Germany’s Service Desert. Case 3.

We have been living in Germany for three years now, and I guess I/we have slowly been socialized back into European society with its lower standards on customer service. But I am still posting this event from May 2017. It was this experience of Germany’s service desert that triggered this blog.

Case 3: The Galeria Kaufhof Case

In May 2017, I was taking an intensive German course in the city center to fresh up my German.  Being on time and taking public transport was an impossible combination, so I drove into town every morning and parked in the nearest parking garage: the parking of the shopping center “Galeria Kaufhof”. The ‘Galeria Kaufhof’ is a bit of an institution in Germany and can be found in all major cities, but before you think I am advertising for them, continue reading.

As every morning before this one, I drive up to the parking garage, push the button and get this yellow chip coin to pay for parking, I drive up two levels, park the car and then run down the two flights of stairs and walk another two minutes to my class. As usual after class, I walk to the payment machine on the ground level of the parking, ready to pay and get out. I checked my watch that particular morning just before crossing the street and entering the parking garage. It is 12:28.

At this point of the story, I want to add two things. Firstly, I had had a lot of coffee that morning, which probably did not help to remain calm. Secondly, I really did have to pick Willem up to go to an appointment, but only later in the afternoon. And now, here we go. Let me take you on this rollercoaster called “customer service”.

I put the chip coin in the machine and the display tells me I have to pay eight euros. I have a five euro bill, which I put in the machine, and I start going through my coins to add the other three euros. Soon I notice that I don’t have enough coins for the extra three euros and I decide to push “Abbruch” which means “Cancellation” to start over. I’m thinking that I might get the fiver back in coins but I don’t care. But to my surprise, I do not get any money back. I get a printed receipt “Gutschein für fünf euros”, a voucher of five euros. I am annoyed, I happily admit. I don’t want this piece of paper, I want my money back. I take the chipcoin and the receipt and walk into the shopping building to the nearest cash register. I tell the uninterested overweight lady sitting a chair that I would like to get my money back while showing her the receipt. She tells me: “I can’t help you with that. You need to go to the employee’s entry next door”, which is where I go.

I am in front of a closed door at the delivery entrance of the building. I ring the bell and explain that I am having trouble with the payboot. Over the intercom, someone tells me that someone will be down soon. Two minutes later, a middle-aged man shows up. This guy is actually the friendliest person I will meet. I tell him that I got a voucher instead of my money while I was trying to pay for parking. He tells me as if I should have known this fact: “Well, of course, the machine cannot return money”. I am thinking: “What do you mean? The machine cannot return money? It does so all the time. If you pay too much, it gives you back your change.” But I decide to shut up. I ask him politely if he can hurry up, that I have to pick my kid. He tells me that he will get me a different chip coin to get out of the parking garage, without having to pay for it and that I will be out of there in no time. He just has to get into the office and talk with his boss. He stands in front of the adjacent office door waiting for it to open. It takes a minute. In the meantime, he asks me where I am from. He disappears for a minute into the office. He comes out again and tells me: “I am sorry, I cannot give you a chipcoin. My boss tells me that you have to go to the service station in the building next door to pay for the other three euros. Sorry.” “And where is that?” “It is on the first level below zero. They will help you.” I take off quickly and irritated.

I am now at the service station downstairs. There are two counters, but only one is open. There is a lady in front of me. Another two minutes pass. When it is my turn, I tell the lady that I got this voucher out of the payment boot and that I want my money back. She looks at it and then, without words, she opens a closet to fetch a key to then open another closet to fetch a little metal box. She puts the voucher in and hands me five euros in coins. I run off, annoyed by all the time that has passed. I did not know yet that this was only the beginning. 

I am standing in front of the payment machine on the ground floor again, three coins extra instead of a voucher. I put the chip coin back in the machine. It tells me something like: “Impossible to read chip coin”. I am cursing out loud at this point. Fucking machine. I am guessing that by cancelling my payment earlier the chipcoin can no longer read how much I have to pay. I double check by running three flights of stairs up to try another payment machine. Same message pops up. I am now getting shaky because of the running and the coffee and the voucher mess.

I run back inside to the register at the ground level. I tell a new – and nicer – lady behind the counter: “My apologies, I am nervous. I need to pick up my son soon and I cannot pay my chipcoin. The machine says it cannot register the coin. Could you please help me?” Her answer is short: “I cannot help you with that. You have to go to the service point downstairs”. I should have known.

I run to the service point downstairs. By now, I am shaky and flaky and boiling inside. A store full of employees, but none of them is able to help. They do not even look at you. There is also a ‘new’ lady downstairs at the only counter that is open. There are four people waiting in line. I decide not to stand in line and walk up to the lady helping a customer. I tell her: “Could you please help me? I need to pick up my son, but I cannot pay my chip coin, because the machine tells me it cannot register the coin. I need to pay eight euros.” I am clearly in distress by now. The lady finishes her transaction and tells me that she cannot help with that, that she will need to call her boss. She starts calling her boss over the phone and she continues helping other customers. Two minutes pass. I am shaking like a leaf at this point, nobody, not the four people waiting in line, nor the new people in line, nor the lady behind the counter looks at me or talks to me. They all try to ignore as much as possible. I am upset. Agitated I ask the lady: “I need to pick up my kid. Can I not just pay the twenty euros or whatever it is if you lose a coin? I need to go!!” I know it is only partly true, but by now I am so agitated that it is really easy to play the part. I am still hoping that it will speed up my case. It doesn’t. She tells me again that she cannot help me and calls her boss again.

Another minute passes. I look ridiculous and desperate. Inside I am thinking hateful thoughts: “What the fuck is wrong with these people? Have they never heard of customer service in this country?! Why can’t they even look at me?” Another two minutes pass until a young lady shows up. I have to control myself not to burst. In distress, I tell her that I am trying to pay my chip coin, that it is not working, probably because of my cancellation earlier for which I was already at this exact counter. She tries to understand by listening closely. She asks me how much I had to pay. I tell her eight euros, but that I am happy to pay whatever to get out of there as quickly as possible. She pulls back to talk to a guy for a second who had been hanging around there the first time and now the second time. I now understand that he is the manager of this particular level in the store. She then opens a closet to fetch a key to then open another closet to fetch the little metal box. She takes my eight euros, puts it in the metal box and trades my chip coin for another chip coin. I storm off, cursing, swearing, shaking, hating. I am infuriated. Twenty eight minutes have passed. To pay for parking. Because I pushed the cancellation button. I calm myself down in the car before driving off, swearing that I am never setting foot in a Galeria Kaufhof again. A promise I could not keep.

For my German friends who do not know what customer service is: the ‘American’ solution would have been what that first guy promised me he would do: just giving me a coin to get the hell out of there. Better to loose some money on a stupid parking ticket than to loose a customer. Or they would at least add a sign to the cancellation button: “Pressing this button might cause extreme distress!”