Planet mezZ

I never thought anyone could have a bad experience at the Salvation Army, but I thought wrong.

This morning I brought a car full of really nice clothes to the Utica, New York, Salvation Army.

I did not expect to be totally ignored by the guy collecting donations in the parking lot. A head nod, a hello — even a “please place your clothes here” would have been okay. The little man inside my head said “not everyone has people skills, and we are all entitled to a bad day,” so that experience in itself was not a big deal.

I assumed that I was supposed to put the clothing in one of the six large bins by the truck. It’s not rocket science. I really expected him to say “thank you” or maybe look at or somehow acknowledge me — but I guess the four of us unloading our carloads of donations were all invisible.

The next step is to go inside and get a receipt for tax purposes. Looks like the procedure is for people to fill out the receipt themselves and get someone to sign it.

As I was doing that at their desk with no employee present, I saw a woman dragging a beautiful cherry cabinet and really struggling with it, stressing its legs — I was hoping one wouldn’t snap right off. I assumed she was a worker and started asking her questions about how to get my receipt signed by a representative of the Salvation Army. She said “I don’t work here” — being a little embarrassed at my mistake, I cracked a joke — “maybe you can sign this anyway – no one would know” and we both laughed.

At that point another woman literally appeared out of the shadows and scolded me. “Yes, they will know. The IRS audits us every year.”  She took my receipt, reviewed it, then tore it up like a human paper shredder.

I felt like I was in 5th grade and turned in a term paper that deserved something less than an F.

She seemed pretty insulted that I wrote an amount on the receipt, and then, feeling like I got sent to the principal’s office, I was reprimanded about writing “$500″ on the receipt. “You can write any amount you want on your copy after you leave, but not on ourrrrr copy.”

My donation was at very least worth $1000, but that was beside the point. I simply wrote another receipt and asked her to sign that one.

She reviewed it like a crime scene investigator looking for DNA evidence, but finally signed it, only after talking to another guy for a couple minutes. He came in after me, but it didn’t seem to matter.

The little man inside me repeated “not everyone has people skills, and we are all entitled to a bad day.” Once again, no thank you, no nod of appreciation, nothing — not even eye contact.

In the parking lot I ran into the woman who bought the cherry cabinet who was really struggling with it now — I couldn’t resist but to help her. After we loaded her car, I said “jeez .. people are pretty rude in there” – she agreed and said they would not help her carry the cabinet. We talked a while about bargains and she said she paid only $50 for that cabinet.

What a steal that was — so I made a beeline into the Salvation Army store which is separate from the donation center, and I looked around a bit. Pretty neat stuff all over. Then jazz men Artie Shaw and Glenn Miller jumped out at me, and I ended up buying two book sets of their 78 RPM vinyl records from the 1930s or 40s. As one who appreciates jazz and history, these are a nice addition to my archives.

I brought them to the checkout counter, and yes — you guessed it — the casher also lacked people skills and she, too, was having a bad day. When it was my turn to pay at the register, I pushed out a cheery “hello” and was again ignored. I handed her a new twenty dollar bill fresh from an ATM, and she handed me a receipt, my change, and dead silence. Not a  “thank you” or a “have a nice day.”

I won’t tell you what the little man inside said that time, but I am really disappointed at the coldness from these people.

It’s hard to get mad at an organization like the Salvation Army who helps so many, but instead of being annoyed at people making donations, maybe they should learn how to at the very least say thank you.

Without us they would not have a job, and after all — we do enable them to realize their mission which doesn’t seem to include manners and salesmanship.

Joe Mezzanini Commentary Salvation-Army