Pride and Prejudice: Customer Service Edition
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that working in customer service is the modern version of being Sisyphus. It's full of endless, repetitive work, and tricking people into buying whatever rubbish you're forced to sell them. No matter how hard you work, it's never enough. There aren't many people who love being in customer service, and I have the greatest respect for those who do. But personally, I hate it.
Don't get me wrong though, as long as you don't mind doing less physically and mentally demanding tasks, it's not that bad. The job itself is actually fine. In fact, having said that, most of the customers are generally fine as well. But you know the saying 'one bad apple ruins the bunch'? On some days, that's all I can see: the bad apple.
Let's face it, it's not like I expect to get on with everyone I meet. I know there are going to be some people who will just hate me no matter what I do - and this goes both ways. Working in a small town, seeing the same people every day, makes it even worse. Especially if you're in the position of providing them a service. Even if they don't mean to, there's an awful lot of people who act superior to those of us in customer service: 'Hey, I'm not wearing a uniform, and you're the one serving me.' Admittedly they don't say this, but I get my fair share of snide comments or exasperated and scornful looks. No-one's in the dark here, mate. We both know what you're thinking.
Today I found out that my personal bad apple has launched a complaint about me. My supervisor, thankfully, defended me, but obviously they had to tell me that someone had made a complaint. At first, I tried not to let it bother me. Ok, I don't like this customer and they don't like me. Fine. We got off to a bad start and it's been downhill since there. Since then, I've found that trying to be polite and ignoring any past grievances gets me nowhere. Particularly when they greet me, interact with me, and generally treat me like shit on the bottom of their shoe. Honestly, there's only so much effort I'm willing to make, particularly when they complain to their friends about me in plain view.
After a couple of hours of silently fuming over this knowledge, I later found out that they'd come into the store earlier that morning. They had come in, seen me behind the counter, turned around and walked out. How do I know? Because it was decided that I should watch the CCTV footage and see for myself. Since I'd been stewing and annoyed all morning, this really was the icing on the cake. I cried. And I hate crying. When I cry, it's ugly: blotchy face, streaming nose, awkward hiccups, etc. The whole nine yards. Up until that point, I'd not said anything about how this woman treated me, and as it turns out, my co-workers. This person had made a complaint about me and there was nothing I could do. But by this point, I'd had enough. I let it all out (accompanied by more tears), and practically shouted my case.
There's still not a lot I can do to help myself here, except apologise to the customer and say that I'd spoken with my supervisor about their complaint. Somehow I doubt that's going to happen. Apologising when I'm in the wrong is one thing, but apologising to someone who makes underhanded comments about me and in front of me? Something tells me there's no apology coming their way.
To really put the finish to an excellent work day, when I arrived downstairs with my face still red from crying, one of the other customers called me a prostitute. How we got from 'Is it possible to buy anything in here for 25p?' to 'Are you trying to bring your night job into your day job? I bet you have lots of experience negotiating prices,' I have no idea. But when I defended myself to the extent of my ability whilst on shift ('Well, gee, thanks for coming in here and calling me a prostitute.'), the only worthwhile response was apparently, 'At least I didn't actually say the word.' Oh of course, I should be thanking you for your restraint in only blatantly suggesting that I am a prostitute, rather than actually saying the word itself. My god, how stupid I must be that thanking you wasn't my first response.
Currently reading:
Don't get me wrong though, as long as you don't mind doing less physically and mentally demanding tasks, it's not that bad. The job itself is actually fine. In fact, having said that, most of the customers are generally fine as well. But you know the saying 'one bad apple ruins the bunch'? On some days, that's all I can see: the bad apple.
Let's face it, it's not like I expect to get on with everyone I meet. I know there are going to be some people who will just hate me no matter what I do - and this goes both ways. Working in a small town, seeing the same people every day, makes it even worse. Especially if you're in the position of providing them a service. Even if they don't mean to, there's an awful lot of people who act superior to those of us in customer service: 'Hey, I'm not wearing a uniform, and you're the one serving me.' Admittedly they don't say this, but I get my fair share of snide comments or exasperated and scornful looks. No-one's in the dark here, mate. We both know what you're thinking.
Today I found out that my personal bad apple has launched a complaint about me. My supervisor, thankfully, defended me, but obviously they had to tell me that someone had made a complaint. At first, I tried not to let it bother me. Ok, I don't like this customer and they don't like me. Fine. We got off to a bad start and it's been downhill since there. Since then, I've found that trying to be polite and ignoring any past grievances gets me nowhere. Particularly when they greet me, interact with me, and generally treat me like shit on the bottom of their shoe. Honestly, there's only so much effort I'm willing to make, particularly when they complain to their friends about me in plain view.
After a couple of hours of silently fuming over this knowledge, I later found out that they'd come into the store earlier that morning. They had come in, seen me behind the counter, turned around and walked out. How do I know? Because it was decided that I should watch the CCTV footage and see for myself. Since I'd been stewing and annoyed all morning, this really was the icing on the cake. I cried. And I hate crying. When I cry, it's ugly: blotchy face, streaming nose, awkward hiccups, etc. The whole nine yards. Up until that point, I'd not said anything about how this woman treated me, and as it turns out, my co-workers. This person had made a complaint about me and there was nothing I could do. But by this point, I'd had enough. I let it all out (accompanied by more tears), and practically shouted my case.
There's still not a lot I can do to help myself here, except apologise to the customer and say that I'd spoken with my supervisor about their complaint. Somehow I doubt that's going to happen. Apologising when I'm in the wrong is one thing, but apologising to someone who makes underhanded comments about me and in front of me? Something tells me there's no apology coming their way.
To really put the finish to an excellent work day, when I arrived downstairs with my face still red from crying, one of the other customers called me a prostitute. How we got from 'Is it possible to buy anything in here for 25p?' to 'Are you trying to bring your night job into your day job? I bet you have lots of experience negotiating prices,' I have no idea. But when I defended myself to the extent of my ability whilst on shift ('Well, gee, thanks for coming in here and calling me a prostitute.'), the only worthwhile response was apparently, 'At least I didn't actually say the word.' Oh of course, I should be thanking you for your restraint in only blatantly suggesting that I am a prostitute, rather than actually saying the word itself. My god, how stupid I must be that thanking you wasn't my first response.
Currently reading:
Friedman, J. and Valenti, J. (2008), Yes Means Yes!: Visions of Female Sexual Power and A World Without Rape, Seal Press
Isayama, H. (2011), Attack on Titan [Vol. 5], Kodansha Comics
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