Originally I was going to prelude this with an equally funny story about an absolutely fucking HORRIFIC experience I had with a ridiculously young cashier at the grocery store, but after reading her awesome post I have decided that since there is no way I can call it equally funny, I’ll just give you the Cole’s Notes:
She sucked. The end.
And now on to Handflapper, the most brilliant and insane person I know…
My dear friend Carmen has graciously asked me to guest post for her. I am thrilled and honored, and particularly ecstatic that she has provided me a topic for this post: customer service.
I suspect that she suggests this topic from the perspective of the customer. I have no doubt that she has suffered many exasperating and infuriating and plain ol’ motherfucking godawful experiences as a customer receiving shoddy, uncaring, and rude service from a number of employees of a variety of businesses. I, however, shall speak from the viewpoint of the service provider. The service provider who is equally exasperated and infuriated by the motherfucking godawful job done by the shithead nitwits in her employ who no more take any pride in pleasing a paying customer than a fly does in laying a pile of maggots eggs on a rotting raccoon carcass.
I used to work at a waterpark. This was in my adult life, not as a youth lifeguarding the wave pool. Hell, no, I can’t even swim. Well, I can sort of swim. I mean, in theory, I understand the mechanics of swimming, and I can actually float all damn day, so if I fell out of a boat or something, I think I’d keep my wits about me and manage not to drown before someone fished me out if the water was calm and still. Plus I am not stupid and wear a lifejacket even if I look dorky. It’s a good thing, too, because the first time I went on a river float trip, my kayak partner and I promptly flipped our kayak over and we happened to be in one of the very few deep spots in the river. Of course. Oh, and we were the only ones in a kayak. Everyone else was in a much harder to tip canoe. This was a company outing, and my boss ridiculed me for opting to ride in the kayak since I was so afraid of falling in the river and drowning, but 1) the kayak had cushy seats with comfy backs to lean on, and 2) it was this person’s very own personal kayak so I figured he was an at least competent river navigator, and 3) I knew he wouldn’t expect me to do any paddling, would, in fact, insist, that I NOT paddle, for fear that I would flip us over. Seemed like a no brainer to me. And our flipping over wasn’t my fault, by the way. It wasn’t his fault, either. It was the fucking river’s and those damn tree branches that wanted to tear our faces off’s fault. Word of advice to you if you’re ever floating in a kayak down a very fast river current and tree branches reach out and threaten to rip your head off: Lean forward, as in duck, never lean to the side. Especially do not lean to the same side as your kayaking partner, because you WILL flip the kayak over. But everyone was very proud of me that I didn’t freak out and took the whole thing quite calmly. Everyone else freaked out, and several chivalrous young men jumped in the river to save me, which was very sweet but not really necessary. Since then I have floated that particular river several times, and never again flipped a kayak or a canoe, and have even become a somewhat accomplished paddler. And I still wear my life jacket. And every summer I say “THIS will be the year I become a REAL swimmer,” but it hasn’t happened so far.
Anyway, I digress. This isn’t about my lack of swimming ability, but about my experience working at the waterpark, which was only a couple of years ago. I worked at the waterpark for ten years, nine of those years more or less fulltime, year-round, eight of those years as the human resources manager and the last year as the general manager. As the human resources manager I was in charge of recruiting employees, the vast majority who were teenagers, collecting their applications, directing them to the right department supervisors for interviews, sending out hired letters, and organizing employee orientation and training for approximately 170 hires each spring. I myself went over the Team Handbook with employees, because I wrote it and knew what parts needed to be stressed more than others.
The sections I stressed most in the handbook concerned guest service. Customer service, in other words. We always referred to our customers as guests, because our job was to entertain them and make sure they had fun to the best of our ability. After all, they paid no small sum for this expectation of fun.
Did I mention that most of the employees were teenagers? Teenagers are idiots. There were some college-age kids, too, and their age was only an advantage as regards to labor laws, because for the most part they were as stupid, if not more so, than the teenagers. They were more likely to report to work hungover or still drunk or high, none of which conditions are conducive to optimal job performance in the Arkansas summer heat and humidity.
This is a letter to those former employees, saying all the things I wish I could have said then, but a misguided sense of professionalism prevented me.
