Would you like a scolding with that? The search for good service ELISE VOLLWEILER
According to the Oxford English Dictionary, I’ve got a few more years before I enter the realm of middle age.
To be clear, the OED didn’t name me personally, so no studies have been done about my largely theoretical approach to regular exercise and sensible dietary choices. Still, it defines the launch pad for middle age as ‘‘about 45’’, so even by that loose description, I have a bit over half a decade left to revel in my (by default) youth.
I’m sure that one does not hit ‘‘about 45’’ and instantly feel a glorious epiphany or a sudden gravitational drag (who knows which way it’ll manifest?). It’s probably not like walking up a steep hill and suddenly approaching the crest to see the expansive view unfold on the other side.
There are little indicators along the way. Physical ones, yes, which I won’t dwell on too much (although I recently had to admit that I’ve spent five years lying to myself about those fine lines, which will actually not disappear after just one decent night’s sleep). It’s my attitude that’s changing.
Here’s a recent one. I’ve become wildly intolerant of mediocre customer service.
In my (tangible, not dictionarydefined) youth, money was more important than customer service, any day of the week.
I’d look at the cost of something, and if I could save a dollar by walking half an hour to another shop, I’d do it. The cost of anything was compared to how many hours it would take me to earn that amount across my juggling act of terribly paid hospitality jobs.
I liked it when people were nice to me, sure – especially because the innocence of youth meant that I was far more vulnerable to other people’s humanity.
Between the ages of 22 and 37, my emotional fortitude has compounded from tissue paper to buckypaper. Ah, the gentle liberation of caring less about what strangers think.
In this same penny-pinching youth, I also spent a lot of time conferring to others my quite indifferent customer service. I didn’t know it was indifferent.
For a time, I waitressed in an Italian cafe´ in the morning and an Outback Steakhouse by night, and frankly, I thought I was awesome; all-powerful. To be fair, I worked alongside much worse.
If the steakhouse’s customers
lingered too long after their plates had been cleared, the owner would storm out and tell them in expletive-laden terms to . . . er, please move along. He once chased a chef out of the kitchen with a cleaver. With that as my benchmark, I was sweetness personified.
However, there is a weird thing that sometimes happens to people in customer service roles, in that we exist in a bubble of our own selfimportance while simultaneously forgetting how crucial we are to the overall experience of the patron.
Alas, the importance of good service was never really explained to me when I was actually providing it, and I misunderstood my power.
The tipping point will be different for everyone, but now, as a customer, I now will often prioritise service over quality. I’ll pay a little more for it.
I’ll give that cafe with the slightly burned coffee a second chance, because the waitress was so kind. I’ll walk a bit further to the shop where the staff come out from behind the counter to explain their products.
The reverse is also true. I avoid a particular local cafe´ because I’m tired of hearing the owner berate the staff behind the counter – a small tragedy, because the chocolate brownie is quite divine.
I’ll prioritise the supermarket where the workers don’t ignore me to complain to each other about the roster as they swipe through my groceries.
I changed my insurance firm to one whose staff didn’t condescend. Another eatery’s owner eyed my children with suspicion every time they entered – I swear they’d never broken anything – so we don’t bother going there any more either. (Pro tip: you can gain a lot of second chances by being kind to someone’s kids. We’re allowed to glare at our children – you aren’t.)
There is the greengrocers whose staff member issued a scolding because we asked to take their shopping basket out to our car to unload – we’d unexpectedly swung by without a shopping bag. She was astonishingly sour. I assume they still have the cheapest leeks in the region – I haven’t been back to find out.
It all sounds rather precious and indulged when listed, and that is the beauty of consumer choice.
There are very few products and services offered that do not have alternatives and direct competition. If you aren’t nice to me, I’m not giving you my money.
The fundamentals are so simple, from the outside looking in. Greet customers with enthusiasm. Be kind. Listen to them carefully. Find answers to their questions. Find solutions to their problems. Make amends for your errors. And for goodness sake, be nice to their kids.
Rant over. Fetch me my slippers.