The annoying dilemmas of working for the public

Jack Schillaci Jack in the Pulpit

The scene: Arby's at 9:55 p.m. the night before my last final exam for Winter term. My rattled nerves caused by my utter lack of studying in the face of exam hell convinced me that eating something would help me pull the all-nighter (yeah, right) necessary to ace the final.

And I wanted a Jamocha shake.

After waiting behind the Hell's Angels and Mrs. Soccer Mom USA, I stepped up to the cashier and placed my order.

She didn't seem happy to see me. In fact, by the look on her face, I was one step from becoming the next day's Arby-Qs.

She grudgingly got my food and threw it in a bag, mumbling something under her breath about how rude I was.

But I didn't get mad. I've been there and done that more times than I can count. I've had more than my share of customer-service jobs (though I never had to deal with annoying customers and "mystery meat" at the same time) and I knew what was putting her in a bad mood.

You know the type of job: You get all the honor and joy of working with that mass of idiocy that is the public at large. And you better know what you're doing and do it fast, or else Mr. John Q. Public himself will come up to you and start whining about how busy he is and how you're slowing him down.

As if I have nothing better to do than sit at a little computer/cash register and do work that is so mind-numbing that I daze out every five minutes. No, I work because otherwise I would be broke and ATMs would give me messages that say "You have insufficient funds for that transaction."

Evil-Customer Dilemma No. 12: A customer waiting in my line starts screaming at the top of her lungs about how slow the line is moving and how busy she is and how I'm going to make her late.

What I said: "I'm sorry, I'll be with you shortly."

What I should have said: "Good God, would you press the mute button? Your babble has achieved little more than to annoy me and everyone else around you."

Evil-Customer Dilemma No. 38: A young couple with a small, rambunctious toddler is waiting for help at a neighboring line. In a fit of energy, the youngster runs at me, screams, and kicks me in the shins. The parents coo in joy at the incredibly cute thing their child has done.

What I said: "Oh ... ow!"

What I should have said: "What are you on, crack? As cute as the little runt's actions were, I think you need to sedate him before he commits a felony."

And everyone acts with a confident arrogance permeating their every word and movement.

It's enough to turn your stomach.

I know what you're thinking. A friend of mine recently made the observation, "I've always known Jack was bitter." Who, me?

It's not like I go home, light up a Lucky and listen to PJ Harvey's "Working for the Man" while sipping Wild Turkey and lamenting about the giant hole that my life has become.

But I don't expect to be treated like crap just because I'm working a crap job, and I understand why other employees aren't always thrilled to see me when I prance through their lines or sit at their tables.

So the next time an employee treats you rudely, just shrug it off and don't be snotty back - chances are, their day has sucked just as much as yours.

- Jack Schillaci is at work listening to someone complain about how expensive everything is; you can e-mail him at jschilla@umich.edu.

07-16-97