My job is customer service. This means being nice to people, professionally nice, for hours at a time, to people who are frequently stupid and sometimes objectionable. As the end of the week looms, it becomes harder and harder to be nice to people, even if they are perfectly nice themselves.
Customer service, as a profession, is packed with women of a certain age. It's the customer service ghetto, a place where most men and any women who want to be called a bitch seldom venture or stay long. That's because women have been indoctrinated since infancy in the art of being pleasant, and helpful, and turning a blind eye to the faults of others. These are the qualities that are valued in wives, mothers and sweethearts. We were told (usually by our own mothers) that a person would catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, though why anyone should want to catch flies at all is a bit of a mystery. (Unless it's to make jam of them; we were taught that too, and how to make silk purses out of sows' ears). I've been to countless "how to shine at customer service" training courses. These are usually facilitated by a man or a woman from HR, a person who has never, ever, been at the sharp end of the coal-face. The theme of these sessions is always "know your place". You must be servile with a smile, you must "go the extra mile" for your customer, put the Wow! in the "customer experience".
I only know, that at the end of a long day in customer service, I wish I was in some other line of work. A nice, quiet nunnery or enclosed order would suit. But sadly, I've missed my chance to be Pope.
I wonder if he's tired of putting the Wow! in the customer experience too.
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