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Is 'manners' a four-letter word?
By Deborah Taylor-Hollis
Manners and their cultural counterpart, customer service, were things I grew up with as much as knowing that South America had 13 countries. I was taught in my grandparents' floral shop that the customers were always right, even those who we thought were the biggest pains in the butt and who thought every flower in the arrangement was in the wrong place. I was taught all customers should leave smiling. I learned how to say, "Yes, mam," and "No, sir," with the same intonation that we used in school to recite the Pledge of Allegiance, only with eyes cast lower.
These were good traits for a budding child in the Kennedy era to soak in.
Camelot and all the courtly manners that went with it were in full swing.
Fifty years later, however, (and I feel like a dinosaur at the Piggly Wiggly) it's an Emily Post-it Note world, and anyone waiting for a "thank you," better not hold their breath.
The charming mannerism of cashiers of actually counting back your change from the total amount to the full dollar value you proffered is not only gone but completely unknown.
It is even worse than that. Not only do these budding Einsteins not understand that computers can make mistakes (Lord knows what they do when the power goes out before the transaction has finished), but they can't even hand it to you in a civil manner.
There I stand, one hand holding my open purse, my keys, and the hand of my son (who is still trying to climb the empty register behind us) and Bambi Braindead is saying, "Here's your change. Thank you for shopping with us Mrs. Hollis," while filling my one free hand with a fist full of dollars going every which way, a long receipt that trails down to the floor and a pile of change on top like a little replicate volcano.
She has yelled my name across an entire store, filled up my free hand in such a way that I can neither put it back in the purse or down on the counter without serious repercussions?and turned her back to start pushing the next guy's groceries through.
Elegant, isn't this?
My mail carriers feel that pushing a wad of mail folded over into my box so that it sticks out is wonderful. They do this especially on rainy days.
The wait staff at my favorite restaurant feels that having no liquids before the hot food arrives is the most convenient for them, and so have made a subtle shift in their service attitude. They smile and ignore the arm waving, the slight whispers as they go by, and the overt crawling on the ground gasping for water and clenching of my parched neck. Unfortunately, the cook staff has decided that they must prepare the most difficult meal first and then make the peanut butter and jelly sandwich after everything else is ready, so that the entire wait has grown to one hour just to get coffee. I now bring a thermos and a red flag.
Businesses, especially in lean times, used to value customers enough to answer the phone promptly and actually speak with you the same day you called. My HMO (Kaiser), my garbage service, the city water department and a host of others have found this quaint approach "inconvenient," for them, and so not only have they installed answering machines at every extension, they have the nerve to say they will call me back the next day when time allows.
Yes, I can see how that helps them a great deal. They can have one person who waits until everyone is either on their way to work or in the bathroom, calls just long enough for the phone to ring three times, and then hangs up.
They have technically given you the response they promised, even if the intent is nothing like the actual conduct. I wonder just how many people actually sit around the house all day, answering the phone on the first ring and begging their dying relatives to stay healthy another week they have to keep the line free for the return call. The lack of respect for customers appalls me.
Every generation must feel this way, as the social climate changes and attitudes about manners shift. I don't need the Texaco gas jockey to jump out in uniform and polish my windows when I fill up the tank. But I do wish I didn't have to bend over and scream through a caged circle to a guy who grunts and tells me the bathroom is for employees only, and uses foul language to boot.
Deborah Hollis can now be reached through the ever gentle art of email at D.T.Hollis@scvn.com.
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Willow Glen, California Since 1992
