Grouchy Ass

Maybe it's because I'm unemployed (or perhaps because I'm raising a hellion on my own) but I've really lost my patience with people in the service industry who are rude to their customers. I always think, How do you have a job and I don't??? (Then I think, would I want their job? Hell no! But that's beside the point.)

Example 1: I had a doctor's appointment last week. When I arrived at the medical complex, I realized there had been a lot of construction since my last visit. The lobby had been moved to a completely different area of the building. I parked and walked in the new door...and was immediately turned around. Thankfully, I saw a desk ahead with the sign "Information" above it. Fantastic! I walked up with the universal look of "I'm lost" and the lady behind the counter asked, "How may I help you?" I said, "I'm turned around!" She titled her head down, peered at me over her glasses and dryly said, "You're in the lobby."

Really? REALLY? THANK YOU, CAPTAIN OBVIOUS.

I can understand if you hate your job. I spent the last four years hating my job...but taking your frustrations out on an innocent bystander is not the answer.

Example 2: I took my car to Wal-Mart (I know, I know....I'm just ASKING for stellar customer service there!) for an oil change because the little sticker on the inside of my windshield said it was time (three months ago.) I walked to the service desk only to find Reba McEntire's long-lost strung-out twin sister. After nicely stating that I would like to schedule an oil change, she CRACKed her gum, started typing on her computer and then asked me the make and model of my car.

"Jeep Commander."

CRACK!

"Um, it's the silver one out front."

CRACK! She peered up at me. "I'm still waiting for the make."

Rude! "It's a Jeep."

Tappity tap tap. "Not in my system. Who makes it?"

Seriously? You're the car people, and you're asking me who makes Jeeps??? I racked my brain and blurted, "Chrysler?"

Tap tap tap. "Nope."

Well, shit! Now I can't get my oil changed because I don't know who makes Jeeps??? It's a goddamn Jeep! Tell me you've heard of those??? She ripped off a Post-It note and stomped outside. I saw a mechanic walk by and said, "Excuse me, isn't Jeep made by Chrysler?" He said, "Yeah...though it may be under Dodge in our system."

When Reba came back, I peeked at her Post-It. It had "Jeep Commander". No shit? Is that what I drive??? And guess what? IT NEEDS ITS OIL CHANGED. The mechanic I spoke to earlier came up and suggested the Dodge option. Apparently she found it and scheduled me for the service.

(btw, I later asked if it was under Chrysler and she mumbled, "No, I found it under Jeep." However, the next guy in line had to call his wife to get his zip code and ended up giving Reba the wrong make and model of his car. She was a bit nicer to me when I checked out...I think I was the lesser of her evils at that point.)

Maybe I'm just a person who tries to make the best of things? If I'm going to be a fry girl at McDonald's then dammit, I'm gonna be the best fry girl they've ever had! During my last year in college, I had a job on the weekends demo-ing food at the local supermarket. Talk about humiliating - I had to wear a hairnet! But dammit...I MOVED SHIT! I was the top seller/demonstrator. I RAWKED that badass hairnet job!

(Unfortunately, I think that was my problem at my last job. I tried so hard to do my best and truly impressed managers with my work ethic...which made me a target for the catty old women who had been working their way up for 20 years. I should have just walked in that place with my BS degree taped to my forehead and started shouting, "VICTIM HERE!" That would have saved me YEARS of stress.)

My past experience with the hairnet (and the year I spent as an 800-number operator...and the two weeks I waitressed at an oyster-shucking bar in Florida, WHICH IS NOT AS GLAMOROUS AS ONE WOULD THINK) has given me a better perspective on shitty jobs. I can let a lot of bad service slide because I've been in that miserable place before.

As long as you don't catch me on a bad day. Then Lola comes out (she's my drunk alter ego. That tramp will drink EVERYTHING in my house on a bad night.) She rips into that McDonald's fry chick for her overcooked fries. "Yo! Babe! You dunked my fries in that old-ass grease one too many times. Your job is FRY GIRL. All you have to do is MAKE FRIES. This isn't brain surgery here. MAKE ME FRESH FRIES!"

Damn that Lola. But it's not totally her fault...she just doesn't understand because she's never had to work a shitty job. Or wear a hairnet.