4/24/2006 - Where Were My Eyeballs?
My parents used to travel back and forth from Russia to visit my sister and I before moving to America for good. My mother enjoyed the high level of services in this country and quickly learned the benefits of being a customer. She couldn’t believe her eyes: People were actually polite and attentive! What she liked most was that she had a right to return or exchange low-quality items - something almost unthinkable for her!
One day she came back to Russia and found out that my Dad brought home expired yogurt. Mom didn’t even want to listen to my fathers reasons - that it was not America and nobody would take the dairy products back - she sent him back to the store anyway.
"Where did you have your eyeballs?" the sales clerk yelled vulgarly at my father, looking down at him.
It became our family joke for years: "Where did you have your eyeballs?" We say it every time when we remember poor Russian services and compare them with the exceptionally polite and considerate customer service in this country. Last April my mother moved in with me to start a new life after we lost our father due to cancer.
We signed her up for English as a Second Language class. To study English at 71, is it doable? Anything is possible in America, why not! But first thing first, we needed to buy a new bed for her and went shopping. My mother likes shopping!
We found a nice mattress store and purchased two new mattresses sealed in plastic for just more than $700. The joy ended right there. My mother and I noticed a strong mildew odor in her bedroom as soon as we furnished it. Would you think of a new bed if you have a strong suffocating odor? I wouldn’t!
I checked every corner of our new place, I sprayed bottles and bottles of Febreze - good stuff, but the mold was much stronger. The bedding was my next suspect. I washed it, and washed it, and I washed it again, but every time I entered the room I smelled the mold again.
My mother got horrific headaches day after day, but I was not able to be attentive to her, having my own problems increasing day after day. My throat swelled and I finally lost my voice for weeks, and I didnt even sleep in the room. For a public speaker to lose her voice is the same as for a jeweler to lose her fingers. I make my living out of my voice. That was scary.
Finally, we took the bed apart after we sent Mom to stay with my sister in Louisiana for two months. Only by accident we discovered that the problem was neither the bedding nor the apartment but the beds. Well, the beds were hardly three months old - that didn’t seem like a problem that couldn’t be fixed.
"It is America - not Russia!" I told my mother, smiling, after she came back. All we needed to do was to see the store owner. But it was not as simple as I thought. It took me five visits to get nowhere?
I soon could tell that the owner "stopped liking my face." This was not just the obvious observation of his attitude but his own words. "But this is a health hazardous situation!" I told him. "I do not want to keep molded mattresses in my apartment for so long. It makes us sick. I am allergic to mold."
I felt I had a right to be heard even if he stopped liking me. I still believed that any store owner would naturally try his best to satisfy his or her customers. Instead we experienced deja vu: the American man suddenly transformed before our eyes into a rude and arrogant salesman (too familiar to us Russians), who yelled and screamed and laughed with a victorious sound.
"Get out of my store! You come here to threaten me with the Problems Solvers, you lie to me. You come from nobody knows what country, speaking nobody knows what language! I sold 50,000 mattresses and never had a mildew problem. You are the only ones who came back! Get out of my store!" He suddenly looked angrily and hatefully down at my mother, who sat innocently in the armchair, not having a clue about what was going on, and yelled again,
"Do not sit on my furniture! Get off my furniture! Get out of my store! Get out of my store!"
He was so angry I had to call the police, not knowing that the owner could behave as he wished on his property. That was explained to me later by the city police officer.
"Arrest her! Arrest her for trespassing!" he continued yelling, even in front of the police officer.
"I can’t."
"I’d rather be arrested," I said and offered to turn myself in, envisioning how my friends would picket the mattress place. I knew I would win. It is not Russia; my dignity is preserved in America.
After we left the store my mother complained: "Where are the new mattresses? Did the owner agree on exchanging it?" I hugged her and smiled, "Where were our eyeballs, Mom?" She looked at me with the sudden understanding, and we both laughed through tears.
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