The customer isn't always right

For the last five years of my life, I’ve had a total of three jobs. All have been connected to the food industry, which has inevitably led me to be much more appreciative and understanding of every single person who has had to work by serving others.

Throughout the years, I’ve met good and bad service but I always tip well, make small-talk with the people at the registers to see how their day is going, and do my best to be completely understanding if something doesn’t go right behind the retail counter, because believe me, I’ve been there.

My first job was at a tiny version of what my Japanese boss thought was an “American-style” diner adorned with life-size cutouts of Marilyn Monroe, Elvis Presley and John Wayne.

I was the cashier, which was easy enough, but the monotony of the job would kill a person. Needless to say, my time was well spent; I became an expert at merrying the ketchup bottles and doodling on Styrofoam cups.

When people finally did come into the diner, my boss got flustered and swore at me in Japanese. In a nutshell, we had communication issues.

After three months, I moved on to a teahouse where I was a hostess, gift shop cashier and waitress. The only reason I stayed at this low-paying job with 12-hour shifts and no breaks was because I felt a great loyalty to my boss and fellow co-workers who worked so hard to keep the tiny business afloat.

In my time in retail, I’ve learned that the customer isn’t always right.

People have yelled at me for “overcharging” them when in reality, they were looking at their bank statements wrong. I’ve also had to remind people that the policy of the restaurant does in fact pertain to them; multiple times, parties have brought in more people than the reservation was made for and expected us to make room for them, even if the restaurant was completely full. Then they proceeded to complain about where I was able to squeeze them in.

My current position at the House of Bread downtown is the best job I’ve had so far. It is so refreshing to be able to wear running clothes to work because I am going to get covered in flour and frosting anyway, as well as to have a boss who understands that this is in no way what I want to actually do in life, and that school takes up almost all of my time.

For the most part, I love my job because it’s so relaxed and I get a lot of nice locals and tourists come in who just generally love our bread. But when people assume I am there solely to serve their every whim, I can’t help but get a little frustrated.

There are the new moms who come in with their bundles of joy who inevitably spill milk everywhere, only to tell me in some cutesy voice, “Oops, we made a mess for you to clean up.” The voice in my head responds, “Gee thanks. I was wondering if I would get to mop up chocolate milk and baby food off the floor today.” In reality I smile and hurry toward the mess.

There’s the woman who comes in talking on her cell phone and doesn’t say a word to me but points to what she wants, gives me her Visa card and goes along her merry way, never once even making eye contact with me.

Then there’s the strung-out homeless man who comes in drunk, looking to fill his alcohol-saturated stomach with bread while telling me stories of not only being the original songwriter for the band Led Zeppelin but also a “Shaman,” and repeatedly asking for my hand so that he could “heal me.”

My job title only includes “retail.” I am not a servant to snap your fingers at, a mother to clean up the mess you make, an ear to listen to all of your problems (Bulls Tavern is just around the corner) or a nutritionist – if you have diabetes or a wheat allergy or are overweight, don’t you think you should try a place other than a bakery to look for sustenance?

Each and every person who works in a retail position is just that – a person and deserves to be thought of as one. Perhaps if they don’t seem over-the-moon about their job that day, it could be because they had to wait on some type of customers whom I’ve described above. Next time you go into your local coffee shop, restaurant or bakery, think about how hard these people work and maybe even say “Thanks.”

Brittney Clyde is a journalism junior and a Mustang Daily reporter.