Lowe's

Whatever happened to customer service?
This month makes a full year since buying my house. And as many of you know, if you build a house… you live in it, but if you buy a house… you work on it. Not that it really needed that much, but over the past 12 months I've made certain to change a few things. Paint. Blinds. Cabinet knobs. The yard. And most recently… the door knobs. There's something undelightfully tacky about the imitation faux gold plated Kwikset's that came installed on every door. But after a year, I just felt like it was necessary to get away from the apartment look if you know what I mean.
So, on a whim, I go toward town in search of the perfect knob(s). My first stop, Lowe's. It just seemed to make sense. After all, their slogan is "Let's build something together."
On the way to Lowe's I begin doing a quick count in my head, with total disregard for accuracy. Front door. Back door. Three bedrooms. Two baths. Seven. About $20 a piece. With tax. I should be out of there for $200 easy.
I go in and head down the main drag there and I'm seeing orange vests going in every direction. They really are helping people build things… or something. Looking up I notice a rather large sign that gives me the impression that door knobs would not be far away. Now even though this is really not going to be a large purchase I am rather excited. I am looking forward to picking out the exact ones that fit my style. Whatever that may be. I approach the isle with some degree of intimidation. How horrible would it be to purchase these things and get half of them installed and decide that I don't like them. You can't return used door knobs. And I really don't need to waste the money.
As I get closer I'm nearly overwhelmed with all the choices that are available. Gold. Black. Rustic. Polished silver. Brushed silver. White enamel. Lever style. Round style. The kind that looks like a gate handle that you use your thumb to open it with. Push button. Turn button. Keyed. Keyless. The choices seemed almost endless. If anyone was watching me I'm sure that I looked like the kid standing in front of the action figure isle at Toys 'R Us. Just as with action figures, from a distance they all look the same when upon close inspection they are quite different.
Somehow within about ten seconds of scanning all that stood before me, my eyes stopped. It was actually quite simple now. That one would be perfect. Sorta gray. Sorta silver. Round. Rather plain. Not too shiny. Having a bit of a brushed look without the lines. Wow, that was easy. I start tossing them in the buggy. Front door. Back door. Three bedrooms. Two baths. Oh, I have a second back door that goes to the back yard that I forgot about. Oh yeah, and closets in the three bedrooms. One of which has two closets. Then there's the pantry door. Oh, and the outside doors have two separate sections. One for the key and one for the handle. I could easily more than double my initial count. I'm somewhat irritated. At myself. For overlooking the obvious. But I digress.
Now all these knobs don't lock. Some are merely for closets so they don't need to. But the ones that need to, need to have matching keys. And just like the kid looking up at the action figures… the ones I want are on top of the shelf that I can't reach. I'm gonna need to call on one of those orange vests to give me a hand so that we can build something together!
Ok, here's where your imagination comes in. Picture in your mind, that whistling sound that played in the background of almost every single Clint Eastwood western ever made. The one you heard whenever Clint was atop a Palomino horse, wearing a Mexican war blanket, and circularly chewing that nub of a cigar while he talked out of the other side of his mouth. I don't feel lucky. Then picture tumbleweeds rolling by in slow motion and the feeling of sand blowing and pitting against your face as you realize that there is not one single orange shirt within sight. I squint my eyes to get a better look over the horizon. Nothing. I'm lost in the desert. Immediately I'm pissed off. I'm just trying to spend money here. The least they could do is front the shelves with the correct product. In my mind, that's what you get for minimum wage. Nobody cares these days. The very nerve of this nation chain to not employ enough people so that I, me, the only customer that even matters in that store right now, can get some help so that I can just spend more money than I ever intended to in the first place.
