Serve-us

There used to be a day when consumers’ business was appreciated.  Not any more.  Often when I am shopping, I feel that the clerks speak to me as if I am their employee (and my rejoinder to that, in my head, is, “You can give me orders when you put me on your payroll”).

It seems the most difficult part of shopping these days is not selecting the merchandise --- it’s actually getting through the check out line so you can take it home and enjoy it. 

Yes, back-in-the-day, when people did math in their head, it didn’t take long to pay and receive your change.  But now, we have debit cards and computers, which only work right on your first try about 75% of the time.  Whether it is a loose scanner, buttons that you can’t depress without a sledge hammer, or something the clerk did that made it go back to the beginning and start over again --- who knows, do I look like a computer geek? --- checking out is a major ordeal.  Once you scan your card, you get to play “20 Questions” with an inanimate object.  Is this really the card you want to use?  [Are you sure?] Do you want cash back? Do you want it all on one card?  Are you using coupons today?  Makes you want to just go back to paying cash for everything.

And then, you get to deal with the clerk, who has a skewed impression of what “helping” you is.  Back-in-the-day, helping someone meant assisting them in getting their needs met.  It did not mean second guessing their needs, then getting snappy if you guessed wrong...  A case in point:

Me:  I’d like that all in one double bag, please.

Clerk:  Would you like me to put that in 2 bags for you?

Me:  No, I already told you what I need.  I need them all in one double bag,  please.

Clerk (indignant): I’m just trying to help you.

Me:  Why would you be helping me if I told you what I need, and you offer me something different?

Clerk huffs, then says in a snotty voice:  Have a nice day.

Kind of makes you feel like the star of ‘Monty Python Meets Candid Camera.’

* * *

And, how about the concept of “waiting in line,” or as some say, “waiting on line.”  The customer waits, and then it is the service provider’s turn (clerk/ cashier/ waitress) to “Wait” on the customer.  That concept has been lost in transition.  “Wait” would indicate that the clerk stands patiently as the consumer retrieves cash/ checkbook/ debit card from purse or wallet, to pay for the goods.  But I’ve seen many clerks get impatient when the customer doesn’t hop-to-it.  The clerk then: turns to a fellow clerk and talks about last night, begins texting, finds anything else to do other than “wait” on their customer.

Then, that same service person hands you a coupon you don’t want, your receipt, and your change (if you have any), all rolled up together.  Never mind that your receipts go one place in your wallet and the cash goes in another, because there isn’t enough room in any one place to fit it all.  Especially those receipts that are now 14” long when they print out.  You can barely find the purchase information because the stupid thing is trying to (a) get you to take a survey, (b) give you a list of legal disclaimers re: your purchase, or (c) advertise more stuff you don't need and don't want to buy from them.

Oh, and how about the staff who --- after your small hands are filled with all the items I just listed --- then picks up your bag and holds it in the air as if you must “drop everything” and take it.  I am now having to stop and explain to people, “I will take that as soon as my hands are no longer full; you can set it down, if you like.”  I also notice that many people aren’t able to judge the length of my arms, or anticipate my reach, so they actually hold the sack out in a way that I can’t take it from them anyway!

Egads, what is the shopping world coming to?  Makes me really appreciate my vegetable garden and the eggs I buy from my friend, Harry.


© Elena E Smith, November 2012

WTH BLUNG ?

So, is there anyone besides me who is “over 29” that occasionally wonders if early-onset Alzheimer’s has set in?

If you are a writer, like me, you probably carry a tablet around with your ideas, lists, To Do's, etc.  I try to organize my work and my thoughts in categories, and that is why --- about a month ago --- I took my shopping list to the store on an index card, checking off items as I found them.    When ready to make my next trip, I reviewed my previous list to see what I’d missed and there is was:

                                                            B L U N G

BLUNG?  WTH did that mean?  I had a creeping, uneasy feeling.  Somehow, I had written down a word that had no meaning.  I stressed over this for days.  Whined to my friends.  Asked for prayer.  But no one could help me figure out why “BLUNG” was on my shopping list.

The weeks passed, and I still couldn’t figure out what BLUNG meant to me.  When I was ready to start a new list, I went through the house to see what I needed, and noticed I was short one toilet bowl cleaning tab, which I often refer to as “bluing.”  So, that was it!  My writing was so messy that the “N” was written on top of the “I.”

That brings me to another question.  Has anyone else who is “over 29” become such a sloppy printer that you can’t read you own writing?  I’m not trying to solicit confessions.  I just hope I’m not the only one...

Mind Reader

So, in my ongoing rant about the sorry state of customer service these days…

In addition to the lack of listening skills, there appears to be an alarming rate of early hearing loss among customer service workers today.  Evidently, their constant use of ear buds, cell phones, and close proximity to noisy machinery in the workplace --- where modern décor doesn’t include carpeting and drapes to muffle the noise --- is really taking a toll.

I was in my favorite upscale coffee house a few weeks ago, where the counter clerk was not following the procedure of writing my order on my cup when I gave it to him.  This seems to be happening more often as people challenge themselves to memorize potential  orders and experiment with mutli-tasking.

I gave him my order – a grande skinny hot chocolate with no whip.  I gave it to him again, and he appeared to be writing it down the second time.  Then, in a rather aggressive manner (because many clerks speak to me as if I am there to serve THEM and not the other way around) he looked at me and said – ‘Do you want whipped cream on that?’  My exasperated look (since I’d already given the order twice, including the no-whip part) was misinterpreted by the young man, who glared back at me and said, “I’m not a mind-reader, you know.”

©  Elena E. Smith, 2011

“The Bar” Has Been Lowered

I was in my favorite local market a few weeks ago, and I have to say that with all of my Customer Service complaints, this one is rarely an offender.  But on this particular day, I got into a line with a fairly young female checker who was definitely not focused on her job.

I had only 4 items --- a Cliff bar, a jug of milk, an onion, and a box of muffins, and as she started to ring them up, I said, “I’ll take the candy bar.”

Since it is customary in many stores for clerks to hand over a small item that looks like something I am about to eat, I did not think there was anything confusing about my request.

But I could tell by the way she was not looking at me that she was also not hearing me, so I repeated it.  After the second time, just to check, I said,” Did you hear me?”

“Oh, yes,” she answered, but she then bagged all 4 items without handing me the Clfif bar.

I couldn’t let it go.  “I thought you said you heard me, when I told you I would take the candy bar.”

Busted, she looked at me indignantly and said that she didn’t know what I meant.  (Then why didn’t she ask me to clarify it?)  As she handed me the Cliff bar, she felt it necessary to scold me by telling me that a “Cliff bar” is not a “candy bar.”

All I can say is --- so which of the other items did she think looked more like a candy bar – the carton of milk, the box of muffins, or the onion?  Be serious!

Or, as my friend George explained, “Many of these young people are busy sending a text in their head.”  Touche, George!

©  Elena E. Smith, 2011