“She refuses to do things in the order of operations we were trained to do. We don’t put calls on hold until they are resolved, but last week she left twelve calls on hold while she helped people up front. And when I talked to her about it, she screamed at me. Literally screamed.”
I snort at the fact that this woman wrote “literally” in her professional complaint but shelve the humor to reread it.
Turning to my laptop, I scroll through the open listings again. I do have a battery of applications to get through as the dealership is growing and expanding. And lots of people want to work here. Though I knew nothing about them before moving here, I’m quickly learning this dealership is a respected and loved place in town. Around the nearby towns, too.
I don’t want to fire Amy, and there doesn’t seem to be any steadfast rule that a certain amount of write-ups should lead to termination. And I’ve not even been here for two months.
We can do better than a frustrated termination.
Circling the edge of my coffee mug mindlessly, I stare out the window at the showroom full of people. Customers, salespeople, shiny vehicles and bright colors painted across windshields promising stellar deals and low costs. There is so much opportunity here and so many people to interact with and help.
I spot Amy, grinning broadly as she talks emphatically over the reception desk, her palms down on the surface as she drives a point home. She’s bubbly and sweet, and the idea that she turned on someone and screamed at them is crazy to me. But I believe the person who filed the complaint, and that leads me to believe that Amy is passionate about the customer experience. And while working the customer service desk seems to make sense, I understand things aren’t always as they seem.
Using the intercom on my desk phone, I call her. I do want to talk to her, but I also want to see if she’ll answer. After all, this is the exact situation that got me staring at a pink slip.
She glances at the phone but doesn’t look over to my office like she knows it’s someone important, but she can’t spare a moment until she’s done with her customer. And that kind of focus is amazing. If most people stayed on task like that, businesses would thrive.
It just happens to be that her current position needs a multi-faceted focus. A moment later, she and the customer shake hands, and I quickly call again to nab her while she isn’t busy.
“Hey Amy, can you come into my office for a few minutes?” I ask. Now she looks over to my window, and I lift my hand to acknowledge her looking. Looking away would imply something bad is about to go on in here. And I don’t think that’s true.
“Sure,” she says quietly before ignoring the glances of a few folks around her, rising and beelining for my office. Once inside, she keeps her hand on the doorknob. “Open or closed?”
“Closed,” I reply, and her face falls just a little, but she catches it before there’s a crash. “Have a seat,” I wave my hand over my desk, and a memory washes through me of them doing this to me. Only this time, far less worse transgressions have occurred, and the outcome is far more reasonable.
Amy crosses her legs at the ankle, resting her hands on one knee. “So I’m fired?” she asks, her red hair shining in the fluorescent office light. She’s gorgeous, and that beauty will serve her well if she likes my proposition.
“No, you’re not,” I say with a smile. Her shoulders soften with relief.
“I read your file. And the complaints made against you.” Turning the key to my desk drawer, I slide open the drawer and finger the tops of the files until I spot her name. With a whoosh, I pull it out and spread it open on the desk. The other two pink slips are pinned to the file, staring back at me immediately.
Those two are similar complaints.
I look up at her. “You don’t like to leave people hanging.”
She raises her hands up, ready to argue. And she could need to vent a little, so I let her. “It makes no sense to have humans in front of you and ignore them to patch calls. I mean, yes, if you can answer a question on a call and hang up, and it only takes a second, that makes sense. But the percentage of calls that get patched straight to the service department?” she shakes her head. “Like, eighty percent, I’m telling you. And the rest are usually questions that take time and, sometimes, research.” She smooths her hands down through the air and puffs her cheeks in a controlled exhale. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow the way we were trained, but every person that comes in here leaves happy because they don’t wait for me to get off the phone. And honestly, it makes more sense to me.”
Blinking, I can see her chest rising and falling like she’s exercising control, and that tells me she isn’t just heated to be right and win some petty argument but passionate about her stance.
“I don’t disagree,” I tell her, then I spin my laptop on the desk so she can see the screen.
“What do you think about changing job roles here at Gonzo?”
Amy’s eyes move across the screen as she reads the sales position job posting. When she looks at me over the computer, confusion scrunches her face. “A salesperson?”
I nod. “You’re passionate and knowledgeable, you’re really good with customers, and you thrive when you communicate with them for longer periods of time.” I lace my fingers together and steeple them below my chin. “It makes way more sense to me. And you’ve been here three years. Do you want to stay at the desk?”
“No,” she answers so quickly that we both giggle a little. When her smile fades, she says, “but that’s… a promotion.”
I nod. “Yeah, it is.” I shrug my shoulders. “Just because it’s on a pink piece of paper doesn’t mean it’s bad. It just means we need toaddressit.”
She reaches out and lets her fingers move around the edges of her personnel folder. “I thought I was going to get fired.”
“I don’t think either of us wants that,” I say, turning the computer to face me again. “And I know this is a big thing to consider because your schedule would change a lot. You’d be here on weekends a ton; that’s something to think about.”
She shakes her head staunchly. “No, I don’t mind. I mean, it’s worth it. I want to be here. I think I would like sales.”
A warm, fuzzy feeling trickles through my veins, and I think it’s pride. I think I’m actually seriously very proud of helping Amy, and I’m also proud of her for not cowering to rules made years ago and following her heart.