Hello, MAMA ... there might be more than one of us (you) reading this today, so behave yourself ... 'k?
OH, and all I could consider as I'm rolling off this blog's whereabouts is ... HOLY CRAP I said ASS in my last post. ASS! And I was talking about my CHILD!!
So, I will behave myself today. And say, "Welcome. If you're really out there."
***
But, if I had been writing this POST yesterday, say, before I put on my party dress and used my big girl words, I would've said loudly and clearly that the staff at RunTex ... and one tall, sweaty individual in particular ... can KISS my ass!! Today's events at "Austin's Premiere Running Store" go way, way, down in my Customer Service Abominations Rolodex that lives on a desktop in my mind. It occupies a VERY large piece of my cerebral workspace. Its cards are all categorized by service and specialty. There are sub-categories w/ colored tabs and there is liberal use of highlighting. Oh, and each card is also written in blood.
There are groups of restaurants where I no longer dine. (TX Land and Cattle ... tho' I've had to relent since it makes Mama and Axe happy.) Shoe stores where I no longer shop. (Stride Rite.) Major department stores where even coupons won't lure me in. (Foley's. And Macy's, until I met Gary in menswear who acted even a little interested. And even convinced me to buy a purple shirt and tie for The Tall One, who was even convinced to WEAR it. By me.) Grocery stores that insist on stocking at peak shopping times or won't take my word on sale items that ring up full price.
And, while it may sound as tho' I'm a real retail tyrant, I'm not. I'm friendly and good-natured and NOT trying to take food from the mouths of the employee's babes. I'm NOT the lady in HEB who tries to by $116 worth of groceries for $.39 w/ coupons and insist my groceries be sacked alphabetically in eco-friendly shopping bags. I am as likely to write a letter of commendation to a manager whose employee excels as I am to write a letter of disgust. I like to shop locally and won't ask that my debit card be scanned as a credit card in those shops because it costs those Moms and Pops more. I DO NOT try to explain to the checker in Wal-Mart that her Express Lane sign should read "Fewer than 20 items" instead of "20 items or less." I heard a man do that last week and I swear his grammatical life must be EXHAUSTING.
I WANT the local retail and food scene to thrive. And I AM DOING MY PART to see that it does. But, Paul Carroza, for all the good he's done to keep Austin fit and promote good health and well-being will not shod my running feet ever again.
My entrance to that store this morning was met w/ stares and questioning glances. I really thought I'd walked in on something I shouldn't have. A staff meeting? A hold up? Was I unzipped? I couldn't tell who worked there and who didn't. And largely because everyone was sweaty. And breathing heavy. And STARING. I've been there many times, but it was NEVER this weird. Or sweaty.
I made it over to shoes. Folded my arms and shopped the selection for a good 5 minutes before I finally made eye contact w/ the aforementioned tall, sweaty individual, who had made his way from the men's room to the cash register.
"Do you work here?"
"What do you need?"
"Well, shoes. And I also need your help and patience," I explained.
It'd been a couple of years since I'd been measured and fitted for running shoes. In between big races Academy and other sporting goods stores suffice just fine for a novice like me. But, since this was my second step of marathon training (The first is the trainer and physical therapist who is booked for later this month.) it was a chance for me to ask about more than just shoes. He might've also "sold" me into a training or running group. Books. Clothes. Hats. Nutrition. Hydration. Endless possibilities for a marathon neophyte.
"What size?"
"Hmmm. I usually wear an 8.5 in running shoes, but ..."
"Give me your foot."
And here I have to tell you how SWEATY and SMELLY he was. ROLLING down his face and neck sweaty! Wet hair sweaty! Smelly sweaty. Which I don't mind on the trail or in a race, but IN MY FACE when I'm NOT sweaty and smelly, I DO mind.
He measured w/ indifference and brought out a size smaller than I normally wear.
"Do you have any socks I could use to try on wi..?"
"Go over there and get you some."
"Those are new. Don't you have a bin of ANYTHING I can try on wi ..."
"No."
He never moved from his seat. Never stood to help. Never stood to make the sale. Just sat there. Hairy and sweaty. And smelly.
I dug around in my purse for a sock. (I also have a ruler and a t-shirt in there. Just like Michelle Pfeiffer in One Fine Day.)
I put on the shoe and started to lace.
"Is there any particular way I should lace them based on my foot type, arch, support, stability? Anything?"
"What? You want me to lace them for you?"
At this point, I wanted to see how far he'd go ... or not go.
"Yes. Lace them." I made him tie me a bow.
They felt snug. And at this point another sweaty man started a conversation w/ my salesidiot and MY sweaty salesidiot never looked my way again.
"They feel snug. I usually wear an 8.5."
"Well, we have those too. Plenty of them. In the back."
Sitting.
Sweating.
Smelling.
Not offering to fetch the bigger size OR justify the need for the smaller size.
And talking FULL ON to the guy who ISN'T TRYING TO BUY A $135 PAIR OF RUNNING SHOES.
My phone rang.
I feigned emergency. (I could've gotten pissy about his service to his sweaty face. But, he wasn't worth my time.)
Took off the shoes.
Took off my socks.
Put them back in my purse.
And drove a few blocks to Rogue Running. Where the nicest guy w/ the finest scented hair gel or deodorant or cologne or whatever it was it wasn't SWEAT sold me the prettiest pair of Asics Gels in bright white and orange. I tried on NINE pair of shoes. I have VIDEO of me running in each of them. I have a FILE. He offered me a coupon for free socks. A brochure for running groups. A COLD BOTTLE OF WATER.
A bin of CLEAN socks for trying on. And a bin for DIRTY socks once I was done.
