I’ve spent I don’t know how many hours at work lately revising a set of reports for a, shall we say, precise (pedantic) client. Every time I send it back to her, she comes back with 9,000 other new little problems that she’s discovered. I’m fairly certain that this is some kind of karmic just dessert for me being a stickler for spelling. This particular client has been my nemesis for several months now and every time I begin to lose it and get a burr in by saddle to tell her exactly what I think, I have to repeat – mantra-like – the customer is always right. The customer is always right. Except when they frickin’ aren’t.

Fortunately for my company, I have little direct interaction with the clients. I swore to myself about ten years ago that I would never work another customer service job and it’s thus far been a promise kept. The promise stems back to June of 1999, when I walked down Between the Hedges in a black polyester gown to pick up a piece of paper declaring me a Bachelor of Science.

It took me a while to finish my Bachelor’s degree, largely because I kept getting kicked out of or quitting various academic institutions. In fact, by the time I finally got my B.S. I was ten years older with five schools in four states under my belt. I had a little trouble with, well, a lot of things.

When, in 1996, I finally made the decision to go back and do it properly, I didn’t go back to college because of any innate desire for knowledge. I went back to college because I began to realize that a life in customer service awaited me if I didn’t.

Now, I intend no offense to the customer service workers out there. If the truth be told, I think that you guys deserve consideration for beatification. Getting up to go to work with a fake smile glued on your face and taking crap from often unpleasant people for eight hours is bad enough. But customer service jobs pay shit, have shit benefits and shit opportunities. I mean moving up the ladder from dishwasher, to bus boy, to waiter to maitre d’ is kind of a dubious career progression. The ridiculous, and essentially criminal, “waiters wage” in the U.S. is just insulting. I’m going to go out on a limb and say that the hardest jobs out there are the ones based on servitude – waiter, barrista, store clerk, bank teller, call center worker. I know this to be true because I worked customer service jobs from when I turned 15 in 1986 until I graduated from Georgia in 1999. I sold shoes at a J.C. Penney, I waited tables at a steakhouse, I flogged books at a Books(sic)-A-Million, I took in camera repairs, I made coffee, I poured drinks, I sold fetish gear and temporary tattoos. I did it all and I dealt with endless crap from obnoxious customers for minimum wage at best.

I was a shockingly bad customer servant, primarily because I just don’t like people. My misanthropy manifests itself as a distinct lack of patience for human interaction – a bit of a problem when your job description calls for eight hours of that very thing. I could be OK. Early in my shift or on a good day or on a bad day if the customer happened to be a pretty young thing, I could be charming and pleasant. But as the day wore on and ennui and irritation set in I would become the kind of surly servant that you would expect to find in an über hip Paris bistro rather than a South Carolina steakhouse. I would ignore customers and if they made the mistake of demanding my attention treat them as if I was a member of the British Royal Family rather than some dickhead wearing a “My name is Chris, how can I help you?” name tag. I would intentionally make mistakes on orders and get angry when the customer demanded correction. A lovely lad all around.

Not surprisingly, I got sacked a lot. But I wasn’t qualified to do anything other than customer service. So, when I found myself in Athens, Georgia in the mid-90’s freshly fired from the coffee shop I had worked at for eighteen months, I decided it was time for a change. I had always preferred the arts, but had worked with enough English graduates at the various shops, restaurants and bars that made the mistake of employing me. So, I made a decision to get into a major that offered a chance to get out of the seventh circle of hell that is the customer service industry. Hence, the geneticist that you see before you today.

And, god willing, the words “My name is Chris. How can I help you today?” will never slip through my lips again.

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And now, your daily contest reminder. I need a new tagline and if you can come up with the best, you’ll be the proud owner of a sackful of hot new CDs. Post your tagline as comment here. And please vote on your favorite Anti-Christmas limerick here. I’ll make you a cappucino with a smile.

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Simon and Garfunkel’s “Bridge Over Troubled Water” is available from Simon & Garfunkel - Bridge Over Troubled Water (Remastered).

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Customer service – our priority!

35 y/o Barista

Waiter

 
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