I took a taxi just to make it to my 4:00 appointment at
a small dermatology clinic along Arnaiz Ave. near Park Square 1. I
made it there by 4:05. The receptionist retrieved my record, which
indeed had “Tuesday 4:00” written on it. However, there was no
available slot, so they asked me to wait.
After finishing an entire magazine (cover to cover, including articles
on swimsuits and makeup and all of these things I’d ordinarily not
even glance at) and sketching a stool (complete with shadows from two
light sources), I looked up at the clock. Thirty minutes had passed
without a word, an apology, or even an estimate of how much longer I
would need to wait.
Eventually the middle bay cleared and I was asked to recline on the
elevated bed. I had scarcely settled in when the assistant was told to
transfer the person in the far bay to the bed I was in the process of
occupying, so I put my glasses back on, gathered my things, and moved
to the next bay.
As the assistant smeared cream on my face and wiped it off with a
sponge, she kept asking me: “Are your meds complete?” It took me a
while to realize that she was asking about my medication. I said yes.
Not that I would know if it was complete or not, but hey, we sat
through the song-and-dance yesterday and my mom bought whatever the
dermatologist was pushing. A short while later, she (or another
assistant) asked again, “Are your meds complete?” I was starting to
get really annoyed about the hard sell, but I decided that it wouldn’t
be wise to piss off people who are working on your face.
So I patiently waited… and waited… and waited… I even fell
asleep at some point. When I woke up, I heard the whir of machinery
from the next unit. After a short pause, I heard the dermatologist’s
voice from the unit near the door, giving another consultation. It was
probably the exact pitch she’d used on us last week; no questions, but
rather just a high-speed rattling-off of things one needs to buy.
I turned my head and affixed the assistant with an impatient glare.
That netted me nothing more than a perfunctory “Please wait a while.”
I tried to settle back down, but I simply couldn’t stand that kind of
service. I got up, pulled the towel headband off my hair, and stormed
off, telling them I really couldn’t wait any longer and that their
customer service could _really_ be improved. Then I left. Looking
back, I wish I’d said something stronger, but disappointment choked my
voice and I still haven’t gotten over that innate dislike of making a
I stalked through Glorietta searching for some place that would make
me feel like they valued my business. I was annoyed. No, I was more
than annoyed—I was aggravated. I felt terrible wasting all that time
better than just going to a skin clinic and having a facial, but that
place just sucked. This wasn’t the first time I’d had to wait without
explanation, and I should’ve clued in that first day and refused to go
for any more treatment there. Sheesh.
I ended up going for a really painful facial at Let’s Face It, but at
least people there smiled, attended to me promptly, and explained what
they were doing.
If I’m going to go for this entire dermatology thing, I’d like to have
a dermatologist who’ll ask me about what I eat and how I live; who’ll
find a way for me to keep eating chocolate, who’ll tell me what to do
when I have pimples the day before I expect pictures to be taken…
If I can’t have that, then I’d rather not have clear skin than put up
with customer service as bad as
Moral lesson: Customer service is very important. Keep your customers
in the loop. Don’t let them feel neglected. Care about them; make them
feel special instead of just another source of income for you.
I was thinking of heading back to
a piece of my mind, but then I passed by National Bookstore and I got
sucked in. Still.
Oh, well. Good lesson in how personally annoying bad service can be.
Ã£ÂÂ“Ã£ÂÂ®Ã¥Â†Â™Ã§ÂœÂŸÃ£ÂÂ®Ã§ÂŒÂ«Ã£Â‚Â’Ã¨Â¦Â‹Ã£ÂÂ‹Ã£ÂÂ‘Ã£ÂÂŸÃ£Â‚Â‰Ã£Â€ÂÃ£ÂÂŠÃ©Â›Â»Ã¨Â©Â±Ã£ÂÂÃ£ÂÂ Ã£ÂÂ•Ã£ÂÂ„Ã£Â€Â‚ Please call us when you see the cat in this picture.
Warren also grips:
I don’t think companies in Manila understand the meaning
of “customer service”. A very good example is PLDT :). Another one is
one of the biggest bank in Manila; METROBANK. They have like 40
clients in queue and they only have 1 teller serving them. My GOD!!! I
don’t know where the Managers/Supervisors of these organizations
obtained their degree.