If Dane has a complaint from a customer to report to me, he’ll stand behind me until I turn around.
“One two four fifteen fifty three street.”
“Uuuh…” That’s an address he listed and the problem is that, try as I might, I can’t get the numbers he listed straight in my brain. The dumb thing just doesn’t work that way. I need the visual cue of the address to match it to the house. “Uuuh…” especially when you say it all weird like one two four fifteen fifty three. “What is it? One two one four five?”
“No. One two four one five.”
“Ok…” I say it like I’m listening but I’m too embarrassed now to hear anything.
“Fifty three street.”
“Uuuuh…” I need to get the house in my mind before I hear the complaint so I can immediately defend myself. “I don’t think that’s on my walk,” I say while searching my sortation case for a number I can’t remember.
“It has to be,” Dane says, also searching my case. We both can’t find it. And then he does before I do. “There it is.”
“She says you’re not ringing the bell when you come by with a parcel?”
“Uuuh…” I’m still too embarrassed to be able to picture the house. But I better start defending my position, “I ring every doorbell if the parcel doesn’t fit in the mailbox or between the front doors.”
“Are you sure?” This is the part where he talks to me like a ten year old.
“Yes? You’re sure?”
“Yes! I’m sure!” And that’s the part where I talk back to the guy like he’s my mom and I’m a fourteen year old.
When he leaves I can picture the house immediately. How did I not know it to begin with? This shopping channel addict gets at least a parcel per day. And she’s usually so nice to me, always asking if I want a bottle of water. And here she is making shit up about me. I go in search of Dane to let him know she’s nuts. When I find him though I decide he won’t care. I turn around.