rev:text
| - Dear Zara,
I've been shopping at your stores for years. I've been an all-too-loyal customer, dealing with your messy displays and non-existent customer service to get some well-designed clothing that somehow seems to last just as long as the trend it satisfies. Having to subject myself to a sub-par shopping experience to get a decent price on fast fashion without sacrificing a good cut? Fine. But the experience I'm about to describe surpasses all levels of common decency - it's something you couldn't pay me enough to endure no matter who you are or what you're offering. Yeah that's right, not even if you were Kate Moss giving me free Yves Saint Laurent. It's that bad.
Having received my tax refund, I thought I'd welcome summer 2012 by looking particularly good in some new clothes. One of the stops on my mini-spree was your downtown Montreal flagship store. How happy I was, to see that you had restocked extra-smalls in everything I found good-looking! I bought a couple of items - including a shirt I wasn't sure about that I figured I could always return if I changed my mind - and went on to enjoy a delicious lunch salad a MB&Co. (A mid-day must-try in Montreal!)
Although I usually think of more important subjects, I wondered whether I should return the aforementioned shirt. I decided that I could, in fact, live without it. Now for this account to make sense, I must mention that I often skip the fitting rooms at Zara. The lineups are uncomfortably long, especially for someone who's practically allergic to them in the first place. So, you can imagine my surprise when I looked at the shirt one last time to confirm my decision and noticed a huge rip on the sleeve I hadn't previously seen. I could definitely live without that. And there I was, back at Zara twenty-five minutes after my original purchase, asking for the manager of the female division.
She came and asked to see the shirt. I handed it to her, out of the Zara bag holding my other purchases. I was expecting this to be an easy transaction, similar to the other returns I had made over the years, until she said: "I have a verrry hard time believing that this was taken off of our shelves today. Not only does this shirt have a hole but it also looks used, and we would never hang something like this on our racks. I don't think I can accept this." I asked her to look at my bill - I had purchased it literally twenty-five minutes ago and, let's be honest, there was no way I could have worn it in enough for it to looked used and ripped in twenty-five minutes. Instead of taking my suggestion in hopes of making the situation less painful, she kept insisting that it wasn't possible for me to have bought the item today. Translation? "Hey liar, you're lying. Oh, and I don't get to do this often, so watch me power-trip BAAAABY!!!!"
I was shocked - her tone, her attitude and her hardheadedness, not to mention her dirty insinuations, were something I had never, ever, experienced before. Rather than trying to find a solution, she was trying to avoid lowering her day's sales by rejecting an item that couldn't be placed back on the floor. That would never happen at BCBG. That would never even happen at H&M. And it certainly wouldn't happen in the hospitality industry. It's a good thing you don't work in a supperclub babe - your tables would be empty.
Believing it's a matter of class, I have a habit of being respectful even to the dull-witted. After politely telling her that I was, in fact, telling the truth, I asked her if we could speak with the cashier that rung me up. She agreed, probably believing she had nothing to lose. And now, a huge heartfelt thanks to the wonderful girl at the cash: "Yeah, I totally took care of her, like, ten minutes ago. I sold her that shirt. Like she, I didn't realize there was a problem with it." I couldn't help but smile. Clearly in the wrong, the manager turned to me and, without apologizing for her primitive behaviour, told me I could get a refund. I explained that she should be more careful with her insinuations. She asked me whether I wanted my money back, and told me to get in line and wait for my turn at the cash.
Yeah. That actually happened. And you know what? I didn't care about having to wait in line - after her display of incredibly hauty attitude, I had won. Telling me to wait was a feeble display of power intended to threaten but, instead, it just highlighted how little of it she actually has. She could make me wait in line behind one other customer. Oh no.
That's my story, Zara. I realize that its development has much to do with people who actually do return used items, but my problem was with the way I was so quickly pinpointed with incredible conviction and also, how the issue proceeded to be handled. For a store that delivers pretty classy clothes, that, my friend, was classless.
|