Customer service and sales techniques have improved by leaps and bounds in Jerusalem. Unfortunately, no one told Osnat or Moran in the back room that they were supposed to get with the program as well. This creates a rather awkward reality check after you've had a quick, friendly, informed conversation with the front-end sales team. You see, following this conversation, Moran (or her doppleganger found in hundreds of stores around the area) stares at you blankly, then tells you you're wrong, then tells Osnat about how wrong you are, and then attempts to go on a cigarette break with Osnat while you stand there laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. Let me tell you a little tale of how I bought my stove and oven. I enter the store and walk to the kitchen area, looking around at the floor models. A salesman asks what kind of oven I'm looking for.
Me: "I need one that cooks."
Gever: "Try this one that also launches rockets."
Me: "No thanks, I just need one that cooks."
Gever: "Oh, okay, sweetheart, try this one that can also polish your shoes."
Me: "No thank you, I'll just take the one that cooks."
Gever: "Well then you need the one with the turbo cooker so that you can cook 6 dishes at once."
Me: "Hmmm, 6 dishes at once? How will that work in this 2 foot by 2 foot oven? Wait a second, have you ever cooked? Anything?"
Gever: "So, you just want the oven and stove then?"
Me, "Yes please, that'd be great."
The salesman checks that they are in stock by asking his co-worker, Shmulik, to look at the scrap papers in his hand and double check. Shmulik confirms that the scraps of paper show that my models are in stock. My salesman then writes up a sales note which I need to take to the cashier. This takes all of 4 minutes. I stand in line as the cashier yells at the 3 customers in front of me. She's not angry with them, it's just the way she emphasizes that she is in control and they are simply the customers with the money. During my 20 minute wait, I wonder why there are a half dozen other cashiers sitting around and chatting/doing paperwork/making doctors appointments for their kids while we wait on line, but decide to go with the flow since I have time, the guy in front of me has already attempted that battle, and this seems like it's shaping up to be one of those experiences that I will write about one day.
I get to the front of the line and take out my credit card. They need to see my Israeli teudat zehut (social security card).
Me: I don't have one, I'm not Israeli. ***Note to self: WRONG ANSWER!!***
Osnat: Well then, we can't sell these to you.
Me: Uhhhhh, what? You can't sell me a stove because I'm not Israeli?
Osnat: Absolutely not, are you insane??!!
Me: Uhhhh, what would it take for you to sell me this oven?
Osnat: Proof that you live here.
Me: Ahhh, I can do that. Here is my checkbook with my address on it.
Osnat: But your checkbook says, FOREIGN RES on it, what does that mean?
Me: It means that I'm not Israeli. ***Note to self: WOULD YOU STOP WITH THAT ANSWER!!***
Osnat: Well then we can't sell you the oven. We don't even sell ovens to people who live in *whisper* East Jerusalem.
Me: But I live here. In West Jerusalem. This is my checkbook with my address on it. This is my credit card. This is my supermarket club card. And this is the little thingy that I use to get the grocery carts unhooked from each other when I don't have a ten shekel coin in my pocket.
Osnat: Ohhh! Why didn't you say so? But we'll have to sell it to you under your husband's name. (Has anyone noticed that I proved to the woman that I live here b/c I had a thingie on my keychain that unhooks grocery carts?)
Me: You'll have to sell it to me under my Israeli husband's name? Alright. No problem. I'll tell him he has to make dinner.
Osnat: That's funny. Hey Moran, listen to this one. I told her I have to sell her the oven under her husband's name and she said that she'll tell him he has to make dinner!
Moran: Why do you have to sell it to her under her husband's name?
Osnat: Because she's not Israeli
Moran: *Look of sheer terror on her face*
Me: *Brain explodes*
===another 15 minutes of negotiation ensue while I have to convince the store's assistant associate manager-in-training (Osnat's aunt??) to allow me the privilege of paying them money for the oven. This finally occurs when I raise my voice to meet hers, stand up, and declare that she will sell me the oven. That seems to work, she apologizes for the hard time, and offers me some rugelach so that there are no hard feelings. I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.
I prepare to walk out the door and the transaction ends with the following warning:
Osnat: Whatever you do, don't open the box.
Me: Ha, that's funny.
Osnat: No, it's very very serious.
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