Now, as I'm jumping to conclusions, I start in the direction of the nuts and washers. Surely that guy can help. He's always bored. He's the guy always asking you "are you sure that I can't help you find something?" Well, today he is completely overwhelmed by some crazy woman trying to decide if she needs the box of 50 nails or 100 nails. She's steadily explaining the concept of the back porch she's planning on building as he's doing his minimum wage best to suggest a better design. As they are drawing schematics in the air with imaginary pencils, the first little bead of sweat begins to seep out right above my right brow. And after at least 16-17 minutes of the blind leading the blind I'm just this side of fuming. A rage is what it is. I've been told "just a moment, Sir, I'll be with you in a minute" so many times that I'm ready to hire her an architect just so this ignorant woman will let me use the washer guy to his $5.15 an hour potential. I want my action figure off the top shelf! And I want it now!
I return to the buggy in complete disgust. There are seven people bringing buggies inside from the parking lot, but nobody can get my knobs off the shelf for me.
Then, like a ray of sunshine poking it's way through the clouds comes and orange vest. I'm nearly blinded by the luminescent afterglow. I turned away for just a second to make sure it was real. It was! I even had the yellow dots burnt onto my eyeballs when I turned away. It really was an orange vest. And she was coming toward me as if to give me the assistance I so overwhelmingly deserved! I just looked at her and grinned from ear to ear and asked if she could help me and she did. This lady manhandled the ladder over to our end of the isle. She galloped right up to the top and opened four cases before she found what I was looking for. And when she was done she asked if there was anything else she could do. I said yes there was and she said she'd be happy to assist me. Things are going great now!
I told her that I had three deadbolts with matching keys and three bottom knobs with different matching keys and I needed them all to match.
"Oh, you need three of them re-keyed."
Smiling… "yes I do."
"Well, you can just buy the ones that all the keys fit in."
"But you are out of the style I need."
"Oh, well that's a problem."
"Yes, so I need to get them re-keyed."
"Well, I can't help you with that."
"Who can?"
"Nobody today."
"When?"
"Anytime."
"Why not now?"
"They're not here."
"Where are they?"
"Off."
"When do they work?"
"Oh, they work all the time."
"Just not now."
"No, Sir. Not now."
"So what do I do?"
"Just come back."
"When?"
"Anytime should be fine."
"Just not now?"
"Just not now."
My mouth said thank you.
My mind said, "Hey corporate douche bag! This is what $5.15 an hour gets you nowadays."
450 painstaking dollars later I'm on my way home with locks that won't lock. Or will lock, but won't unlock. And out of nowhere comes the most random thought. "Oh, yeah, I forgot that door that goes into the little air conditioner room."
So by now I realize that I have a bad temper, I can't count, I spent way too much money, I've gotta make another trip back to the desert tomorrow, and I'm an idiot. Everything is falling apart nicely.
Next day I take a lunch. For most people, that's not a big deal. Eleven o'clock comes around and you take a lunch. It's what normal people do. But my job's a little abnormal. It's not so easy to leave work for an hour at a time. Most of the time I have to bring a lunch or order out. But today I have to leave. Gotta… get… locks… fixed… soon.
Traffic is crazy. Seven miles takes thirty minutes. Parking is ten more. I'm already running late and I'm not even inside yet. I park. I go in. Going down the main drag. Orange orange orange. Tumbleweeds. My minimum wage lady.
"Yes, Mam, I need to get some locks re-keyed."
"Haven't you been here before?"
"Yes, Mam, you helped me last night."
"Well you could have just bought matching keys."
"Yes, Mam, I could have, but you all were out of the ones I needed and you said to bring them back today to be re-keyed."
"But not during lunch. They are at lunch now."
(Insert your own expletives here.)
"So what do you suggest?"
"You're gonna have to come back."
"When?"
"Anytime."
(Insert your own expletives here.)
I wanted to put her in a Biff headlock, give her an Indian burn on the top of her head and just say "Think McFly! Think!" But I chose an alternate method.
"How about if I leave them here and you have them fixed by say 4:30. Then I'll come back by and pick them up?"
