My worst customer experience since contracting salmonella from a bad Subway sandwich in 1991. And it cost me nearly $600.
In hindsight, I only have myself to blame for walking in the door at 9320 W Broad in the first place, after having read a glowing profile of company founder Ray Margiano in a franchising publication. I have plantar fasciitis and overpronate, and had already seen a podiatrist.
The experience started with a color-coded foot-scan, the results of which the co-owner, Mrs. M-B G, walked me through with the help of a skeletal foot model: a "biomechanical gait assessment," I believe she called it. As she brought out $250+ shoes for me to try on, alongside costly hard-plastic orthotics, Mrs. G underscored her certified-OT credential and her husband JG's engineering background. I walked in several pairs, none of them feeling comfortable. Mrs. G said it was natural to feel like I was standing on a metal bar -- that my feet would strengthen and acclimate over time. She tried to seal the deal and have me buy a black and brown pair, alongside a pair of $40 rubber shower slippers, three pairs of ventilated socks, a hard-plastic "ten-year" orthotic, sole-inserts to place above this orthotic, and, for good measure, a $5 rubber ball to roll my feet over every morning. The whole thing was to cost me just shy of $800.
I balked at the price and said I would come back after doing more homework and consulting with an orthopedist. To which she immediately darted to the clearance rack and presented me with these heavy, motion-controlled rocker shoes: "half off." I tried them on with the hard-plastic insert and liners, during which she retrieved a pair of heavy rocker ancient-Olympics-style sandals and the $40 Korean shower slippers: "closed-cell design," she touted. We went back and forth over my uncertainty over paying approximately $600 for shoes and accessories that felt so obviously uncomfortable.
I asked to use the restroom. Mrs. G told me that there's was not for customers -- that I'd have to use a nearby fast-food joint's; another customer was waiting for her attention.
Apoplectically, I asked her how they could justify denying someone use of their restroom and still expect them to fork over nearly $600. Mrs. G responded -- no joke -- that the cost of the shoes reflected her training as an OT.
(These better be great shoes, I remember thinking, as I reached for my Amex). As she rung up the order, Mrs. G tried to up-sell me on shoe cleaners and a couple of rubber stress balls. I passed.
Long story short: these shoes were a complete flop, and only made my feet feel worse. I followed the instructions and gave them second, third, tenth tries for months, even as my orthopedist (a foot specialist with his MD from UVA) urged me to throw them away; he'd seen others who had been remorsefully pressure-sold by Foot Solutions.
My experience with this store was so bad that I took my case to company founder and CEO Ray Margiano. He was nice enough to field my emails and calls, but ultimately responded that none of the above-mentioned violated their franchisee best practices. Ok.
So it is. I will not, however, rest until I get my money back.
I urge Dr. Margiano and Mrs. & Mr G to read the bestseller Delivering Happiness by Zappos's CEO and founder Tony Hsieh. Zappos has a 365-day return policy and a fraction of the margins enjoyed by Foot Solutions. It also has incredible customer goodwill. Foot Solutions can count on the very opposite from me.
To read more about my $576 experience, search for @FootSolutions on Twitter, where you will find more about high-pressure-upsell tactics in the quasi-medical foot pain business. I will be taking my complaint to the Better Business Bureaus of both Richmond and Atlanta, where Foot Solutions is headquartered.
I urge you to avoid this store and chain, and instead avail yourself of a good orthopedist and New Balances or Rockports. Saxon Shoes is a good local example. Online, Zappos cannot be beat for selection and customer service.
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