Good morni-
Oh, sorry, I didn't realize you were busy. Talking to the grocery bagger in a foreign tongue. While you are scanning the items I am purchasing.
Could I trouble you for an instant? Just some eye contact, perhaps an acknowledgment that we are standing in front of one another, engaging in a moment of human interaction?
No?
Ok. Maybe when you are done laughing hysterically at whatever it was your co-worker just said to you. I'll wait, I don't mind. I've already taken out my wallet. My keys and sunglasses are right here on the little shelf in front of me, so... I'll just look around at the display. Or something.
This is not in the least bit awkward.
And now you've tallied my last item. I'm pretty sure I know what comes next.
Only, it's not happening.
Really, all you have to do is touch the button that produces the total amount I owe you. It's not all that difficult, nor time consuming. But, I can see that all your attention is focused on the riveting story you are regaling your colleague with. Wish I could understand it. I like to laugh, too.
By some happenstance (divine intervention?) your finger brushes up against the keypad, and the total for my purchases appears on the screen. Only, I can't see the numbers from this angle. Maybe if I crane my neck and lean over a bit.
You know what? How about I just hand you this twenty, and you give me back whatever you think is fair. I mean, what's this world come to if we can't trust each other with a few dollars, right?
I said I'll hand you this twenty. Come on, lady, work with me here, I can't do this thing alone. Here, I'll wave my hand around and hope against hope that you'll see my money out of the corner of your eye.
I am using up reserves of patience I didn't know I had.
I add an "excuse me" to my efforts.
I do have to give you props. Because you can take the twenty, make change and pile the mountain of bills, coins and receipt, into the palm of my hand, without a hitch in the flow of your conversation.
"Thank you," I say. If only one of us is allowed good manners in this scenario, I'll gladly volunteer myself.
Como se dice "Dumbass" en espanol?
I feel your pain, dearest Mustard. May I now say, for the record, and since I am in a pretty craptastic mood today, that I hate, loathe and despise most "customer service" workers. Most, not all. Once in a while you'll find a gem who is actually somewhat helpful. Most aren't worth the minimum wage they are paid. And most haven't had more than two seconds of training. Not to mention the fact that most have had absentee parents and have absolutely no manners whatsoever. I rant. I must stop, as I can feel my blood pressure rising. Is it time for my pill? Is the weekend here yet? Can I crawl back under my rock now? Carry on.
ReplyDeleteRanting is good for the soul, Songbird. Plus, it keeps the blood moving, making it good for the body as well. In fact, that's one of the reasons I have this here blog. So, let loose, sister!
ReplyDeleteThanks for understanding, dear Mustard.
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