The Logic of the Deposit (but with fear)

Another Home Depot Tale                                                                             April 19, 2015

   Her call this afternoon started off slow and then built up speed as a specter of fear began to creep into her voice, encroaching, if you will on the other side of a frightened line. I could hear it in her voice and somehow I had to make those fears go away. Her fear seemed warranted, though; I didn't really know the reason for it. Still, I felt it enough to make me want to recount this story...

   Earlier in the day there was an initial state of confusion as her son approached and asked for a way to make 8" holes for 4" X 4" wooden posts to act as footings for a new deck he was building as a present for his parents. Accepted industry specifications call out for a 10" hole drilled to a depth of 42" for adequate anchoring. My presentation was logical and I apparently spoke with a wisdom that won him over since he accepted my advice. I reasoned that his plan would run the risk of seeing these same posts rise up out of the ground from winter's water and extreme temperature change. It's something I personally have never seen or experienced, but I do listen to those who have. My job then becomes speaking not so much as an expert, but rather as an advisor. Besides, the idea of being an "expert" in anything makes me shudder and does nothing in its appeal to me. I have been derailed by too many experts in my own travels to ever aspire to be one. There is simply too much risk for my palate in trying to be one. I take Mark Twain's description of an "expert" as "anyone who can spit over a boxcar" to heart. I drew up the contract, took a deposit and helped him load up.

   Later, I received a call about an hour after his departure from Mom saying there was some difficulty with tool he brought home. I listened and heard the posts were too close to the side of the house for the tool's clearance and immediately offered a second plan of attack. I assured her that I would work with her son to the best of my ability and that we could make this happen. In actuality on my end this was fairly easy solution. A tool swap is a simple procedure in the contract system and a void process with the register will do the trick. However, I wasn't about to reveal just how easy it was to her. It's the super hero in me I hold close to my heart that makes me do it this way. I mumbled something about having to bend a few rules, but hey I'm here for you. The son showed up and I handed over the voided contract paperwork to him and gave him his new tool to make Mom happy. Shorty thereafter a fresh contract was written with a new deposit that had to be taken.

   Rent is never charged up front. It sits in the form of a deposit waiting in the register for the tool's return and the contract's end. At the close of the contract, the rental fee is charged off to the deposit. The balance is either returned to the credit card in the form of a credit. Or, there is an option to refund the entire deposit and have the rent paid by cash or another credit card. The options are convenient, not too restricting and hopefully spelled out so that everyone can understand the subtleties of this kind of transaction. The initial deposit must come in the form of a credit card due to the amount of theft tool rental centers across the nation have been facing. It's really our only defense against those that would line their pockets at our expense. The arithmetic is really not that hard, but there are times when it causes once intelligent people to turn in their high quality I.Q. for a much lower model without any of the frills such as logic or reasoning. Then, it becomes a hard and fast, black or white, live or die kind of affair where the conversations can become heated and fraught with a kind of sad lunacy. I had just returned from lunch when I was handed a note from the associate that took the call. He said she was in terrible straits and had no idea what was going on with her money, the tool or her son's activity. It was time for me to travel down this road in the hope that I could restore Mom's faith in our system. I pulled up a copy of the contract before I made the call. Please note that I waited a bit before making the call. I knew there would be confusion in the offing and that an adequate explanation was needed. I learned a long time ago that when it came to almost any form of negotiation or discussions of importance that it is always best to be the one making the call rather than receiving it. This gives you at the advantage by striking first; an obvious advantage. However, it is important to maintain that advantage by making statements and letting the opponent ask all the questions. It allows you better control of the situation by being on higher ground.

   I dialed the number, waiting for my opponent to pick up. I ran through my mind the same points of discussion I have given so many others in an effort to explain the delicate economics of a deposit and applying of charges. Mom answered the phone and I identified myself as the man who had been working with her son. The attack wasn't fierce at first, but could hear the potential was there. I heard the usual edge of anger and suspicion in her voice as I let her tell her side of the story. I am always amazed at this given the fact that I work for one of the largest home improvement stores in the world with a budget that supersedes many modern day countries. It would not serve us to lie, cheat or steal our way to the top. But, back to the call...once all the facts had been presented, I followed up with an explanation of how the crediting and debiting of funds work plus a simple explanation of the process of refunding the balance to her account. However, in her mind something was amiss and I hadn't got to it, yet. She accused me of purposely withholding the receipt. This is where the entire sanctity of the transaction lies. The truth was the son, when he returned with the rented tool had rushed off before getting his receipt. In fact, he had rushed off to the point where the closing transaction was still sitting in my register waiting to be closed.

Then, she asked a little more forcefully than I expected, "Why don't I have a receipt? Why are you withholding it?" Instead of blaming her child for leaving without it I took the high road and stated it was an oversight on our part and that I would be glad to mail the hard copy receipt to her. She agreed that would be satisfactory, but then she hit her next gear.
    "Where is my deposit of $100? I have to have an explanation for that before my husband gets home. I don't want to have to explain it to him why I don't have it." I thought, that's where her fear lives I bet, but why? Obviously, Dad as alpha of his pack is a serial ogre suspect. 

