C - The Customer

The Customer

"It's absolutely ruined. My beautiful antique dress! This dress
belonged to my grandmother. I was promised that you knew how to handle
this fabric?"

The brow of the woman standing at the counter was creased in a deep
frown and her eyes flashed angrily. The clerk's heart sank to the level
of her shoe tops. She knew this was going to be a difficult
customer.

"Ma'am," the clerk replied evenly, "there is no damage to this garment
that wasn't there before we cleaned it. The fabric was thin and worn in
those spots when you brought it in."

"I beg your pardon. That is a lie! This dress was in perfect shape when
I brought it in. Why, I had just worn it so I ought to know. I made it
a point to examine the dress before I wore it. And I'm quite certain my
friends would have let me know if they had seen holes?"

"Ma'am, I respectfully disagree?"

"Disagree if you feel you must, but let me speak with the manager.
Now!" The customer had begun tapping her toe. In addition to the frown
upon her brow, her lips were now pursed and her eyes were narrowed,
like those of an angry cat.

"May I help you?" asked the manager in a soothing tone. "My clerk tells
me there's a problem with a dress?"

"Indeed there is. I trusted your establishment to clean a prized
antique dress because I was promised that your personnel knew how to
clean such old and delicate fabric. This dress was in fine shape when I
brought it to you. Now look at it!" The customer waved her hand toward
the soft material that formed the skirt of the old dress. "Holes in
several places; looks like moths have been at it."

"Yes, I see that there are several worn spots in the material. It's a
shame for it's quite a beautiful garment. I must point out, however,
that the clerk on duty noted on the intake form that there were several
small holes in the skirt at the time the dress was dropped off, and in
fact she discussed the situation with you?"

The agitated customer interrupted Mr. Simon. "I am becoming very angry
at these lies you insist on telling. I have no such written notation
nor did anyone point out any holes to me. I am not a stupid woman. I
believe you are attempting to avoid admitting that you have ruined my
dress."

Mr. Simon laid a yellow piece of paper on the counter. "Here is the
notated copy of the intake form. Isn't this your signature?"

"Hmmm?yes, it does appear to be my signature. But I would definitely
remember someone pointing out holes in the dress and I am positive no
one did anything of the kind. I was in a hurry that day because I was
late for an appointment but I know nothing was said about holes."

"I'm in a quandary," said Mr. Simon. "On one hand I have an intake form
filled out by a trusted clerk who has worked here for many years and
the form indicates that there were small holes in the garment at the
time of its drop off to us. That same form bears your signature
attesting to the fact that you were notified about the holes. On the
other hand you say that no one mentioned to you that there were holes
in your garment at the time you dropped it off here to be cleaned.
Furthermore you are stating that you think our cleaning of the garment
has caused the problem. We seem to be at a standoff," stated the
manager matter-of-factly.

"What do you intend to do about it? I haven't got all day you know."
The last statement was delivered in a peevish tone as the customer
raised a hand to smooth her already perfect hairdo.
Several other customers were now in the shop. Wishing to avoid further
confrontation, Mr. Simon thought a minute and came up with what he felt
was a reasonable solution.

"I'll tell you what we'll do. I know an excellent seamstress. Since the
holes are quite small and the dress contains beadwork already, how
about if I have her work some beads into designs over the holes,
catching the threads together to seal the holes. Then they will be
hidden behind the beads and no one will ever know the beads weren't
there from the beginning. We'll pay for the work of course. Will that
suffice? Of course, I will need your signature authorizing the work.
And I'll throw in a ticket for $10 off of your next load of dry
cleaning."

"No thank you! If your seamstress doesn't do any better work than your
other personnel, I wouldn't trust her to mend a seam. Just give me my
dress. I won't be back, that's for certain."

Mr. Simon waived the charge for the cleaning of the dress and handed it
over to the irritated woman. She took it with a final disdainful sniff
and swept out of the door.

Slowly Mr. Simon walked back into his office. He knew, with a terrible
clarity, that his high society mother-in-law was never going to let him
forget that he was only the manager of a dry cleaning store and that
she would never cease to make his life miserable for marrying her only
daughter.