Adventures in customer service

Despite my constant yammering about the injustices of unpaid internships, I've worked several jobs that actually pay money (*gasp*) and for all of them, I've had the pleasure of constantly interacting with the public. I generally enjoy this, and on some days, I would even describe myself as a "people person." Ninety-eight percent of the customers I've seen are kind and polite; some even go out of their way to "notice" that the person behind the counter/register is in fact a human being with a beating heart. Anyone who has ever worked in any kind of retail/business/restaurant situation (which is pretty much everyone on the planet) can probably attest to this.

And then there are The Others. So I would like to preface this story by saying that I've never been one of The Others. I have never sent back food, even when I probably should have, caused a scene, or complained when it wasn't necessary. In fact, I don't think I've ever complained to a sales person, waitress, or manager face-to-face.

My mode of complaint communication is e-mail. Last week, I sent this to Dunkin Donuts after making an alarming discovery:

This morning I got a coffee from your location in Boston's Back Bay train station. I've always loved DD coffee, but I'm afraid that today you gave me reason to doubt my allegiance. As I got to the bottom of the coffee, there was a foreign object in it. It was hard and dark, maybe a piece of a coffee bean? My guess is a piece of broken plastic. Nevertheless, not supposed to be there and certainly an unpleasant surprise in my mouth. Please be aware of this. I won't be rushing back to DD anytime soon.

I received a reply within a day or two from some corporate handler, who apologized for my experience, let me know that all DD shops are franchised, and that she would be sending along my e-mail to the owner of the Back Bay store.

This isn't the first time I sent an e-mail with regards to unsatisfactory consumer experiences. I had success letting IMax know that, when I went to see Spiderman 2, the volume was much too loud and the theater much too cold. Two complimentary tickets. CHA CHING. That was very generous of them, because, what am I, 86? The IMax is too loud? In my defense, it was so loud that I could feel my ear drums vibrate during all of the action-packed scenes, and I heard ringing for about an hour after I left the theater. But don't worry, I've written many complimentary e-mails too, once exchanging in weeks-long banter with the lovely people at Reebok.

So, back to how I was wronged by Dunkin Donuts. On Friday of last week, I was out with my brothers and received a phone call, oh yes, a personal phone call, from the manager of the train station Dunkies. Profuse apologizing ensued, and strangely, he asked me if I saved the piece of Whatever-It-Was that found its way into my drink.

When was the last time you had some foreign body in your mouth, which you had to spit out, and then said "hey, let's put this in a Ziploc in case anyone wants to take a look later."

No sir, I did not save it.

Anyway, he asked for my address and said he's pop a gift card in the mail. Today it arrived, with a little note saying, "Hope we see you again." The card was for $10, which will buy me 5 medium regulahs. Totes worth the 3 minutes it took me to send out that e-mail. SO TOTES WORTH IT. You will see me again, good sir.

Note: This never would have happened if Hottie McLatte poured me that cup of coffee.