"Yes, that'll be fine. I'll make sure they're ready at 4:30 for you."
I swear she was one Cro-Magnon level away from a CapitalOne commercial. But she gave me her word. And I accepted.
4:30. Seven miles takes 45 minutes. Parking 15. This place is busier than a whorehouse on payday. I kill the car. Take a deep breath. Count to ten. And exit my vehicle. I enter the store. I walk down the main drag. Orange orange orange. Tumbleweeds. Sand. The whisle. I'm not feeling lucky. But to my astonishment there on the counter is a bag. A bag holding three door knobs. The bag has a note on it. It has my name written in black Sharpie. It says that I'll be in at 4:30. She did what she said she would do. Maybe I was wrong for jumping to such drastic conclusions about minimum wage workers. Maybe I should change some of my viewpoints against others. Maybe I'm the one with the problem. Maybe just maybe I should buy a lottery ticket because low and behold the same crazy woman with the air pencil schematics is arguing at the same washer guy about whether or not screws are better than nails on outdoor patios. What's the chances that this same person makes me wait again? Unfathomable. She's rambling on about the patio she's gonna build "one day" and here I am needing help right now. No less than 12-14 minutes pass. I'm about to lose it. I'm standing right there. Can't the washer guy acknowledge that other people are in the store? Can I get some freaking help around here?
Finally, I have to butt in.
"Excuse me, but I'm going to take my things off your counter there and leave."
"Have you got your receipt?"
"Sure do."
"Just show them at the door."
My mouth said, "Thanks."
My mind said, "Why couldn't you have done that 10 minutes ago? I would never ever hire anyone that has ever worked at this place. Let's build something together, my ass!"
So I'm fighting traffic and about thirty minutes later I get home. Not because they are really nice, and not because they are special in any way, but simply because it's taken three days, a tank of gas and an overload of patience to get this far, I'm just ready to install one of them. Immediately, I uninstall the ugly gold Kwikset from the front door. I rip open the bag. I pull one of them out. Within about 5-6 minutes I'm done. And I have to say, it looks nice. It looks clean. It's smoother and sleeker. It makes the room look different. It's finally what I had in mind. It's great. It's nice. It doesn't lock. WTF?!
It doesn't lock. Won't turn. I open the other two. They work. But this one is broke. It's froze up. I take it apart and quite obviously I see what's wrong. Without having any prior lock mechanism experience at all I can easily see the problem. There is a flat rod-like piece that is supposed to turn sideways when you turn the key. It's not turning. It's defective. It's just plain old defective. Why didn't they notice this when they were re-keying it? Why didn't they test it out to make sure it works? Why couldn't they just turn the key and make sure it worked? Why me? What did I do to deserve this? I've never hit an old lady. I'm generally nice to children. My mouth hardly ever says what my mind is thinking. Why is this so hard? I just wanted some new door knobs. I just wanted my house to look a little bit nicer. Is that asking too much? What do I do? Do I give up? NO! I go back!
Thirty there. Ten to park. ..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />Orange. Weeds. Whistle.
Now I see a different face. No sense in taking any of this out on her. She obviously doesn't know me. She probably has enough jerks coming in and having to deal with all of them is enough. I'm gonna be the nice guy that she has to deal with. She's going to help me because I'm going to be the nicest customer she's had today.
"Hello, Mam. There appears to be a problem with this lock. I'd like to exchange it for a new one, please."
"Nothing's wrong with that lock. That's the one I re-keyed earlier. Nothing's wrong with it."
"Ahem… Well, actually there is."
I open the bag. Take out the lock. Pull it apart. Point at the flat rod that won't turn and begin to turn the key. It does not turn the flat rod onto it's side.
"See, it won't turn."
"It's turning."
"Well, actually it's not."
"I hear it turning."
"You hear it snapping. It's not turning."
"It's supposed to snap."
"But it HAS TO turn."
