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Service comes from the word “serve.” As in to serve. To meet the needs of others, a servant.

I had to rent a truck today for work. Normally this is an amazing experience. For whatever reason, I love to drive trucks. The bigger, the better. And if it’s got a manual transmission: I’m that much closer to heaven, friend!

Anyways, I walk into the local rental place (practically floating on air at this point). And I’m greeted with two employees, one customer. Perfect, should be an easy in and out as far as I’m concerned.

One employee greets me, asks if I’m here for to pick up a reserved truck. I was, so he starts heading for the lot, and lets me know that the other employee will help me.

This is where things start to get interesting.

The truck was reserved ahead of time through the office. Meaning I should just walk in, confirm that I am me, get the keys and go!

Oh no. Not that easy. The need for a credit card to reserve the truck on the website, doesn’t translate into an actual rental. We call the help line, and I am informed:

In order for this to happen, they need a faxed copy of the credit card, the card holders license, with the card information written as well because “sometimes, you can’t make it out.”

1) Who uses a fax machine anymore?

2) Wouldn’t it just be easier to rent the truck through the website?

A minor frustration, but I’ve got it covered. Although I am irked somewhat that no one alerted me of this situation. Most likely because no one knew it would happen.

I start filling out paper work, and signing on the touch screen. Which begins to malfunction. While the employee is trying to fix the credit card machine, she is asking me the obligatory sales questions. I say no to everything.

I sign the touch screen, and then she hands me a copy of the receipt. Shows me the important information, but neglects to really explain everything well. Folds it up, and slides it forward to me with a carbon copy on top.

“sign here please.” This looks official, so I sign it. Carbon copies are always official. She folds everything up again, and hands it all to me. “He’ll be outside with the truck.”

I walk out to the truck, get in, and drive over off to the site. Just down the block.

We load everything up, and head off through DC’s traffic. We get on the freeway and quickly realize that the side mirrors flop back and forth through the air like metallic dog ears. And I remember that the guy who set up the truck for me, asked if the mirrors were okay.

He should have realized how loose they were when he moved them. Then the breaks start to fade out.

And when all is said and done: I realize that the official carbon copy, is in fact a purchase order for travel insurance. Which I had said no to before…

Officially, the worst customer service I have ever had. There was no service to me, no desire to meet my needs nor respect my business. At what point did the servant side of service get lost?