The delicate art of complaining<\/p>\n
JAKARTA (JP): What is white and round and emits a shrill high-
\npitched bleat when provoked?<\/p>\n
Sorry to say, but it is me in the act of making a complaint.<\/p>\n
So much to gripe about, so little time.<\/p>\n
Hoity-toity restaurants which pile on the attitude but lump
\nyou with almost inedible fare at choking prices. Taxis which
\ncrawl along on a hope and a prayer as a veritable menagerie of
\ncreepy-crawlies jostle to make a home out of your person. The
\nshriveled man toting a bottle of Mansion House who elbows in
\nfront of you at the Hero because it's only one item after all,
\neven if you only have two.<\/p>\n
A lot of life is about frustration. Yet we have to
\nmagnanimously swallow most of the bitter pills because that is
\nwhat is dealt us. But it is a different story when it comes to
\nservices for which we are shelling out hard-earned rupiah. We
\nexpect to have our gripes heard out, to have our egos assuaged
\nand to have something done to have the wrong put right.<\/p>\n
Yet I believe that most of those bearing the brunt of a
\ncomplaint do want to lend a sympathetic ear. The crucial point of
\nhaving your complaint heard -- and acted upon -- is how it is
\nexpressed.<\/p>\n
People, and how they vent what is on their minds, can be
\ndivided into three categories:<\/p>\n
All Business: No pussy-footing around or kicking up an ugly
\nstink. Instead, these complainants make a beeline for the
\nCustomer Relations or Manager offices to state their cases to
\nthose in positions of power. They know the value of going
\nstraight to the top.<\/p>\n
The Gentle Touch: A friend of mine is loathe to make a scene.
\nInstead, he quite rightfully thinks of the dignity of the other
\nperson and approaches the problem so that no feathers are
\nruffled. Sandwich not to his instructions? His approach is to
\ngently beckon to the waitperson, clarify the problem and wait for
\nthe matter to be taken care of. A study in forbearance.<\/p>\n
Mr.\/Mrs. Firecracker: Emotional pyrotechnics are put on
\ndisplay for all and sundry. Caught up in their anger, these
\nwalking raw nerves let it all hang out as they take no prisoners.
\nUnfortunately, they often end up leaving a trail of bruised egos,
\nplus bemusement at the spectacle of a grown man or woman doing a
\ncompetent rendition of a ticked-off toddler on acid.<\/p>\n
I shamefully confess that, yes, I do all too often belong to
\nthe latter group. The complaint, whatever and how valid it was,
\nis suddenly washed away in a tidal wave of dripping indignation.<\/p>\n
Does it do any good? It may get the point across loud if not
\nso clear, but it leaves me keeping tabs on a long list of places
\nto avoid or tread carefully lest I end up being served gutter
\nwater and having my meal spat upon by the assembled kitchen
\nstaff. I burn my bridges and am left taking the long way back.<\/p>\n
I learned a sage lesson recently when I, Mr. Live-for-The-
\nMoment, decided to splurge on a night in a fancy hotel.<\/p>\n
I was set for a Saturday night sojourn in the sauna when I
\ncame upon my nemesis, all prim and proper in her designer
\nuniform.<\/p>\n
I signed it at the reception and was preparing to ask for a
\nlocker key when the grilling began.<\/p>\n
\"Are you staying here,\" she asked, peering at my name and room
\nnumber on the ledger.<\/p>\n
\"Yes,\" I replied, a bit confused.<\/p>\n
She gave me the once over, and it was obviously not to her
\nliking.<\/p>\n
\"Really?\"<\/p>\n
I tried to ignore that one, and asked for a locker key.<\/p>\n
\"Oh, I'll need your room key in exchange,\" she said.<\/p>\n
Taken aback, I stammered that this was the first time I had
\nheard of the fitness center needing a key. Besides, the key was a
\nblank card.<\/p>\n
\"It's our policy,\" she proffered. \"You'll get it back when
\nyou're finished.\"<\/p>\n
Mumbling a feeble aside that it was a stupid and embarrassing
\npolicy, I yielded to the key exchange with Tini the Terror.<\/p>\n
I was left in a funk. I was not paying good money to be
\ntreated in such a way, to engage in a verbal tussle over what was
\nappropriate treatment of guests.<\/p>\n
How had I come up short in the receptionist's lofty
\nestimation? Was my shirt washed one too many times so it just did
\nnot have this esteemed hotel's touch? Did I look too young? Old?
\nFat? Who knew, except Tini, defender of this little corner of
\nOlympian delights.<\/p>\n
It should have been case closed, but the next day at my hotel
\nbreakfast I related the story to a friend, Yusak. Clear-headed
\nand professional to a tee, he has been an unwilling witness of me
\nin fits of pique.<\/p>\n
This time, he told me, you have the opportunity to take a
\nsoftly-softly approach.<\/p>\n
Put it in writing and state the facts. No ranting or raving,
\nor need to get bent out of shape.<\/p>\n
I did what he said. The next day I was presented with an
\napology letter and a free night's stay for the future.<\/p>\n
Yusak's advice paid off. I kept some dignity, avoided a
\nconfrontation and learned that it can pay to complain as long as
\none keeps one's cool.<\/p>\n
-- Bruce Emond<\/p>", "url": "https:\/\/jawawa.id\/newsitem\/the-delicate-art-of-complaining-1447893297", "image": "" }, "sponsor": "Okusi Associates", "sponsor_url": "https:\/\/okusiassociates.com" }