Customer Service


Recently I had an emergency run to the bathroom at Walmart. When you have a kid, knowing where the bathrooms are in every store is your first order of business. We made it in time, and I saw written in angry scrawl on the toilet paper dispenser, "I HATE MY JOB".  I simply had to nod to that, and pray for that individual, because I can't say I wouldn't hate my job too if I worked at Walmart. Any Customer Service job can make you ponder things like, "would I rather deal with another ridiculous question or put my head through a plate glass window?" If Customer Service were Dante's Inferno, I imagine Walmart would be at the very least, the fifth ring.


 Ten years ago I was single, had my own apartment, and worked as a Customer Sales Representative for an Organics Foods Distributor. I could care less at the time about Organics, knew nothing, and it showed to my Customers. We were required to go to these Customer Service Seminars every year, and there was a list of things you should never say on the phone to your clients. "I don't know." which I said on a regular basis. "Hold Please." which was my go-to for every question I was ever asked. And "Call back later when I'm not so flipping busy." Which was not on the list, but is now due to my seminar participation. 


I was guilty on all counts. Apparently, when you say "I don't know" it gives off the impression you are out of control. When you say "Hold Please", especially in the voice of an automated machine, this denotes someone who doesn't care. Well Yes, and Yes. I was twenty-eight, single, and was cycling to work because I couldn't afford a car. So yeah, I was probably out of control and could care less about where one can find Ostrich Eggs or if Brazil uses child labor to package their bulk nuts. Both questions were asked by the same woman who I imagine lives in a crumbling manor like the eccentric Miss Havisham in Great Expectations. Caked in white powder, a matted cat in her lap, she dials my extension. 

"Oh yes is this Lonna?" I had given her a fake name from a previous call to throw her off my scent. It didn't work. My coworker Nick sold me out. He gave me a thumbs up from his cube. 

"Yes," Sigh. "It is." 

"I must know, something has been bothering me and I cannot rest, I tell you I CANNOT rest until this is resolved. I bought six pounds of Brazilian nuts and I saw on the news that little children are packaging these nuts! Is this true? Little children?" 

"I have no idea." I assumed the finality of my answer was enough. Was she unaware she dialed an Entry Level Employee? That's Corporate for "powerless"and for the most part "clueless". Nine bucks an hour will buy you this response,  

 "Let me put it another way, I don't know. Hold Please." 

I give it a minute or two to give her the impression I'm actually looking into this, as if I have inside information on Brazil's Nut Industry. It's not that I didn't care about Child Labor, it was that I could barely get my trucks out on time for delivery, let alone investigate an international crime. She's probably envisioning our office like some sort of news room, hot on all topics of Food Causes. I yell out, "Child Labor in the Brazil Nut Trade! Has anyone heard?!" And another concerned Customer Service Rep rises from their swivel seat, throws off their earphones, "I had a hunch kids were packaging those! Let's blow the whistle on this!" And like the Scooby Doo Gang we rush from our cubicles, unveil the true criminal, and then race back to the phone to give Miss Havisham the good news. But no, I wait, and wait, doodle a few birds in flight, an eyeball, a noose, then click back on, "I"m sorry ma'am we don't have any answer to that. Was there anything else you needed?" 

     "Yes Lonna, there is. I also heard they pee in the nuts." 

     "What?" 

 "They PEE in the nuts." She said indignantly, as if I hear that complaint all the time.  "I need to know if that's true, because I'm not eating one nut, not one, until i find out if children are peeing in them."

Something told me the latter concern was of greater importance. I can only hope every Controversial Brazil nut she popped in her mouth caused some mild inner turmoil. She could have opted for the American Peanut, an innocent nut minus the sweat off the brow of a Preschooler. But urine laced nuts; now that is the unforgivable crime. And of course the real reason she was calling.  

"Hold Please." 

I worked there for three years and it was my absolute favorite job. I had regular store managers who placed orders with me every day, and I did my best to get their trucks out on time. That was my job, in a nutshell. Far better than the Entry Level Receptionist jobs I had in endless succession in Boston. As a Secretary you had to look and sound friendly, a difficult task. So as a Customer Service Rep it felt great to hide behind a phone. It made it far easier to feign interest nestled in a cubicle wearing headphones while surfing the web. The amount of eye rolling in our department was unmatched, and could be viewed as an art form by the more seasoned and skilled Service Reps. I'm not saying my work ethic was right, or justified, but certainly my employment history could be a harvest of entertainment just waiting to be picked.