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Hello, this is my first post, though I am a long time reader. I have a lot of stories I could share, but I'll start with an introduction and a few of my general peeves.
I am a student employee at a University bookstore. More specifically, I work in our electronics department. One of the biggest reasons I left my otherwise delightful job working in one of the campus cafeterias is because our bookstore happens to be an authorized Apple retailer. So, out on display we have a glorious setup of Macs of all kinds, iPods, accessories, the works. However, we are not really an Apple Store, per se. That is, we do not have the great gleaming bar that dispenses not liquor, nay, but Genius. However, this does not stop many people from thinking that we do.
I can usually tell when they come through the door. They will walk quickly, purposefully over to my counter where I am busy with all manner of productive work, and without so much as a hello, will plop their MacBook/iPod/Printer onto the counter and regale me with tales of woe and insist that I help them. Now, I am usually able to spot these sorts of customers the moment they walk in and can disarm them by quickly explaining that we cannot offer tech support in the store, they must take their computer to the IT department, conveniently located upstairs, or to a local shop which is Apple authorized for repair. Sometimes, however, I am unable to stop them, and their tale will trigger within me my unfortunate tendency towards helpfulness and goodwill, and I will attempt to assist them. I am usually successful and can get them out the door within a few minutes. They leave happy, though I will feel strangely empty at the end of the experience, like a jilted lover. I fear that this will eventually render me incapable of love.
However, my biggest annoyance is not with customers' misconception of our store's function. It is with the educational software we sell, and the process of dealing with it makes me fear for our future survival as a species. For you see, before working at this store, I had blissfully imagined that young, 20-somethings like me would have grown up using computers and would have at least the barest knowledge of what they needed. Sadly, I found that this was not the case. Oh no, this was not to be.
Let me explain exactly what we sell. Among other things, we have Microsoft productivity software on sale for an unholy price. What might a good deal be on, say, a copy of Microsoft Office? $150? $79? Oh no, you are quite mistaken. We sell this delectable confection for under eight dollars. As you can imagine, it is quite popular. However, the price seems to inspire the general feeling among our customers that, even though they do not know what it is, they must have it.
It usually begins like so: I shall be behind the counter, or pacing about our tiny section of the store (which is actually in an entirely separate wing from the main bookstore), when a customer will approach me and say, "I need software", and will look at me expectantly, as a trained monkey would expect a treat for correctly placing the square peg in the correct hole. I must then divine what exactly they are looking for. I will ask, "do you need Office?". This will cause several neurons to fire, and the customer will respond with great glee to the affirmative. Then, they come crashing down when I explain that there is a simple form that must be filled out.
For you see, we cannot give such bargains to just anybody. No, they must prove their worth by completing this simple form. I say it as if it were a great challenge, and to these fine specimens of higher education at our great university, it is. There is a simple check box that must be selected to indicate which product they long for. Most of the time, the customer will fill out the rest of the form before coming to this part, and stopping dead in their tracks.
I can see the looks on their face. I goes from excitement to having discovered such a deal, to one of confusion, then consternation, and finally to the sort of look one might expect to find on some creature that has simply given up all hope, a kind of vacant leer that would make Baby Jesus himself weep for the species.
At this point, they will usually bring the form to me, the check boxes left unmarked. I must then remind them what, exactly, it is they came for, by asking another series of probing questions. Eventually, I will discover what they could not find for themselves, and make a simple X in the correct box, this box being one of only four choices, all labeled in a simple, concise fashion.
I hope this first post has not been too long winded. I have lots of other stories and general annoyances to share, but I figure I shouldn't wear out my welcome too soon.
I am a student employee at a University bookstore. More specifically, I work in our electronics department. One of the biggest reasons I left my otherwise delightful job working in one of the campus cafeterias is because our bookstore happens to be an authorized Apple retailer. So, out on display we have a glorious setup of Macs of all kinds, iPods, accessories, the works. However, we are not really an Apple Store, per se. That is, we do not have the great gleaming bar that dispenses not liquor, nay, but Genius. However, this does not stop many people from thinking that we do.
I can usually tell when they come through the door. They will walk quickly, purposefully over to my counter where I am busy with all manner of productive work, and without so much as a hello, will plop their MacBook/iPod/Printer onto the counter and regale me with tales of woe and insist that I help them. Now, I am usually able to spot these sorts of customers the moment they walk in and can disarm them by quickly explaining that we cannot offer tech support in the store, they must take their computer to the IT department, conveniently located upstairs, or to a local shop which is Apple authorized for repair. Sometimes, however, I am unable to stop them, and their tale will trigger within me my unfortunate tendency towards helpfulness and goodwill, and I will attempt to assist them. I am usually successful and can get them out the door within a few minutes. They leave happy, though I will feel strangely empty at the end of the experience, like a jilted lover. I fear that this will eventually render me incapable of love.
However, my biggest annoyance is not with customers' misconception of our store's function. It is with the educational software we sell, and the process of dealing with it makes me fear for our future survival as a species. For you see, before working at this store, I had blissfully imagined that young, 20-somethings like me would have grown up using computers and would have at least the barest knowledge of what they needed. Sadly, I found that this was not the case. Oh no, this was not to be.
Let me explain exactly what we sell. Among other things, we have Microsoft productivity software on sale for an unholy price. What might a good deal be on, say, a copy of Microsoft Office? $150? $79? Oh no, you are quite mistaken. We sell this delectable confection for under eight dollars. As you can imagine, it is quite popular. However, the price seems to inspire the general feeling among our customers that, even though they do not know what it is, they must have it.
It usually begins like so: I shall be behind the counter, or pacing about our tiny section of the store (which is actually in an entirely separate wing from the main bookstore), when a customer will approach me and say, "I need software", and will look at me expectantly, as a trained monkey would expect a treat for correctly placing the square peg in the correct hole. I must then divine what exactly they are looking for. I will ask, "do you need Office?". This will cause several neurons to fire, and the customer will respond with great glee to the affirmative. Then, they come crashing down when I explain that there is a simple form that must be filled out.
For you see, we cannot give such bargains to just anybody. No, they must prove their worth by completing this simple form. I say it as if it were a great challenge, and to these fine specimens of higher education at our great university, it is. There is a simple check box that must be selected to indicate which product they long for. Most of the time, the customer will fill out the rest of the form before coming to this part, and stopping dead in their tracks.
I can see the looks on their face. I goes from excitement to having discovered such a deal, to one of confusion, then consternation, and finally to the sort of look one might expect to find on some creature that has simply given up all hope, a kind of vacant leer that would make Baby Jesus himself weep for the species.
At this point, they will usually bring the form to me, the check boxes left unmarked. I must then remind them what, exactly, it is they came for, by asking another series of probing questions. Eventually, I will discover what they could not find for themselves, and make a simple X in the correct box, this box being one of only four choices, all labeled in a simple, concise fashion.
I hope this first post has not been too long winded. I have lots of other stories and general annoyances to share, but I figure I shouldn't wear out my welcome too soon.
you have Microsoft Office for EIGHT DOLLARS?! 
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