Recently I waxed on about how ecommerce was a real lifesaver this holiday season. That’s true.
Except in one case where it wasn’t.
Hanukkah was early this year, and I was behind the eight ball in getting a gift for one recipient on my list who happens to love fancy neon-colored socks.
As it happened, I had been on the receiving end of a recent ad blitz from Bombas, which bills itself as the “happiness guaranteed” purveyor of comfy and colorful socks. They’re one of those purpose-driven firms, like Tom’s, Warby Parker and others that gives a pair away for each pair they sell.
Having never tried Bombas before, I thought it would be a nice way to expand the joy of my buying power this holiday season.
Alas, “happiness” has proved elusive.
In one of their missives, Bombas even supplied a 20% first-time user coupon. This was great. I was going to get the perfect gift for a person who likes to wear garish socks as a form of self-expression, spread the love via Bombas’ sell-one-give-one proposition and have the gift to give on time, using the first-timer coupon for guaranteed two-day delivery.
Well, three days later, the order arrived minus two pair of the socks I ordered. Without a receipt, let alone an explanation.
But I knew these folks were the “happiness guaranteed” sock sellers. I mean, it says so right on their website. So I was still feeling reassured.
And I write them a note explaining that a chunk of the order is missing and feeling pretty confident when I received a quick albeit automatic reply noting that the company’s “crack team of customer happiness reps is on the job.”
Somehow that crack team let my problem — and a number of others it turns out — fall through the cracks. For days nothing but radio silence from the happiness squad.
Hanukkah comes and goes. Nothing.
Another message to the crack team and another automatic reply that they’re on the case. Not!
Finally, eight days after my first note explaining the problem — well past the eight days of Hanukkah mind you — I get a note from the company. And not just anyone at the firm, but the CEO himself, Dave Heath.
That’s right, my new friend Dave. He’s written to apologize, noting how the company had been unresponsive after I reached out for help and how this must have been a “terrible customer experience.”
Ya think, Dave? You figured that out all by yourself did you?
He yammers on about warehouse mishaps and how the unfulfilled part of my order won’t be coming.
But then he got down to the makeup proposition: Full refund plus $50 to spend on more socks, keep whatever you got and a new first-time user promo since the first one went so awry.
Well, that sounds promising. I think I’ll wait a month or two before cashing in. I’d hate to part of a mad rush that crashes the happiness-guaranteed system AGAIN.
And you know what Dave? If you finally do deliver I won’t push the button on one nasty review I’ve drafted that’s ready to go to several of my favorite sites. You won’t be my friend because I don’t know you and probably never will. But you will be out of my dog house.