customer service
Customer service has gone to sh#$.
I used to work in retail – I understand how much it sucks. As a matter of fact, I hated every second of my stint as a sales associate at Talbots. So why did I do it? Well because my dad told me not to, that’s why. And in my one and only act of teenage rebellion I somehow stuck it out for two very long years.
A fabulous lunch with friends at Fig & Olive. A place where customer service hasn't gone to sh#$.
Part of the problem was the fact that I am a terrible salesperson. The worst salesperson ever. Seriously, I couldn’t sell an umbrella in a downpour.
So it was no surprise that I was I consistently awarded the honor of being the lowest performing team member in our particular location. Two years in a row.
I now understand the impact of a "perfectly cooked scallop."
The other part of the problem was that the many of Talbot’s 40-something clientele were total snobs. And many considered me their own personal servant.
But despite being treated like crap, I never greeted a customer with anything but a smile, I never told my supervisor that I was tired/bored/unwilling to do something, and not once did I show up late to work.
Dessert : Cherries and basil crostini with marscapone. Sometimes the simplest desserts are the best.
This isn’t one of those, “I walked 10 miles in the snow to get to school” stories, but it kind of is.
Customer service is extinct and I think it’s because people hate their jobs. I get it, I’ve been there. But here’s a newsflash: just because you hate your job doesn’t mean it’s my problem. We all pay our dues in a crappy job and then we do our best to move forward. And guess what? I’ve paid my dues.
So to our waitress last weekend at Ra Sushi, to a variety of Air France employees, and to everyone Budget Blinds? I’m talking to you.
i try. i swear i do.
Everyone tells me not to sweat the little things. And I try. You probably don’t believe me, but I do try.
And what I’m about to address? This will seem like a little thing. But when a very tired and hungry person returns from work, finds a disaster area in the kitchen, and then comes across this the instant she opens the refrigerator?
Some things don’t seem so small. I can assure you of that.
Anyway, as I glared at the banana my mind was churning with questions.
- Would it have killed my husband to put a plate under the banana?
- Not only is the banana now a breeding ground for bacteria, but I have to add “Disinfect the refrigerator” to my mile-long list of things to do.
- Could he not just put it on the same plate as the lemon? Seriously?
- Why would he cut 75% of the peel off and leave one gross piece? It’s almost like he did it on purpose. Why doesn’t he respect my dislike for bananas?
- Did he give the rest of this banana to Maya? She already had a banana at breakfast. Which Ali watched her eat. Doesn’t he remember anything?
- This is what happens when I get home from work after my husband.
- @#$@%@!
I counted backwards from 10 and decided not to say anything. After all, I’m 36 now, right? I should be able to handle something as trivial as a wayward piece of fruit. But guess what I found 2 seconds later? An open, half-eaten yogurt container. And I think something was growing inside.
My God. I’m going to lose my mind.
36
Every year on my birthday I wait for some sort of epiphany to come over me. For a piece of wisdom or brilliance to come down from the sky. For some invaluable knowledge that makes me happy to be inching closer to 40.
There were other (less gratuitous photos) featuring other family members. But I had to post this one because I had Good Hair. Kat - I know you'll understand.
Unfortunately, the only thing that came over me yesterday was a sharp pain in my right knee and regret that my 36-year-old metabolism can no longer handle the massive amount of cookies my mom made me for Valentine’s Day.
Other realizations came over me as well. Including:
- Despite receiving a Valentine present addressed to Ameena Pacelli, my husband will never stop thinking that American Express’ concierge service holds all the answers.
- Contrary to what others tell me, patience does not increase with age. (See point 1 above).
- Once you start covering your gray hair you’ll never again know what color you were born with.
- Abercrombie & Fitch’s sizing will never make sense. (Doesn’t their marketing department realize what a blow it is to my ego when I try on a Large, only to realize it’s Maya’s size?)
- Store clerks half my age will never stop referring to me as “honey.” This will continue to send my blood pressure through the roof.
Clothes, cookies, and a new bag. Best gifts ever.
I think we can all agree that despite turning 36 I still know…nothing. But that’s okay because in keeping with Ali’s logic I suppose I can refer to American Express for some answers.
While I'm not going to win Mother/Wife of the Year Award anytime soon, I haven't killed anyone yet or shot myself in the head. And that, my friends, is how I calculate success these days. 
FANCY THAT FANCY THIS 