The Customer Is Always Wrong

July 13, 2014

     I have gotten to know how to get to the various shopping centers around Carcassonne in my efforts to furnish the house, although it has been difficult to sort out the different, but similar, names of some of the businesses --and even products.  As I have a young lady cleaning for me and I want her to be happy with the work I offer, I have taken her suggestions vis-a-vis cleaning tools, which have cross-cultural aspects, I am learning.

     I originally tried out another young lady who arrived in full make-up and jewelry.  She cleaned the floors using a serpiette, a square piece of coarse fabric attached to a mop stick.  The result was unsatisfactory on several counts.  When Marion appeared, it was like a gift from heaven.  She works at La Marbrerie, where she cleans the five guest rooms, as well as waitressing.  A native Caunoise, she is glad for the work --as is her partner, Farid, a carpenter whose services I will see in action tomorrow, Bastille Day.  The fact speaks for itself, they are glad for the work in a département of France where work is hard to find.

     Marion asked that I purchase what I thought she called a "Swifter", the name of the American brand of dust-catching tissue.  Marion recommended the product, as it is the one La Marbrerie uses to give its public spaces a lemon-scented clean.  Searching for it at the Intermarché, I discovered the product is not American, but French, and it is called "Swiffer".  And a mop, on the other hand, is called un balayeur espagnol --a Spanish mop.

     With "do it yourself" enshrined in "la France profonde", (the hinterlands of the country), the shopping centers feature "home repair" stores.  The French word to do home repairs yourself is bricoler,  so all the French companies use the word in their names:  Monsieur Bricolage, Brico-Marché, Brico Depot.  And all have loyalty cards, of which I could make a collection.

     Notwithstanding, the customer service is head-snappingly bad, as I found out when I bought a "BRITA" water filter at Brico-Marché at the Pont Rouge.

     My friend, Max Gfeller, who drove all the way from his home in Zurich to help me set up, recommended that I purchase a water filter to sift out the minerals from the local eau.  We went to the Pont Rouge to do so, but since I had an errand at Intermarché to run first, Max searched out the filter pitcher for me, meeting him there to make payment.

     After I paid, he told me, "They don't sell replacement filters, but they say they can be purchased anywhere, although I am dubious.  The French are always brushing objections under the rug, and if they don't have them, then we have to return the filter pitcher.  Let's go see whether Intermarché carries them."

     Of course, they didn't, which meant that I had to return the BRITTA to Brico-Marché.  This is where it got interesting.

     Carrying the receipt for the purchase, I approached Magali, the cashier with whom I had dealt before, informing her of my intention.  Brico-Marché does not reimburse returns, giving only an avoir, a credit towards a future purchase --as I found out on an earlier occasion, when I bought three fans there, none of which worked.

     Magali told me to leave my purchase with her, but I said I would carry it with me while searching for something to use up my avoir.  In doing so, all hell broke loose, which I was made aware of when I returned to the check-out, a comparably priced item in my hands alongside the BRITTA.

      The manager, a middle-aged man, took over the process of exchange from the check-out person and berated me sternly.

      "You are violating the rules of the store by bringing your merchandise into the store.  You leave the merchandise at the check-out counter.  WE make the rules, and if I want to, I can deny you the credit," he said, his voice rising.  

     I found the entire proposition absurd and took a soothing tone with the man, who was unhinged.  He was not to be dissuaded from his purpose of putting me in my place, however.

     "The rules of the game, WE MAKE THEM, and that's the way it is."  

     Max, who had been standing outside watching the whole thing, approached the check-out counter, asking what the problem was.  He got an interesting answer:

     "Your wife, you had better tell her to behave herself.  This is not the way to do business, OK?

      I was so incensed by this point that I had it on the tip of my tongue to use the various French words of insult I had learned watching French film comedies, but thought better of it.

      That was the last time I shopped at Brico-Marché, "Where the Customer is always wrong."