I don’t want to alarm you, but I may be having a week-long stroke. Or a slow aneurism. Or a lengthy onslaught of dementia. Or maybe all of them at once.
Last week I confused two customers because they were both named Tim and I called one Tim to come and pay for his machine when it was the other Tim’s bike. What followed was a very messy display of questions, demands, and confusion where I might have grabbed my head and yelled, “WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE!!”
The Viking shouted, “HOW THE FUCK SHOULD I KNOW?!”
And the confused customer said, “Don’t worry about me. I’ll just be waiting at the end of the block.”
After profuse apologies and a full refund, I offered to drive him back home, but during the bizarro events, when he was at the end of the block self-distancing from the chaos, he had already called his Mother, probably telling her to hurry because he might be trapped in an insane asylum. I apologized to her, too. Gawd.
Then I copied a customer’s phone number wrong and couldn’t tell him his machine was ready to be picked up. Also, I changed his name to Tim even though he tried to convince me that he’s actually a Jim, not a Tim. So, wrong name AND wrong number. Thankfully, he called this morning and I said, “Thank Gawd, Tim! I somehow have the wrong phone number for you and your bike has been ready since last Thursday.”
He said, “Shit happens, it’s no big deal and please stop calling me Tim.”
I also had the bad luck for a customer to be named John* Ross and another customer to be named Ross John*. How the hell is that even possible? Obviously, the Gawds are bored. The Viking likes John Ross but he doesn’t like Ross John and so I may have been a little short with John Ross when I should have been much nicer and I was too nice to Ross John which just encouraged him to pester The Viking more.
In my defense, I don’t usually see the customer until they show up to pay their bill, while The Viking sees them both dropping off AND picking up, so of course he has more time to anchor their face to their machine. I am juggling customer appointments 2 weeks in advance while trying to remember appointments from the last week because those machines are still in the shop and it’s easy as hell to mix names and machines because who can really tell the difference between a GSXR and a YZF600R? A Viking, apparently.
So, when I walk into the shop and The Viking points at a bike and says, “Call that guy and tell him his machine is ready to go” it’s a guessing game.
“Umm…..Richard Doe?”
“NO! RICHARD’S BIKE IS A V-STAR! THIS BIKE IS A VIRAGO!!” As if they don’t look exactly black and shiny the same.
My mind starts going, “V-Star. V-Star. V-Star. If Richard owns the V-Star but doesn’t own the Virago then who the fuck does own the Virago?!” The Viking stands there watching me blink.
“Come one, Babe! Where is your head? This is Tim’s bike!”
*I’m changing the names to John to protect the identities of the two guys because….well….just because.
This is cruel and unusual punishment, SFAM… I would even be so bold as to call it some sort of abuse. I’m sure there is a paragraph somewhere in the rules that states a wife, no matter how often she is meant to read her husband’s mind is NOT expected to suddenly distinguish one shiny black thing from another one.
You can’t be expected to be everywhere at once. And the Viking best start understanding where you show up in this shit show…
How about you start referring to customer’s by their last names? Excluding the Ross/John affair coz that’s a whole ‘nother story – maybe put an asterisk with the words AH next to the one who is the asshole…
You’re absolutely right! Two wheels, black and chrome-y. They all look the same to me. To be honest though, I haven’t made it a mission to learn all the makes and models and how to tell them apart by their silhouette against a blue sky the way airplane buffs do it. I just can’t be bothered because where on the planet will I need to know that outside of the shop?
It’s a usual occurrence for me to walk into the shop, see a pretty motorcycle on the lift, and say, “Ooooo….that’s very pretty!” And The Viking says, “It’s a piece of shit.” And I say, “My comment was entirely focused on the prettiness of the machine, not the performance.” He says, “Well, it’s still a piece of shit, pretty or not.”
I find it so wonderful that you have suggested the perfect method of differentiating between good customers and bad customers. Of course, I’m not as lady-like as you so I list them in my database as John Fucking Ross or Richard Fucking Doe. It saves me the trouble of opening up their file to find out if I like them or not. When we eventually sell the business I may need to clean up the database. Or not. Perhaps the new owners will appreciate the personal touch. 😂
Dang… my comment was too long, methinks… check your spam, please.
Wowza. Really, that’s about all I can think to say about this mire of confusion. But I love Dale’s suggestion of tagging the asshole’s record with the assterisk. Not a mis-spelling but a creative spelling! 😀
Haha! An ‘assterisk’ would definitely be more subtle than my eloquent but dirty method. 🙂
Also, I have an online customer who bought a motorcycle part last night and his name is ‘Tim’, too! 😒