property tax, but you’re good now.”
But I still needed one more piece of paper. I left five messages and one text chat for the dealership. Silence. Like any rational person, I drove to the dealership where I was encouraged to “calm down.” So I punched the guy in the nose and spent the night in jail. Actually, that’s just what I wanted to do. Instead, I gave him my death stare that works on all children, most adults and animals, but apparently not this sales manager. He handed me off to some young man who said he could help. I haven’t heard from him since.
My daughter bought her first car, a Volkswagen. The dealership told her they would send her the paperwork to get the license plates. An envelope arrived, as promised, but not everything was included. Instead of letting her handle it, I became unreasonably mad, called the dealership and was transferred to someone who transferred me back to the original person.
Being the charmer I am, I said, “Don’t transfer me again.” She said, “I won’t,” and just like that, everything was okay. Within five minutes, she emailed my daughter what she needed.
I now must head to the DMV to beg them to renew my plates without all the documents. Town&Style doesn’t bash other businesses, so I can’t name the dealership. But I am telling all of my friends. Since I consider my readers my friends, here is my email address: firstname.lastname@example.org.
But the bigger question is—and tell me the truth—am I the problem? Am I the person people want to punch? Oh, and my brothers are not allowed to answer this question.