Monday, April 26, 2010

The Person You Have Reached Is Not In Service

What is it about people who work in customer service who are neither into the customer or into service? Case in point; The other day I was sitting in my car at a local hamburger joint waiting to place my order. Granted, I should have been eating a veggie sandwich on wheat, extra tomatoes, and honey-mustard dressing from Subway, or a healthy smoothie crafted in my own blender at home, but there is just something about ketchup, mustard, and pickles on a hot hamburger patty bracketed by a bun. Perhaps its because it reminds me of childhood days; cookouts in the back yard, or 4th of July gatherings with family and friends waiting for the extravagant fireworks display, or Labor Day weekend block parties when all the neighborhood kids and parents got together to celebrate the passing of summer. I don’t know, but back to the order box.

“Can I take your order?” she sighed

“Yes, I’d like number 12”

“Whatchu want ta drink?”

“Coke, please”

“Anything else???” as if I’d better not trouble her any more than I already have.

“No, that will do, thank you”

“Drive around for your total”

What? Drive around for my total? The machine is right in front of you! Why can’t you give me the total now? O.K., so I drive around to the pick-up window. What I’m greeted with as a young woman who, judging from the look on her face, must have just found out that her house had burned to the ground and all of her shoes went up with it, or that she had just learned of her boyfriend sleeping with her best friend.

“How are you?” I asked with a smile.

“FINE!” she snarled. Yikes! Sorry I asked.

“$5.62” said she. I gave her a Hamilton and she returned the change, making quite sure she didn’t touch my hand in the exchange. After all, we wouldn’t want my pleasant disposition rubbing off on her. She handed me the drink, complete with soda running down the outside of the cup which I have to clean off with a napkin from the glove box. When I looked back at her I saw a bag dangling out of the window and her eyes piercing me, no doubt because of the great amount of time that had elapsed since the drink came forth. I took the bag, wish her a good day not expecting a response, none given, and drove along my merry way. Now, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to think she was just having a bad day, or that some awful trauma was haunting her life, but that wouldn’t explain every other occasion to which I have experienced her glowing charm and polished interpersonal skills. Honey, no one is holding a gun to your head. If you don’t like your job or don’t like people, then please do us a favor and change professions. You might be happier as a lighthouse keeper, a crocodile wrangler, or shoveling snow at one of the Antarctica research stations.

No comments:

Post a Comment