In which I rant, Part 2

So, fun fact. Or at least a vaguely interesting fact. I'm kind of an etiquette geek. I own a first edition of Emily Post's "Etiquette" and I have a whole separate "Advice" folder in my Google Reader. Local columnist Robin Abrahams aka Miss Conduct is by far my fave, while Dear Prudence is often borderline offensive but responds to such ridiculous situations that I can't help but read it. And Dan Savage is, of course, the shit. Love him.

Now, this is not to say that I'm a classy gal who automatically knows the right thing to say in every situation, or who can set a table for twenty in ten minutes. I'm definitely a little socially awkward, and if I had twenty people over, trust me, there'd be nothing besides a bag of chips and a cooler of beer. I just dig the advice columnists.

However, I DO think that people are owed some basic courtesy, and no group of people deserve more courtesy than people who work in customer service, the food industry, or any other field serving the public. They - oh, who are we kidding, this is totes personal - WE are the ones who serve your food, make your coffee the way you like it, don't raise our voices when you're swearing at us, and generally bust OUR asses to make YOUR life a little easier. I don't care that you drive a Lexus or make 200k a year, you quite obviously need my help. If you didn't, you wouldn't be calling my customer support line. And I CAN help you. I actually WANT to. I like my company, and I will gladly explain all of your policies and rules all the livelong day if that's what you want.

But at the end of the call, when I say "Thanks for calling, have a great day!" do you know what your response should be? "Thank you." Or, if you're feeling generous, "Thanks, you too." You should not say "Oh, I will," "Yeah, right," "No thanks to you," any type of grunting noise, or worst of all "Whatever." Really Mr Surgeon? That's your comeback? "Whatever"? Well, yeah, I went to middle school too, and let me tell you, you are a loser loser DOUBLE loser, as if, whatever, get the picture, duh. (Complete with hand motions!)

I don't know why this galls me so much. People are seriously horrible to me sometimes, but being told to go fuck myself really doesn't piss me off as much as telling someone something nice and then having them scoff. It's like when I tell someone I like their dress and they say "Oh, I think it makes me look fat." I mean, for fuck's sake, just accept a compliment you know?

And yes, people who actually work in the industry should be nice and polite also. I'm talking to you, bitch at Panera. Telling your customer "Don't look at me like that, grumpy!" is not endearing, it's annoying and will not get you a tip.

Post in which I rant

I love my job. I really, really, do. I'm the rare and lucky chick who got an fantastic job right out of college with benefits, decent pay, awesome coworkers and free coffee.

Can you tell that I'm trying to convince myself that I love it?

The problem with my job is that I have to talk to PEOPLE. And, I kinda hate people. I'm not bad at being perky when necessary, but there are just so many dumbasses in the world, and I get to talk to them all. I've been here for almost three years, so I'm used to it. But sometimes, like today, I find myself ending every call with a muttered "fucking dumbass cocksucker." And hope that my previously mentioned awesome coworkers don't hear me.

People from New Jersey are the fucking worst. I know plenty of lovely people from the dirty Jerz, but they know how to say words correctly. And -

-okay, have to interrupt myself. I was just on the phone with a customer. AND HE CALLED ME FUCKING MACOLE. People of the Universe, Macole is not a fucking name. It's just not. My name is Nichole, which is seriously one of the most common names in the world. How do you fuck that up? And it happens all the time. I get called Macole on at least a weekly basis. And no, I am not just pronouncing my name wrong. I checked.

And now I forget where I was going with people from Jersey. Basically they suck. As do people who don't speak English. And people who pretend to be British. And Canadians. Oh God, Canadians.

Why is it not six o'clock yet?