Bad Service: A How Not To Guide

Recently, I did a show in the Bronx. It was part of Farragosto, an Italian Festival on Arthur Road. Each year, I am part of a commedia dell’arte troupe. We basically operate in ensemble style all day, and from festival start to strike we perform with a lunch break in between. Each year, we go to this market where the customer service staff is so rude but the food is so good.

The cast of characters includes a surly father, his rude, spoiled surly daughter, and a grandfather who doesn’t want to be there either. All are very old school Italian mind you. Sure, this is the way we would all like to do customer service. But if we did customer service this way, we would be fired.

Begin scene, my boss Jessica steps up to the counter to order.

Jessica: How much is a plate of broccoli raabe?

Counter Girl: How should I know?

Jessica: Well how much is it usually?

Counter Girl: I dunno, you gotta weigh it.

Jessica: How much is it typically, let’s say for a pound?

Counter Girl: You’re acting like I know. You gotta weigh it. He’s the one that’s gotta weigh it and he’s busy. You got to wait your turn.

Jessica and I exchange a glance.

The Counter Guy Enters.

Jessica: Excuse me, how much is a plate of broccoli raabe?

Counter Guy: I dunno, you gotta weigh it. And it’s her job to weigh it, but she don’t want to weigh it.

Jessica: Can you weigh it?

Counter Guy: I can, but I’m busy weighing all the food my daughter doesn’t want to weigh.

The Grandfather enters. He is tired, possibly from dealing with his idiot son and moron granddaughter. 

Grandfather: Alright, I’ll weigh it. 

Grandfather weighs it and rings Jessica up without incident. 

I am up next. The Counter Girl is having a yelling match with another customer.

Counter Girl: You gotta wait in line.

Guy: But I just wanted a slice of pizza.

Counter Guy: Yeah, but the line is over there. NEXT!

Counter Girl turns to me

Counter Girl: What do you want?

Me: Octopus salad.

Counter Girl: Okay, you gotta weigh it.

Me: How much is it usually?

Counter Girl: I said you gotta weigh it.  Didn’t you hear me? You gotta wait ten minutes too.

Me: Okay.

Stepping to the side, I see I have no choice. The Counter Girl begins fussing and swearing because she is forced to do her job. Other’s approach

Man: I want a plain pie.

Counter Guy: We don’t have a plain pie.

Man: You don’t have a plain pizza pie?

Counter Guy: What do you expect me to do, pull it out of my pocket? It’s just the three of us working here.

Man: Then I guess I will go eat somewhere else.

Counter Guy: You go do that. Look at this man, he wants everything, he wants nothing, he wants everything again. He can’t make up his mind.

Man walks away peeved. The line continues to grow.

Grandfather approaches me

Grandfather: Sweetheart, are you being helped?

Me: Yeah, just ordered. I am wondering where my ocopus salad is.

Counter Guy: We’re taking care of it.

Counter Girl: Next. Come on, step up. I got things to do.

My octopus salad arrives.

I pay.

I escape to my table. Yes, it is delicious and was (almost) worth the hassle). 

Now do these people all need fired, or do they need a medal or doing and saying what anyone and everyone with a customer service job has wanted to say.

You decide.

The End

www.aprilbrucker.com

Talking Dogs

It is hot as a mutherfucker in New York. When it gets this hot, people just turn annoying. Actually, annoying is the wrong word. Try cat shit crazy. Try Son of Sam David Berkowitz crazy. Try the dog made me do it.

It has been the week of the rude service people. I was running an errand and got a bagel at the bagel shop. When this girl got me my bagel, she had this nasty look on her face. Yeah, I get it. You work in the service industry. You hate your job. She acted like I asked her for a kidney when I asked her for a bagel. Well she drops it in the bag, no foil, with some butter. I thought about asking to speak to her manager but why? Plus I was in a hurry. Then I went to my local Dunkin to get a colatta and the dude getting it for me just shoved it. He almost spilled it. Excuse me for ordering like I am supposed to. Next time I won’t ask you to do your job and will do your job instead and get the money. Oh and then one dude at a deli told me what I should order instead. Like he is the food expert when his prep area looked a little shady. And then he talked back to another customer. Oh and at the supermarket, the cashier did not know how to bag groceries. She acted like I was asking her for a loan when I asked her to double bag my stuff, yeah six blocks and four flights of stairs.

I was not mean to any of these people, none of them. I didn’t wave the shit luck stick in their direction. I didn’t make them single parents. I didn’t put them in jobs they hated because I have nothing better to do. Oh and I didn’t inspire them to illegally come here from whatever hell hole they are originally from to take some sub par, underpaying job. Their circumstances are not my fault.

What kills me is that I go out of my way to be nice to service people. I have worked every strange job ever. I know how it feels when people are mean to you for no reason. I know how it feels when they treat you like crap because you wear a name tag and uniform. I know how it feels when they take their shiteous life out on you. Do a bath, clean clothes, and some makeup/perfume make a girl the enemy? Does this make me the white oppressor that is bitched about in ethnic literature? Am I a member of the elite class? Granted, my bank account knows none of these things. Still, I am evil.

On top of that people on the street have been rude as fuck. The other day I was walking and these idiots from Texas, the state where all idiots are born, are in front of me. They have those Texas fat asses and just won’t move. It was like being behind a school bus in a car. I was hoping to lose them but no such luck. Finally, I passed them and this fugly bitch who looked like she was putting a hole in the ozone layer with the amount of hairspray on her head said, “People in New York can be so rude.”

Then I was on the street and there was construction. In order to get over, I had to step into the bike lane for a minute until traffic cleared. Well this ass weed who is wearing no helmet and riding the bike says, “Excuse me, you are in the bike lane.” That is when I told him to go fuck himself and I threatened to clothes line him but he rode away. Yeah, I shouldn’t have done that, but he had almost run me down and just wanted to be a bully. I then remembered jail is not air conditioned. Just then I saw he narrowly missed being blind sided by a bus. By the end of the day, with any luck, he would get a cranial injury or spinal injury of some sort. Who knows? Maybe he might even die. Either way, this moron bully should be nominated for a potential Darwin Award.

I know who will be winning one though. I was getting out of the 2 train. In NYC, you can jump between cars. Well this girl was jumping between cars, and jumped on the cable and was basically on the roof of the train. She jumped down almost breaking her leg and nearly jumping on a few people. I figured she should win a Darwin Award by the end of the week with any luck.

And these damn men are out of control. One jumped in front of me yesterday and looked like he hadn’t bathed in forever. He had a few bugs crawling on his face, too. How attractive. And then he went to grab my ta tas and I ran. And then another dude with a wedding ring on tried to pick me up. He told me he didn’t love his wife anymore and wanted an out. Yes, an unfriendly stranger in a black sedan…..that is exactly what I need following me.

On top of that my refrigerator is bipolar. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it won’t work for days. It’s like it wants to fuck with me like the world.

So if I do something crazy, it’s the dog that told me to do it.

If I go on a killing spree it was the dog.

And then I remember a few summers ago I met a man who mentioned Berkowitz was his anger management counselor and minister in prison. Berkowitz told this dude he had rage issues. When this dude asked Berkowitz why he killed those people he said, “I was dropping acid and my dog started talking to me….”

That is when I remember orders from dogs don’t tend to be that good.

With that, I think I will go swimming instead