Customer Service: A Cynic's View
By Angela Arlia
| aaaaProviding
service to others is something I've done for many years. Whether it
was working in retail or in a bank or by teaching, I'm intimately
familiar with helping others. aaaa"Oh it's so noble of you to help others!" I can hear you saying. Yes, at times it can feel wonderful to know you've helped someone else. Feeling as though you've had an impact on another person's life is very rewarding. |
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| aaaaHowever,
I'm here to tell you the other side of the story--the uglier side,
the side in which every time you look in the mirror, you swear you
see "sucker" tattooed on your forehead. Simply put, it's
not always easy to help other people, and unfortunately, there is
a sometimes a fine line between rendering altruistic service and allowing
yourself to be repeatedly abused by those whom you are attempting
to serve. aaaaAs Jean Paul Sartre once said, "Hell is other people." I agree wholeheartedly with that sentiment, mostly because I've worked in the service industry for so long. People are picky and petty (c.f. "The Art of Communication" from our August issue). They act in ways that can only be described as crazy (c.f. "Mortal Enemies" from our April issue). Adjusting to those picky, petty and crazy people requires the patience of the Dalai Lama. And honestly, whatever patience I had is now gone thanks to these certifiable people. |
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| aaaaFor
example, when I worked in retail, I had to constantly hear size ZERO
women complain to me about being fat, and how the clothes they were
trying on didn't fit quite right. They had no qualms moaning about
this to me--a person who has yo-yoed between sizes 10 to 16 for most
of her adult life. Somehow I contained my burning desire to shove
whole plates of fettuccine alfredo, followed by chocolate cake, down
their throats. Mostly I pretended I was deaf and that I didn't hear
their comments. Or I grew a thick asbestos coating of skin. I'm not
sure which but whatever it was, it worked. I was pleasant to customers
and gave them what they wanted. aaaaDespite years of retail experience and sentiments of "I should have known better," I went into client service in a bank. What did that entail? Essentially, I watched over portfolios for big banks that used my bank as their money holder. So, I had to be a mediator, a negotiator, a peacemaker, a pacifier and sane. (Well, I was sane when I began the job.) There were quite a bit of unwritten titles in my job description. After spending six months dealing with one client, whose nationality shall remain unnamed (although it does rhyme with "much"), my sanity took a decided turn for the worst. This client didn't even have a big portfolio but they insisted on being treated like they did. It became a constant game of their blaming my bank for mistakes which, upon further investigation, revealed them as the culprits. Days of They Said-We Said were followed by weeks of pacifying them for mistakes made by operations people, who were never to be found. Confessing our mistakes and apologizing inevitably led to arrogant threats of "We will bring out business elsewhere," without them ever once admitting to their own countless errors. Needless to say, I have since left that job in the bank. aaaaAs if I hadn't had enough abuse, I decided to throw my hand into one of the most selfless and helpful professions: teacher. I'm not sure what I was thinking when I made that decision, although it's becoming more apparent with time. Namely, I'm insane. Bear with me while I give you an example. aaaaSo, every morning I get up to teach English to adults from various countries throughout the world. Yes, yes, very noble. Keep reading. Almost everyday one of my students makes a comment about how they have to learn to speak English better. Yes, it's impressive and I'm psyched to hear that. However, it's these same students who become mute when I ask them any kind of question that leads to more than a grunt as an answer. It's these same non-speaking students who complain that they failed their final exam, when 60% of the grade is based on an oral component. Anyone care to do the math for them there? Yes, I give credit to those who show up to class every day and to those who do their homework. But I stop short of putting a gun to your head and making you talk! You have to do that yourself. aaaaSo, what is the moral of this story?
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