"The rental was $62.30 and the remaining balance of $37.70 has been credited to your account."

"But where is my $100? You took $100 from my card and I don't know how to explain this to my husband once he gets home." She was barking a little louder, now and had moved past the growling and bearing of teeth stage.

  "The deposit was used against your rental. It's standard operating procedure at rental centers." Thinking I had explained it well enough I rested my case.

   "But don't you see, you've taken $100 from me and I don't know to explain it to my husband. He's going to mad and call you to demand an explanation why you are stealing $100 of our money." 

   "Ma'am," I said, "No one is stealing any money from you. I took a deposit of $100. Your rent was $62.30. I used your $100 to pay for that $62.30 and sent the remaining $37.70 back to your card as a credit. Do you see it, now?"

   "Well, yes, but don't be surprised to get a call from my husband. He's coming home, soon and will demand an explanation of all of this and I don't know if I can do it. Your name's Dave? I'll have him call you, then." Ah, we are waiting for the alpha to return from his trip. My level of concern should be higher, I supposed, but this warning was not strong enough to move me to fear or defensive posturing.

    "Okay, that will be fine." I hung up the phone, took her receipt, addressed an envelope, put a stamp on it and walked it down to the mailbox where she will hopefully receive it by Tuesday. On the way back to Customer Service's mailbox I started wondering what kind of man could instill such concern and mild terror? Now, I am not so deluded to think there is an absence of monsters walking the streets. On the surface they can come across as nice, understanding, sensitive folk that are sometimes downright logical. After all, we're men and logic reigns supreme in our world, right? I started imagining this guy as a portly with some hypertension. He's the kind of guy that likes to wear brown slacks with white short sleeve shirts with a (you guessed it) wife beater t-shirt underneath. I don't know why, but the image of slightly deranged Norm in "Cheers" came to mind only not as glib and affable. I imagined the conversation at the kitchen table where the tale would be told and the ensuing interrogation would begin. Hope fly, she would be able to relay the logic and arithmetic of the transaction in a clear and precise manner. Otherwise, who knows what would happen. Many new possibilities started hitting my brain and some of them were not pretty. Could I have sentenced this poor woman to a night of abuse over the small matter of the debit/credit process? Mentally, I stopped in my tracks and realized that I was guilty of indulging my imagination without borders or limits, again. I was giving myself untold reasons to fear his line of query. Had I doubted being fair to this unknown man with his brown wingtips and rayon tie even though he is a supposed threat to me, now? Well, I have done my job I reasoned. The receipt was on its way (eventually, since today is Sunday) and it was time to return to the rest of the matters at hand.

   Still, I worried for her and I didn't know why. Now, the day is over and it's time for rest without worry or concern. I wish. I'm writing this, now, wondering if I've set the stage for a drama to occur far from my life. The lives that I encounter are brief in their meetings and are usually kept in a state of civilized control. We are nice and expect nice in return, but anyone who has ever worked retail knows this will never be the case in any kind of consistency. We know the base instincts of mankind and the incredible sense of entitlement that comes with the territory. People can attack with the viciousness and quickness of a pack of mad feral dogs where each is under the control of a dominant male. Where the dog pack the alpha has to address all situations with a finality that can make or break them. There is no room for error. The alpha is the only one in control leaving the pack as the others blindly obey and follow. He has to be decisive where the movement to act is instantaneous and possibly ruthless in its severity or his status with the pack will suffer a loss of command or possibly his life. His attack has to come suddenly without warning. The throat is the desired target since it carries so much vitality to its owner. It's the first place a dog will attack. The human tactic is to take away the voice of his opponent, to render him speechless. To take away the voice of the opponent is a primary tactic. In humans it is often executed with loudness, rudeness freely punctuated with obscenities and creative cursing. Most often it's like a dog fight with words. Metaphorically, words can create the same devastation as a physical attack by the alpha. The objective is to put the offender in his place by demanding submission. I don't wish this for this woman or the speculated man coming home to a well controlled house only to be surprised by something that supposedly doesn't make sense. I'm sure as second in command her life in comfortable in that her alpha protects and provides for his family or pack. From the looks of her children they are not worried about their next meal. The hackles have risen on my neck and he needs to call me. I'm pacing the floor. His threat is here. His wife made that threat.  But he won't call me. I've been the alpha of my department for many years and experience has given me the training and the patience to make it through this kind of attack. The phone sits in silence. When it does come to life it isn't him. Enough time has passed for him to call unless he's out late. My vanity begins to step up; I reason that he doesn't want to feel bested by another alpha with weaponized logic on his side. I am older, now, and gray hairs have populated the chin of my muzzle. I can lie down and sleep as well as anyone else, but I will not allow the intrusion of another alpha into my camp. The sanity of my pack depends on it.