Customer Service

Well, I had an altercation with a customer at my work. Now, I freely admit that I am not the nicest when it comes to customer service. Don't get me wrong, I am nice as long as you are, but I have almost no tolerance for bullshit. If I am wrong, I will admit it, but the old adage that the customer is always right, is completely incorrect. Most of the time, they aren't.

So, this older woman (about 65, I would say) came in along with her husband. She had this obnoxious, entitled attitude from the moment she hit the door. She stood in front of the pastry case, casting a dubious eye at our selection.

"Is this all you have?" she asked, in a rather rude tone.

"Yes, it is," I replied.

"Do you have any sandwiches without meat on them?"

"No, we don't, but we can take the meat off of them"

She rolled her eyes at me.

"Do you have any yogurt or fruit?"

"No, I am sorry, we don't," I reply.

"Well, Starbucks does," she said, scoffing.

I remained quiet, biting my tongue. What I wanted to tell her is that if Starbucks had everything she required, perhaps she should take a jaunt over to one. We're in Seattle. They aren't hard to come by.

"Where is the nearest Starbucks,?" she inquired.

I pointed her in the direction of the nearest one, a block over. In the meantime, her husband had decided he wants a biscotti.

"Well, can I bring my Starbucks back here and eat it?" she asked

"Um, I guess that would be okay," I replied, a slight hint of annoyance seeping into my voice.

"What does that mean? Is that a yes?" she demands

"Well, I would prefer you didn't, to be quite honest," I said.

"Well, with that attitude, we aren't eating here, " the husband said.

"Good," I said, as they begin their exodus towards Starbucks, " go to Starbucks. It is completely inappropriate that you asked to eat our main competitor's food in here."

The old woman whipped around. "How is it inappropriate? No one but you would know we had Starbucks in here."

"That isn't the point, ma'am. You wouldn't go into a restaurant and bring food from a different one, would you? At your age, if you can't see why it is inappropriate, I don't know what to tell you."

She and her husband stormed out in a flurry of words about how she was going to ask the Starbucks employees if they would feel it was inappropriate. I guarantee they would.

Now, here's the thing. Why couldn't she just eat at the Starbucks? I don't get it. Please, feel free to chime in though. Was I in the wrong, for telling her no?

My coworker suggested that I should one day collect all my crazy stories from work and my love life and share them. Well, the unpleasant weather has returned and I decided that I should begin this project while I am stuck indoors and procrastinating on working on my senior thesis.

I think I should preface this project by sharing a little bit about myself (or rather, a main outlook I have on life). 

An Apology for Being Shallow

I am not a genuine feminist. This is not to say that I disagree with their views or pretend to care while secretly harboring  tendencies to be a housewife solely devoted to her husband's every need; barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. In fact, after being taught by a feminist literature professor for two years, and more importantly, having several strong female figures in my life, I like to think of myself as a feminist. I'm all for equal rights and asserting one's womanhood, but secretly I contradict my projected views. My true feelings betray my feminist notions.

I’m shallow. There’s not other way to say it. I thrive off of wearing cute clothing, I own so much makeup that I could be a shareholder in the M.A.C Corporation and I desperately want to impress people. That’s right; most of my actions revolve around trying to impress other people, even when it isn’t necessary. Apparently, this urge stems from my lack of self-confidence. No one can really figure out why this lack of confidence exists within me because I am aware that I am intelligent, talented, funny and attractive. Those sound like the words of someone with an ego so large that they may stagger underneath its weight. My ego only exists in theory.  The moment I leave my house and venture into public view, my ego deflates and uncertainty prevails.

 Now, one could argue that everyone has uncertainties, doubts and insecurities about themselves. There are few people so confident that they are completely unabashed by any and all things. I agree that everyone has insecurities, but while the feminist in me declares “It isn’t about looks, it’s about who you are and what is on the inside that counts,” my heart tells me some fat woman with fifty cats told herself that to compensate for the fact that she would die, old and alone. Then fear grips me, dreading that I will turn into an old spinster because I followed those feminist notions, and terrified, I apply another coat of lip-gloss in hope that I will attract attention from the nearest males in my proximity.

 In fact, a compliment received from a male means more to me than one given to me by my best friend. I would rather have a complete stranger think that I am attractive than have the person who knows me better than anyone tell me the same thing. Perhaps this is because no matter what, my best friend would never tell me that I am ugly. Maybe it’s because our society is driven by aesthetics. Either way, shallow, superficial desire drives my action.

Does this make me weak? A psychologist would probably say yes, but I don’t know. Does it make me a bad person? No. Yes, I care about how people look, I care about how I look, but that doesn’t mean I never look deeper. It just takes me a moment longer. This isn’t to say you’ll never see me burning my bra at a feminist rally; I’ll just have to look good doing it.