Hello, my Web-wondering whippersnappers. I am back to doing what I do best; looking at the world through woes-colored glasses, and seeking out humor amid the overall craziness that seems to have invaded our planet like the pods from “Invasion of the Body Snatchers.”
Bonnie (my better ¾’s) and I, lately have had spirited discussions regarding “Customer Service” or the lack there of. It seems that good old customer service is a dying art, seemingly lost on a large portion of the populace. Could this have something to do with the increasing dependence on social media and the tendency to conduct personal interaction on a tiny screen with a tiny keyboard where one might say anything one wishes without getting punched in the nose real-time? This fascinating subject came up as we were listening to two employees at an upscale burger joint argue about tips while we stood at the register waiting to pay our bill.
Now, I want to say something without sounding like an old geezer, but I am an old (although nicely dressed and coiffed) geezer, so I will attempt to spit it out without drooling on myself.
Why, back in my day…
Napkin, please.
Open letter to America’s waiters and waitresses:
Dear Tammy and Troy,
I am choosing to spend my hard-earned money in the place where you work to be treated special. I can stay at home in a pair of threadbare boxers and be like the Invisible Man. Wait. Come to think of it, having you wait on me is actually just like being at home. My own kids also ignore me, speak only in grunts and broken sentences, and they want me to pay them, too.
Get off the iPhone and make me a sandwich.
Sincerely,
K.G.
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