Roger, whose Hollister shorts shrank a full size after he had the audacity to wash them, sent us an update. He writes that his situation has a happy ending: the company refunded his entire purchase, not just the shorts, and claim that they’ll be taking the opportunity to make sure to train their employees to see what a pair of washed shorts looks like. See the effect a good complaint can have…once you finally get through to someone with power?
I wanted to share that since communicating my issues relating to the return of two pairs of shorts to Hollisterco.com, over the weekend a high level manager (“Jason”) contacted me about my return. He was very professional in his approach to the problems relating to the their customer service phone number (which was not answered by a human) and whether or not I had specified the rationale for my return. After several email exchanges, this manager rectified the situation and went above and beyond. Not only did he refund me the cost of my return ($59), but he also issued a reimbursement for my entire order (an additional $70 in products). I’ve never had a retailer be more generous for their error. More importantly, he kindly asked me to send the shorts (paid for by Hollisterco.com) directly to him so that he could use them as an example to better train their staff at their distribution center so that similar issues would not occur in the future for other customers. (Perhaps, he also wanted to see the if the shorts were really washed just once as I claimed?) In any case, Hollisterco.com made it right and I’m thankful.
Lastly, Jason and I had a good laugh together about the comments posted by other consumerist.com readers pertaining to my 35 years of age (and still shopping at Hollister) and my comment about having a lot of education. Hey — I earned that ridicule and I’m good with it! If that’s the cost of speaking up about a problem with a retailer — I’ll take it.
Roger, (“Too old to shop at Hollister, even if it’s online only”)
Ph.D. and D.d.B. (for those of you not familiar with D.d.B., that’s a Doctorate in Douchebaggery. Yes, I’m laughing at myself!)