Customer Service

(I apologize for the lacklustre title. It was supposed to be longer and then I ran out of witty things to say).

For someone who willingly went into Human Resources – the people part of business – I really do hate people. Okay, customers. But those are the people that I have the most contact with, on account of avoiding public places and interactions with strangers when I’m not on work time.

 

Their stupidity, their rudeness, and their overall sense of entitlement are shocking to me. For some reason, standing behind a counter means that I’m not human and that these people can say whatever the fuck they want to me, regardless of how it will make me feel. Whatever the hell happened to “treat people the way you want to be treated”? Golden rule, assholes. Let’s try it some time.

 

I get that the customer is always right. I do. Retail depends on consumerism – if people didn’t buy the products, the company would go under. But we’re still in society. We’re all still people that have to communicate with each other. The people behind the desk are no better or worse than those handing over the money. So why do others feel the need to take their frustrations out on someone who is just trying to give you what you want so you can move the fuck on? I honestly don’t get it.

 

Don’t get me wrong – when the cashier is super rude, I totally understand that the customer is rude back. I would do that, too. But I KNOW I’m not rude. How do I know this? Because I’m absolutely exhausted from acting like my purpose in life is to make that customer happy. My voice raises two octaves when speaking to customers, and I’m the sweetest God damned person you will ever meet. I annoy myself constantly.

 

But when I get the rude people who have had a bad day and take it out on me, the people that won’t leave the store when it’s closed because it’s “not a big deal”, the fucking wackos that think retail is all a big conspiracy and I’m taking their information so I can either stalk them or track all of their purchases and send them to the government, or the incredibly stupid ones that ask me something ridiculous and it takes every ounce of strength not to ask “is that a serious question?”, it makes me question society. And worry for the future of humanity (that’s mostly the stupid ones).

 

Obviously I’m not perfect. I’m sure I’ve asked my fair share of stupid questions, gotten exasperated with a cashier over a miscommunication, and stayed later than I should have in a store. But sometimes, I just need to vent. And it’s my blog, so I can say what I want.

 

I hope this doesn’t get me fired.

 

Love,

 

M

 

 

Public Pools Are Not for the Socially Awkward

Sometimes I just get a need to be submerged in water.

Wait. Let me start that again.

Sometimes I just really want to go swimming. 

That’s better.

I’m a self-proclaimed (based in Astrological fact, might I add) water baby. Sometimes I just need to chill out, take an hour, and sit by the lake and reflect. It’s very dramatic of me.

The other day was a day where I wanted to actually be IN the water (tehe, so many innuendos can come from this, but I will refrain. I’m trying to be mature, you know). Because our pool is basically dead – with, I’m assuming, very much alive bacteria – and I didn’t feel like contracting some weird disease, my only other option was the public pool at the local Community Complex (I guess I could have gone to the lake, but I live near Lake Ontario. Which…no).

My first mistake in this endeavour was wearing a bathing suit that was more suitable for the privacy of my backyard, and not at all appropriate for an afternoon of public swimming. The top is a little, ahem…small, so there were a few times I narrowly avoided a wardrobe malfunction (and maybe a few times where I didn’t and just didn’t realize it).

In my defence, I was expecting the pool to be relatively empty. It was a hot summer day – shouldn’t people be outside in pools? NOPE. (Which I guess is why I was there, too…shut up). Children. Everywhere. Just all kinds of children swimming in every part of the pool everywhere. I tried to ignore it. I did. I walked over to the 17 year old lifeguard (who I’m pretty sure couldn’t even save me if he wanted to) and asked, “Do I need to do some sort of test before I can swim in the deep end?”

“How old are you?”

“26.”

“No, you’re good.”

…I knew that. I was trying to be funny.

So off I wade into the pool, my posture extremely rigid as I tried to create some semblance of a flat, not beer bloated from a weekend binge, stomach. Head way up – chin protruding. Shoulders way back and down. Stomach sucked in abnormally. Nailed it!

Also – I have to admit this: I tried to be sexy. Like for the 17 year old lifeguards. In my mind, I looked like this:

Until I realized that I’m not a very sexy person and the whole swim-up-from-under-the-water-and-surface-with-a-sexy-look ended up more like this:



Suffice it to say that I lasted about 2 minutes until it got too weird in there. Even for me. So I went to the hot tub where I was alone (yay!) and tried to swim in there (which basically entailed paddling back and forth rapidly and in little circles because, let’s be honest, hot tubs aren’t really meant for swimming). Eventually I grossed myself out enough with the thought of all the people that go in this hot tub and how many potential germs there were, and I got out.

My public swimming adventure lasted a total of about 10 minutes. But my reputation as the weird girl who flirts with teenaged lifeguards and swims alone in a pool of children will last forever.

Love,

M