I approached the counter and cleared my throat. The young (as in mid-20s) clerk magically appeared, so I presented my one page fax enthusiastically, thinking he’d be all excited to see it wasn’t a huge print job that involved collating.
Instead, I heard: “Oh no. What you need is right behind you.”
Hmm….Really? I whipped around looking to find that hot young stud with my winning lottery ticket. Instead, I stared down a fax machine on the other side of the store. It didn’t look happy to see me.
Could someone please tell me when and why every single thing is self service nowadays? Where oh where have all the friendly greeters gone? I just wanted to run in and out of there, get my fax faxed, and get on with my day.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not lazy, and sometimes I actually prefer self service. But what I prefer even more is having a choice.
So, I huff and puff my way over to the angry machine, knowing that this was going to turn into an ordeal. And I also noticed that Joe Kinko was following sheepishly behind, as I'm sure he could tell I was less than thrilled.
First, he said I needed to insert my card. I thought he meant my FedEx Kinkos Business Account card which he encouraged me to sign up for during my last not-so-short visit to FEK. After digging through every nook and cranny of my wallet, I finally find it. Swipe it. And naturally, it's no go.
Oh, he meant my credit card. I guess customer service reps don't even have to ring you up anymore.
So I find that, swipe that, and then dial the fax number. This is the point when he chimes in that I’m one of the few customers who knows to dial a one. Hmmmmm, I think to myself, I guess those customers must need some customer service.
We wait for a good three minutes while he goes on to explain that this fax machine is a weird one, it doesn’t make any noise whatsoever and that silence confuses all of his customers. Hmmmmm, I think to myself again. He then reads a message on the machine that my fax apparently didn’t go through.
Surprise. Surprise.
“It’s probably just busy, try again.” I oblige and listen to him go on about how faxing to law firms usually doesn’t work on the weekends b/c they turn their machines off. One, I’m not faxing to a lawyer. Two, can we listen to the mute fax machine please?
My patience is really starting to wane now that I'm going on about 12 minutes in the FEK store. Under my breath, I blurt, “For crying out loud, why does something so easy have to be so hard? I just wanted you to fax my fax.”
“It’s called customer training,” he says.
Are you kidding me? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?
“I don’t need customer training. You need customer service.”
I’ve always hated fax machines. And I still do.
Especially ones that require "customer training" to function properly.
