Welcome To The Bitchery
Welcome To The Bitchery
This is a platform for User Generated Content. G/O Media assumes no liability for content posted by Kinja users to this platform.

I'm a Service Worker AND a Human

Illustration for article titled Im a Service Worker AND a Human

Today was a really bad day at work. In the morning it seemed like it was going to be a good day. I was placed at a credit-card only register, which usually cuts down on the number of jerks (the people who come in looking for a fight almost always pay in cash) and I was next to one of my best work friends. Let's call him Jay. The morning was awesome. We joked and chatted and not one person was rude, nasty, or treated me like a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of their shoe. I had to be firm with a couple of people regarding policies, but everyone took it well. Lunch happened. We got back from lunch and it was really busy, but still everything seems good.


Till another friend comes over and warns us that someone filled out a complaint form about us. I'm really upset. In the year I've been at this job I've never gotten a complaint. We have no idea what it is. Eventually, we get called downstairs and one of my supervisors sits down with us.

And why we are there is just the biggest piece of bullshit. A woman complained that we were very unhelpful because I, also known as "female" (that's right i'm not "the lady", "the woman" or "the girl", I'm "female" like I'm a zoo animal), stopped her from coming to the register because I was in the middle of a transaction where the customer had walked away to get her ID and left me with her card. And Jay? He made an "inappropriate comment about ID". He noted that the woman's hair was blonde in her ID picture, trying to make polite conversation.


I really hope this woman's "righteous" anger was worth it. Because thanks to her feeling slighted (which she wasn't), both Jay and I are going to have complaint forms on our records, which will come up during our next performance reviews, which will affect our pay rates. Even though our supervisor knows that it's something the woman blew way out of proportion, he still has to put it on file.

So, here's something I'd like to say to that lady:

Here's the thing, complaining lady. I know it's hard to imagine, but I'm a human that's helping you. I'm not a cardboard cut out, and I am getting real sick and tired of you and your ilk treating me like yesterday's garbage. Yes, I may work in customer service, but that doesn't change the fact that you should treat me with the respect I deserve. Your minute of interaction with me does not give you the right to screw with my life nor does it really give you any idea of what kind of worker I am. Did you ever consider that I was stressed because another customer had left me alone with her credit card? What if I had been having a bad day? What if I was sick? What if something was wrong with my family? Or boyfriend? Or what if a friend had just died? (All things I've gone through while working). No, you didn't. You wanted the selfish satisfaction of feeling like someone offended you when my co-worker and I had the gall to help another customer and notice your hair color and didn't kiss your ass and rain gold upon your head like you thought you deserved.


But I doubt you care about me. I doubt you think I'm worth anything to society. In fact, I'm sure that you get along great with other customers, like the man who once said: "I hope this isn't all you have going for you. Are you going to go to school?" (I gritted my teeth and informed him that I had graduated). You seem to believe that I must be worth less because I have a customer service job while you're off doing something "important" in some office somewhere, though let's be honest, without servicer works to feed you, sell you stuff, and allow places like movie theaters, cultural institutions, and bars to be open you'd be pretty damn well fucked. So, maybe I'm not as stupid and useless as you once thought I was, maybe I just don't work the same kind of job you do. I'd love to know where you work, maybe I'll show up at your cubicle and make your life difficult,because you clearly feel you have the right to mess with mine.

Oh, and by the way, complaining lady, I think your mother came in. Was she the old woman who came up to me while I was on the phone with the office and yelled at me "Do you even work here?" and then fumed when I told her I'd be one minute? Because the bad attitude resemblance is uncanny?

Share This Story

Get our newsletter