Lousy Customer Service? Gimme That Phone!

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Does it seem that poor customer service is at an all-time high? It seems that everywhere I go, I’m ignored, patronized, and frequently treated like I’m in the way when I order a refill on my water glass. Wouldn’t you think that people with customer service jobs would do it because they choose to? How is that this is even possible when unemployment is at such ridiculous numbers? Quite frankly, as awful as it sounds, you would think people would be 1) be delighted to have a job and 2) want to do their best to keep it. Besides, didn’t you ever learn any manners? Fer cryin’ out loud…

Toay I went to my local mall to get a manicure after work. Being as we live in a rather rural region, this isn’t one of those hot-wax dipping, luxurious digit massage salon kinds of places with spa music and mood lighting. It’s the kind of place where the buttons on the pedicure massage chairs don’t always work, and some of the price signs are hand-made with paper and a black marker. It’s a medium to low-end salon. Ok. Got it. You get what you pay for…I don’t expect one-on-one attention for a $13 manicure.

I do, however, expect to be acknowledged. More specifically, I expect not to be ignored. (Especially at my age….I’m a baby boomer, supposedly one of those people everyone is marketing to. )

No sooner did I sit down at the table and present my paws for inspection than a young man came and sat beside the technician. They proceeded to engage in an animated conversation in another language during the soaking and trimming and buffing. Having changed my mind from wanting a French manicure to a straight-up color during this time (I could see the writing on the wall…) I had to pick my opportunity to jump in and make my request heard.

Eventually the young man wandered away and slouched in the pedicure chair playing with the controls (hence the non-working massage), and texting roboticlaly on his cell phone. Ok, I thought, good. Now I can relax and enjoy the hand massage….until the technician’s phone rings. She answers it, talks for a moment, then with my actual two eyes on her, opens it up and sits it on the table right in front of her. Speaker phone. Her and her sister in New York City. I only know this cause she mouthed that to me mid-conversation with a knowing smile, because they were talking in a totally foreign language. Fairly loudly throughout the remainder of my manicure. Once done, she paused long enough to point at the nail dryer and went back to her conversation.

My mom-side came out and I wanted more than anything to reach over and close her phone. Firmly. With a “you know this is the right thing, don’t argue with me” smile. But I didn’t. Because while some of us have no manners, some of us have too many.

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