It’s not my damn baby

staples image

Staples, you big out of control American office superstore chain you.

Before arriving in the USA, I didn’t know it was possible to combine awful customer service with outrageous platitudes, then deliver the lot without irony.

I wanted to print out my second book for proofing.

At 10am I was told it’d be ready by 2pm. At 3.30pm this became 4pm. At 5pm there was a problem, so at 6pm I visited the store. Stood at a counter for seven minutes, and then the combination of his accent and my accent made the middle ground a battlefield of misunderstanding.

Turned out I was in the wrong store.

“Thank you for shopping at Staples. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

Okay, so you haven’t helped me and I didn’t buy anything, but thanks anyway.

So I called the correct store, was put on hold, transferred to nobody, disconnected and put on hold again for fifteen minutes, all the time being told all the different ways that Staples provides a premium customer experience.

So I visited the correct store and the woman behind the counter ignored me while loudly announcing passive aggressive statements to nobody.

“Fine, I’ll do it myself. Even though it’s not my job.”

“So then, where does he think it comes from?”

“It’s not my damn baby.”

Another lady appeared, asked a wall what it needed, and I realized she was talking to me.

Twenty minutes later it was done.

“Thank you for shopping at Staples. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”


This article first appeared on the brilliant Bytestories:


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