Wagist

Customer Service is Dead

Posted on November 17, 2009 by Sara Chamberlin

The problem might be that I assume you’re an imbecile from the start. And I’d like to say that’s unfair but honestly, I’m usually right. Many retail and food service employees seem to be wretched, pathetic imbeciles.

Customer service is dead. Long dead. That old mantra, “The customer is always right!” has been replaced with, “The customer is always annoying and I’ll do whatever I can to make his or her shopping/dining experience as painful as humanly possible.”

It’s as if they rounded up the laziest, most miserable mouth breathers they could find. They tell them, “Listen, try not to be helpful. In fact, if you can make this really difficult for everyone involved, that would be ideal. Extra points for being so annoying that you incite a riot.” It’s a problem in retail and it’s a problem in restaurants. It’s a problem everywhere – no one is safe.

The lack of social grace is usually what appalls me the most. When I reached the fitting room last night at my favorite clothing store, this little hipster bitch of an employee was leaning against the wall, half-comatose, picking at her nail polish. Didn’t bother to look me in the eye or even acknowledge me. I whispered a cautious “Hello?” and she managed to swing her lifeless body towards me. She haphazardly counted the items in my hand and then sort of flung them into the dressing room mumbling something to the effect of, “If you need any help, my name is Whore.” (Okay, that wasn’t her name. But you get the point.) If I needed help do you really think I would ask you, WHORE?

There’s another, lesser known problem in customer service. It’s the trying too hard, overly friendly, nose-all-up-in-your-business type. And let me be clear: this is just as annoying as lazy, rude service.There’s a delicious falafel place across the street from my apartment. I used to go there all the time until they hired this jolly, flirtastic douche. Now I boycott the joint.

It was the same every night:

Jolly Douche (with a creepy smile): “Hey sweetie! ”
Me: “Hi, I’ll have a falafel sandwich and a Diet Coke.”
Jolly Douche: “Mmm, that sounds good! Is that to stay or to go darlin’?”
Me (through clenched teeth): “To go.” (ALWAYS to go. I have never, not once said “to stay” and yet he insisted on asking every single time.)
Jolly Douche (with a creepy wink): “Why don’t you stay?! Hang out with me!”
Me (holding back vomit): “I live right across the street.” (Code for: I’d rather drive a sharp pencil through my eye than spend five more seconds with you.)
Jolly Douche: “How was work today, cutie?”
Me: “Fine.” (Code for: Stop calling me pet names and promptly die a slow, painful death.)

I know, I’m mean. The guy was just trying to be nice right? Making casual conversation? No. Give me my falafel and get out of my face. I’m not here to chit chat or to find a new boyfriend. If it’s not unnecessary flirting it’s, “Are you sure you don’t want to buy five more candles so you can get fifty cents off the body spray?” or “If you sign up for our credit card you’ll get a special birthday mega-coupon!” Woo fucking hoo. I can’t decide which is worse – gloomy jerks who roll their eyes or spastic creeps who try too hard. Either way, customer service is dead.