He called me by name.
He didn't try to up-sell me.
He treated me like a pro.
But he knew I wasn't.
It took 40 minutes.
And neither one of us broke a sweat.
Go there.
There are groups of restaurants where I no longer dine. (TX Land and Cattle ... tho' I've had to relent since it makes Mama and Axe happy.) Shoe stores where I no longer shop. (Stride Rite.) Major department stores where even coupons won't lure me in. (Foley's. And Macy's, until I met Gary in menswear who acted even a little interested. And even convinced me to buy a purple shirt and tie for The Tall One, who was even convinced to WEAR it. By me.) Grocery stores that insist on stocking at peak shopping times or won't take my word on sale items that ring up full price.
And, while it may sound as tho' I'm a real retail tyrant, I'm not. I'm friendly and good-natured and NOT trying to take food from the mouths of the employee's babes. I'm NOT the lady in HEB who tries to by $116 worth of groceries for $.39 w/ coupons and insist my groceries be sacked alphabetically in eco-friendly shopping bags. I am as likely to write a letter of commendation to a manager whose employee excels as I am to write a letter of disgust. I like to shop locally and won't ask that my debit card be scanned as a credit card in those shops because it costs those Moms and Pops more. I DO NOT try to explain to the checker in Wal-Mart that her Express Lane sign should read "Fewer than 20 items" instead of "20 items or less." I heard a man do that last week and I swear his grammatical life must be EXHAUSTING.
I WANT the local retail and food scene to thrive. And I AM DOING MY PART to see that it does. But, Paul Carroza, for all the good he's done to keep Austin fit and promote good health and well-being will not shod my running feet ever again.
My entrance to that store this morning was met w/ stares and questioning glances. I really thought I'd walked in on something I shouldn't have. A staff meeting? A hold up? Was I unzipped? I couldn't tell who worked there and who didn't. And largely because everyone was sweaty. And breathing heavy. And STARING. I've been there many times, but it was NEVER this weird. Or sweaty.
I made it over to shoes. Folded my arms and shopped the selection for a good 5 minutes before I finally made eye contact w/ the aforementioned tall, sweaty individual, who had made his way from the men's room to the cash register.
"Do you work here?"
"What do you need?"
"Well, shoes. And I also need your help and patience," I explained.
It'd been a couple of years since I'd been measured and fitted for running shoes. In between big races Academy and other sporting goods stores suffice just fine for a novice like me. But, since this was my second step of marathon training (The first is the trainer and physical therapist who is booked for later this month.) it was a chance for me to ask about more than just shoes. He might've also "sold" me into a training or running group. Books. Clothes. Hats. Nutrition. Hydration. Endless possibilities for a marathon neophyte.
"What size?"
"Hmmm. I usually wear an 8.5 in running shoes, but ..."
"Give me your foot."
And here I have to tell you how SWEATY and SMELLY he was. ROLLING down his face and neck sweaty! Wet hair sweaty! Smelly sweaty. Which I don't mind on the trail or in a race, but IN MY FACE when I'm NOT sweaty and smelly, I DO mind.
He measured w/ indifference and brought out a size smaller than I normally wear.
"Do you have any socks I could use to try on wi..?"
"Go over there and get you some."
"Those are new. Don't you have a bin of ANYTHING I can try on wi ..."
"No."
He never moved from his seat. Never stood to help. Never stood to make the sale. Just sat there. Hairy and sweaty. And smelly.
I dug around in my purse for a sock. (I also have a ruler and a t-shirt in there. Just like Michelle Pfeiffer in One Fine Day.)
I put on the shoe and started to lace.
"Is there any particular way I should lace them based on my foot type, arch, support, stability? Anything?"
"What? You want me to lace them for you?"
At this point, I wanted to see how far he'd go ... or not go.
"Yes. Lace them." I made him tie me a bow.
They felt snug. And at this point another sweaty man started a conversation w/ my salesidiot and MY sweaty salesidiot never looked my way again.
"They feel snug. I usually wear an 8.5."
"Well, we have those too. Plenty of them. In the back."
Sitting.
Sweating.
Smelling.
Not offering to fetch the bigger size OR justify the need for the smaller size.
And talking FULL ON to the guy who ISN'T TRYING TO BUY A $135 PAIR OF RUNNING SHOES.
My phone rang.
I feigned emergency. (I could've gotten pissy about his service to his sweaty face. But, he wasn't worth my time.)
Took off the shoes.
Took off my socks.
Put them back in my purse.
And drove a few blocks to Rogue Running. Where the nicest guy w/ the finest scented hair gel or deodorant or cologne or whatever it was it wasn't SWEAT sold me the prettiest pair of Asics Gels in bright white and orange. I tried on NINE pair of shoes. I have VIDEO of me running in each of them. I have a FILE. He offered me a coupon for free socks. A brochure for running groups. A COLD BOTTLE OF WATER.
A bin of CLEAN socks for trying on. And a bin for DIRTY socks once I was done.
He called me by name.
He didn't try to up-sell me.
He treated me like a pro.
But he knew I wasn't.
It took 40 minutes.
And neither one of us broke a sweat.
Go there.
3 comments:
Thank you! I hate shopping at Run-Tex too. I love that they sponsor so much athleticism in this city, but their store and service does suck and has sucked for years and years! Good to know about Rogue Running ... I'll go there for my next pair of shoes for sure!
I have NEVER felt welcome or comfortable in that store which we shall no longer name. Rogue sounds great...video?? Wow.
"Customer SERVICE" .......that by which I judge ALL establishments. And since I grew up in retailing and CS, I am well-qualified in that regard!
Good for you!!!
Madre el
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