She shakes her head as if to say "No."
"I don't see the problem", she says.
"What do you mean you don't see the problem. That flat piece has to turn. It's not turning. I need a new one."
"It's turning."
"It's shaking from you shaking the knob. It's not turning."
"I don't understand the problem."
"Well hold the rod in your hand. I'll turn the key. And you'll see it's not turning."
"It's turning."
"It's shaking from you shaking it! How can you say that it's turning? It's obviously sitting completely still when you are not shaking it! THE KEY WILL NOT MAKE THE FLAT ROD TURN. CAN'T YOU SEE THAT? ARE YOU EVEN LOOKING AT IT? CAN'T YOU FEEL IT? IT'S IN YOUR HAND! IS IT TURNING?"
Her hands go into the air, "I don't see the problem?"
"Here, I'll take a new one off the shelf and show you!"
I remove a brand new one. I open the packaging. I pull the pieces apart. I point at the flat rod. I turn the key. It turns. I pick up the defective one. I turn the key. It clearly does not even move.
"Now can you see what I'm talking about?" I ask.
"Sir, I just don't understand the problem. It looks like it works to me."
"Hold it in your hand! Turn it! It will NOT unlock! Can you at least admit to me that it will NOT even unlock! Will you admit that to me?!"
Arms in the air again, "I just don't understand what you're talking about. It looks like it works to me."
"Ok, I don't care anymore. You're just going to have to exchange it for me and give me this one we just opened. The one that works."
Shaking her head back and forth, "I'll do that. But it's the same thing."
"Thank you. Just do that for me."
"Here you go."
"But it's not keyed. You've got to key it for me."
"You'll have to bring it back to be keyed. I'm about to go on break."
"Look here, you little minimum wage bitch! Let me explain something to you! I've made four trips to this God forsaken wasteland of a store. I've parked in the back thirty every time. I've had sand in my teeth. I've seen imaginary porches being built. I've heard debates on nails versus screws. I've been ignored by every orange vest in the store. I've waited over half an hour across two days just to talk to washer boy. I spent an extra $250 more than I expected because I can't count. And now, you are telling me that you are about to go on break? Let me tell you what you are about to do. You are going to re-key my lock. Then you are going to test it to make sure it still turns. Then I'm going to leave and you are never ever going to see me again. And if you have a problem with any of that then you are going to need to call security back here to haul me out because I'm not feeling very stable at the moment. Have I made myself crystal clear?"
Well, actually that was another one of those things that my mind said. My mouth actually said "But I need it done now." And she agreed to do it for me.
A few minutes pass and everything is done. It works. It's bagged back up and I'm ready to leave.
"Miss, don't you think you should call up front and tell them I'm leaving with a door knob that's already paid for?"
"Just show them your receipt."
"But this is a different one. It hasn't been de-magnetized. It's going to sound the alarm when I leave."
"It shouldn't."
"But it will. This one was straight off the shelf. It's going to sound the alarm."
Shaking her head once again in that oh so familiar way, "It shouldn't."
I just turned away. Walked up to the front. Approaching the door I decided to take a deep breath. I knew this girl had no idea what what she was talking about. I cross through the little theft monitor thingies… there it goes!
The alarm is sounding over and over and over. Within five seconds, I've got three plain clothesed security guards wanting to know what the hurry is.
Again I ask you, what did I do to deserve this?
After a little conversation, they understood what happened and let me leave. All she had to do was call up front and they would have slid it across the magnetic strip at the register. But for some reason, she thought that this knob was special. It couldn't trip the alarm. After all, I had the receipt in my pocket.
I swear.
So as I'm writing this, some smoke is still exiting from my ears as the employee experience at my neighborhood Lowe's comes back to the forefront of my mind. As for the new knobs. They are still in their bags and still sitting in the living room floor.
Something about this whole escapade has taken me directly out of home improvement mode and pointed me straight down the one way street of pure laziness.