There are a handful of things in this world that make me absolutely, bat shit crazy and poor customer service is real high on that list. Standing angrily in a U-Haul Shop in Moncton, NB, I could feel my blood pressure rising and it was eating up all my energy to not roll my eyes at the pair behind the counter.
I swear, my head was going to explode if I was asked what my name was onemorefuckingtime.
After being given three different pickup locations, two pickup times, receiving a 7 am phone call from a customer service representative and waiting in a cold parking lot for more than 20 minutes for someone to actually release the truck to us, I was over U-Haul long before the trek from Halifax to Moncton could begin. U-Haul’s Social Media team, I will admit, are excellent. Now, please train your front-line staff.
We picked up the truck to find the fuel level at 7/16 – not too bad, and with $100 at the pump we filled ‘er up. The drive used 9/16 of fuel according to the tank. I’m no mathematician, but perhaps you can see why I was confused to receive a bill for $47.59.
So, naturally, I inquired.
Oh, the $30 late fee will be waived, they told me. I owed $15 in fuel, plus an additional $2.59 in taxes. $15 in fuel. That would barely move the needle in my parents’ car, it wouldn’t move the needle in my Dad’s pickup truck and I don’t even know how the hell you measure that in a truck that requires $100 to fill it from half.
And the photo of the fuel gauge we took at drop off? It was at the same level the fuel gauge was at when we picked it up. But, because I didn’t think it was worth a fight over $15 and the slight inconvenience of going to pay it, I decided I’d skip my Starbucks fix for a couple of days (no I didn’t, I swallowed the $15 charge along with a Venti Eggnog Latte).
I left work early (sorry, Qimple friends!) tonight to go pay my balance so I could also make my 6 pm meeting with a new friend. I drove to the location. I parked my car – twice, they needed me to move first. I went into an empty shop and waited.
And waited. And then I waited some more.
And then someone came in. I shared the information U-Haul had previously shared and asked them to look me up by phone number. They said they couldn’t. I said bullshit. I went out to my car, searched my email account to find my contract and invoice numbers. I shared them. The response I was met with?
You can’t pay here. You need to come back tomorrow at 11 am.
My response? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?
Not my finest moment, I’ll admit, but this isn’t rocket science. I looked the clerk squarely in the eye and asked if she’d ever taken a payment before. After 30 minutes of trying, tweets back and forth with U-Haul and not one, not two but four failed attempts to get ahold of the area manager, they finally figured it out.
And I left realizing that they would both be rolling their eyes until they were dizzy behind my back. I’m a bitch, and that’s fine – because I’m a bitch who gets shit done.