“Look at me!  Just look at me!  I know you’re going to give me lousy service, but at least look me in the eye while you do it!  For God’s sake, give me that much respect!”

It was just a regular day in the marketplace.  Even here in San Francisco, where everyone is nice, you can’t count on getting decent service more than half the time.  

Oh, I’ve seen worse.  I spent three years living in Washington, DC, a town known the world over for combining Southern efficiency and Northern hospitality.  My particular favorites – if you can call them that – were the ubiquitous CVS drug stores, whose employees were not just completely unhelpful, I believe they conspired to find new ways to piss me off every time I visited one of their stores.

Where shall I start?  There was the guy who never once looked up at me or did more than grunt in acknowledgement through our whole transaction.  Then there was the cashier who, by the time she was dropping my change in my hand, had already turned and was walking away from the counter.  Not to do anything.  She only moved a few feet.  I can only assume she was simply done with the whole “customer” thing.  I don’t know why they didn’t just spit in my eye when I came through the door.  Of course I’m thrilled to find that CVS is expanding in California.  Can’t wait.

What the hell is going on?

I keep wondering what these people feel like when they’re on the receiving end.  Are they so desensitized that they don’t care.  Has this become the new normal?

All I ask for is speed, a smile and a thank you when we’re done.  I’m not going to ask if that’s too much.  I know it’s not.

A few days ago my sister sent me an email about a visit to Big 5 Sports.  Big 5 is special because you usually have to hunt down an employee in order for them to give you bad or no service.  Her visit went like this:

I gave Big 5 one more chance to sell me some shoes.  A customer asked the salesBOY what the difference was between running shoes and walking shoes and the salesBOY said “Well running shoes are made for running and walking shoe are made for walking”.  I then left the store.

In the 80s, Nordstrom was the model of what customer service was supposed to be.  Salespeople were friendly, available, they knew about the merchandise and they didn’t hover.  They smiled.  Get that?  They smiled. They acted like you were welcome in the store, not like you’d ruined their lives by trying to buy something.

Today I’d put Starbucks in the same category.  When you go into a Starbucks, they smile.  Again, they smile.  If you’re a regular – or even a semi-regular – they know your drink.  Maybe they know your name, too.  They move you through quickly and they say thank you when you’re done.

Speed, a smile and a thank you.

I’m sensing a pattern.  Nordstrom:  Seattle.  Starbucks:  Seattle.  Me:  Seattle.  But I think it’s a universal truth.  I talk to people all the time who are appalled at what passes for customer service.  How can it be that so many people think the job is to show up to roll their eyes and heave exasperated sighs for eight hours?  The economy is crap.  There must be someone willing to do these jobs with a little – just a little – geniality.

It’s simple:  If you hate working with people, take another kind of job.

Why make a bad situation worse?  It’s a simple fact, if you start out with a smile; you’re far more likely to end up that way.  Customer service is hard.  I couldn’t do it.  My friends fear I would hurt someone if I tried.  I respect every person who does it well and I try to show it.  Not everyone is like me, though.  If you need that, this isn’t your gig.  If you can’t take the cantankerous customer, you need to get out of the game.  Please!

I want to end this tirade with one happy, surreal memory.  It was magical.  Surprisingly, it was at a DC CVS.

As I walked up to the counter, I heard a voice say, “Hello sir.  May I help you?”

Naturally I thought I’d stumbled into the wrong store, since no one in a CVS had ever volunteered to speak to me before.  Not ever.

I walked toward the voice somewhat apprehensively and stood in a daze while the cashier asked me if I’d found everything I needed, bagged my purchases, told me my total and counted my change back to me.  He counted my change to me!  It was dizzying to be treated so well.  I had to hold the counter to keep from falling down.

By the time he thanked me and told me to have a nice day, I was in heaven.  I walked slowly because I knew the moment wouldn’t last – if it was happening at all.

Later that day, I told a friend about the experience.  He said, “Yeah, they’ll beat that out of him in no time.”

Ah well.  At least I have the memory.