Dear Lifeguard at the top of park’s tallest slide:
No, our customers are not always right. Sometimes they are very, very, wrong, like the 300-pound man who insists on taking his infant daughter down the most dangerous ride in the park on his lap in a tube that is just barely refraining from collapsing under his weight alone. Yes, I know you explained to him that the tube would very likely flip with the two of them in it and he would fall on the baby and crush her. Yes, I know he declared that he would take all responsibility. He had just climbed approximately 2,011 steps (at least it seemed so to him) in 103◦ heat and he was pretty damned determined not go back down the way he had come. He may have even gotten somewhat loud and overly vocal in stating his determination. That still does not give you the “right” to call him a fucktard and tell him to get the hell off your slide. By the way, where the fuck are your sunglasses? You do remember they’re part of your required uniform, don’t you? Here’s your termination form, moron.
Dear Emaciated Girl with the Dangling Hoop Earrings at the drink stand even though I’ve told you every time you report to work that you cannot wear them at your station:
You are fifteen. Where the hell do you get this attitude that “people gotta give me respect first and then I’ll give them respect”? You have some gigantic balls hidden somewhere in those shorts that you’ve rolled up five times at the waist so your ass cheeks are hanging out, which is not wearing your uniform properly, by the way, to even say that to me. A woman complaining that her Coke was flat and asking you to refill her cup is not “dissing” you. What? You admit you called her a bitch as she walked away? So this guest complaint about you is valid. So is this termination form. Get the fuck out of here.
Dear Birthday Deck Hostess who I suspect has less than average IQ:
Why, when I come by to investigate all the guest complaints coming from the hundreds of people who are attempting to celebrate the birthdays of their offspring at our park, are you sitting on a bench at the end of the deck chatting blithely away with a busboy? Hey, busboy, did you know your supervisor has been looking for you for the past half-hour and all the stands are screaming for ice? No, of course you didn’t, because you’ve been up here making time with the hostess. Get the fuck off this deck and go get some ice, you shithead. And stop by my office at the end of your shift. And you, hostess, get your damn ass over to that table and refill those people’s drinks. What??? What did you just say to me? I ought slap your sassy face. That IS TOO your job. It’s THE ONLY THING YOU HAVE TO DO UP HERE. See me at the end—No, never mind, come with me right this damn minute. I’ll finish your shift myself.
Dear Boy in the Oversize Basketball Shoes at the turnstile:
Um, really? Do you never smile? Never say “thank you” to someone handing you a ticket or “have a nice evening, thanks for coming,” to someone leaving? You suck. You are supposed to be welcoming people to our park, asshole. Get your sullen self straight or get the fuck out. And whoever gave you a 2XL uniform shirt when you obviously are size small is going to get throat punched.
Dear Grounds Crew:
I know it’s a big pain in the ass to shut down the wave pool and get everybody out, especially on a busy Saturday. Believe me, I know. Especially when it’s packed on a busy Saturday. I also know there’s enough chlorine in that water to sanitize Lake Erie. But still, it is not okay when shit leaks out of some kids swim diaper to just splash some extra bleach on it and stir it around and call it good. Guests don’t like to see shit in the pool. They will complain. They will call the Health Department.
And while we’re on the subject of body fluids in the water:
Dear Lead Lifeguard:
When a woman complains that she has just seen the lifeguard spit from his chair into the pool, the appropriate response is not, “Lady, spit is the least thing you have to worry about in this pool.” Yes, we’ve all peed in the pool. It happens daily on a regular basis. People shit in the pool, the really sneaky ones have sex in the pool, and occasionally people even puke in the pool. There’s lots of gross stuff in the water, and on some level our guests probably know that, but they don’t want to think about it, they don’t want their attention called to it, and they certainly don’t want to be told about it. What kind of dumbass says that? The kind of dumbass you are, obviously. And tell your spitting lifeguard that if I ever hear of him spitting again in this park, I am going to kick him in the nuts and then fire him.
Oh, I could go on and on. The fun just never ended. Until the job did. I still miss that job. It was lots better than teaching. If a student pissed me off, the most respite from his presence I could hope for was to get his ass suspended for a day or two. If employees, or “team members” pissed me off, I could fire them and ban them from the park. I wish all of life was like that. “You are an asshole/dumbass/pain in my neck. You’re fired. Get the fuck out of my life.” Wouldn’t that be AWESOME?
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