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My workplace is filthy. Not grimy, but every one of us there has a sewer for a mind. Example: One coworker and I can happily spend 8 hours verbally violating each others immediate ancestors. I expect "How do you like MY salami?" to come from my coworkers, I did not expect it from my customers...
2H
He was a nice regular. Calm, friendly, never a hassle; I liked him. He was also moderately good looking. A little too old for my taste, but I was engaged so it didn't matter.
I'm grabbing pre-cut lunch meat for him. I have it down to a freaking science, you want a pound I can get you within .03 of that in one grab.
2h: Wow, you're really good at that!
me: Oh, no, sir, I'm perfect at it, haha! It's all in how much tension is placed on my hands, some people can get 2 pounds in one grab. One very large handful for me is a pound and if I really stretch and I can get 1 1/2.
2h: That's pretty good. Haha.
*we move on to the cheese still discussin my awesomeness*
2h: You know, I'm two handfuls if you know what I mean...
Did you just...no, sir, I don't want to know what you mean, I...no, just...no.
me: Oh, heh heh...heh.
I froze. My genuine happy-server-smile turned brittle on my face. I was not expecting that from my freaking customers. I liked you, asshole, and you ruined it! Because of you, I refrain from engaging in friendly chatter with my customers, you walking boner.
I believe he realized he had overstepped some heretofore invisible boundary in customer service relations and did not come back to the deli for months. And when he finally did return it was incognito with a goatee. He still won't look me in the eye.
Speaking of chatter
Lately I've been having customers make some weird attempts at chat.
me: Hi, how can I help you?
SC: Hi, I'd like some blah blah blah and a half pound of blah.
me: Okay. *I start grabbing, spooning, stuffing, cutting, whatever*
SC: So how are YOU today?
I, wait, what? That phrase comes at the beginning of a meeting, before you tell me what you want. You do not distract me while I am crawling into the meat case to get that one piece of meat you just had to have which is on the bottom of the fucking display, or while I am shaving as quickly as I can on the Slicer of Death because you want 5 pounds and there's 5 people behind you in line or while I'm trying not burn myself on the 200+ degree hotcase while you hand pick which flavor coated chicken chunks you like the shape of. Do you know how much it hurts when a sauce that is mostly sugar lands on your skin? It's caramelizing in the pan, and does not wipe off easily.
me: *deadpan* I exist.
Oh, no response to that? Good. I will not be led into a lengthy discussion of how you are, your kids are, their kids are and your dying pets/relatives. Or your two handfuls.
You know that smell that seems to be in every Mal-mart parking lot? That smell that increases as you walk towards the building? That, my dear customers, is the smell of desperation and despair. You exude desperation, the employees exude despair. You do not really care how I am. I know that, you know that. You are simply trying to keep up to date on your social niceties because that is what mumsy taught you. Your words are meaningless and you don't care how I answer. I could say "Well, they screwed me over on my raise again this year, my shoes are sopping wet because they have holes the size of quarters because I can't afford new ones and my grandma has been wandering around her yard half-dressed because she's going senile. How are you today?" Your response will not acknowledge anything I just said, because you did not listen. Your response will most likely be to mention how wonderful it is outside and your so glad YOU have the day off. Thanks. Rub it in some more asshole.
2H
He was a nice regular. Calm, friendly, never a hassle; I liked him. He was also moderately good looking. A little too old for my taste, but I was engaged so it didn't matter.
I'm grabbing pre-cut lunch meat for him. I have it down to a freaking science, you want a pound I can get you within .03 of that in one grab.
2h: Wow, you're really good at that!
me: Oh, no, sir, I'm perfect at it, haha! It's all in how much tension is placed on my hands, some people can get 2 pounds in one grab. One very large handful for me is a pound and if I really stretch and I can get 1 1/2.
2h: That's pretty good. Haha.
*we move on to the cheese still discussin my awesomeness*
2h: You know, I'm two handfuls if you know what I mean...
Did you just...no, sir, I don't want to know what you mean, I...no, just...no.
me: Oh, heh heh...heh.
I froze. My genuine happy-server-smile turned brittle on my face. I was not expecting that from my freaking customers. I liked you, asshole, and you ruined it! Because of you, I refrain from engaging in friendly chatter with my customers, you walking boner.
I believe he realized he had overstepped some heretofore invisible boundary in customer service relations and did not come back to the deli for months. And when he finally did return it was incognito with a goatee. He still won't look me in the eye.
Speaking of chatter
Lately I've been having customers make some weird attempts at chat.
me: Hi, how can I help you?
SC: Hi, I'd like some blah blah blah and a half pound of blah.
me: Okay. *I start grabbing, spooning, stuffing, cutting, whatever*
SC: So how are YOU today?
I, wait, what? That phrase comes at the beginning of a meeting, before you tell me what you want. You do not distract me while I am crawling into the meat case to get that one piece of meat you just had to have which is on the bottom of the fucking display, or while I am shaving as quickly as I can on the Slicer of Death because you want 5 pounds and there's 5 people behind you in line or while I'm trying not burn myself on the 200+ degree hotcase while you hand pick which flavor coated chicken chunks you like the shape of. Do you know how much it hurts when a sauce that is mostly sugar lands on your skin? It's caramelizing in the pan, and does not wipe off easily.
me: *deadpan* I exist.
Oh, no response to that? Good. I will not be led into a lengthy discussion of how you are, your kids are, their kids are and your dying pets/relatives. Or your two handfuls.
You know that smell that seems to be in every Mal-mart parking lot? That smell that increases as you walk towards the building? That, my dear customers, is the smell of desperation and despair. You exude desperation, the employees exude despair. You do not really care how I am. I know that, you know that. You are simply trying to keep up to date on your social niceties because that is what mumsy taught you. Your words are meaningless and you don't care how I answer. I could say "Well, they screwed me over on my raise again this year, my shoes are sopping wet because they have holes the size of quarters because I can't afford new ones and my grandma has been wandering around her yard half-dressed because she's going senile. How are you today?" Your response will not acknowledge anything I just said, because you did not listen. Your response will most likely be to mention how wonderful it is outside and your so glad YOU have the day off. Thanks. Rub it in some more asshole.