Customer Care

 

My goddaughter, Zenobiza (not her birth name), regales us with the adventures, misadventures, and mishaps she experiences in Customer Care at a big box store, especially before holidays.  As a customer service representative whose job it is to tend to the needs of a diverse consumer population, she soon realized that while buyers carried varied definitions of "assisting" and "service," they never wavered in parsing their perceived "rights"  as consumers. 

Zenobia doesn't know that this common view can be traced back to a 20th century "good old days" retail policy that "the customer is always right!"

Customers expect "Zee" to operate as "Jill of all trades, " as in: "I know I'm in line, but I forgot the cooking oil Get it for me, will you?"
"Where's the cereal aisle? It's not in aisle seven where it was the last time! Go find it!
"I don't know where my Johnny and Susie are! Call Security!"
        "Save my place in the line. I'll bright back!" All this, while they're in the Self-Check-Out lines.

Holidays are the worst, even if it's only National Bumblebee Day. Truly, those times try women's and men's mettle.  So you can imagine what the first game of football season is like?  Gotta prepare for tailgate parties, right? Right! Volume and expectations increase exponentially.  Customer interactions may leave to fisticuffs! Threadbare nerves rub against each other.  Patience walked 30 minutes ago!    

And work hours don't stop at the traditional 40-hour week; they become 60-hour stints.  Zee wonders what happened to "the season to be jolly," when two women tussle mightily for the last jar of salad dressing, even after being assured more would be coming shortly!  As if refereeing a wrestling match was not enough, shopping carts are wielded as weapons of mass destruction.  No one wants to yield the right-of-way to another, even if she's a septuagenarian! 

Enclosed behind plexiglass, cashiers merit strident seasonal venom.  "You rang that up twice! A common accusation that requires the cashier to painstakingly recheck the tape for a double charge of strawberry jam. "Oh! It's not there? My bad," they'll harrumph!  In the meantime, the line has stretched into Wyoming.  Recently as she stood ready to assist in the Self Check-Out line, a customer with a cart piled high and  leaning like the Tower of Pisa, asked Zee, "Do you know my PIN?"

No. I. Do. Not. Know. Your. Personal. Identification. Number! Have a good day, ma'am!"