Working in Customer Service

Nobody loves you when you work in customer service.  Nobody.  Not the customer, not the employee the customer is complaining about, not management, nobody loves you.

Even the woman who was my boss when I started out at the Service Desk a year ago cannot even get my name right.  She calls me Mary or Bev or anything but Beth.  She has a different job at the store these days, but she still cannot remember my name.  It’s insulting. I actually told her that today when I ran into her in the break room and ignored her when she called me Mary and then Bev, and then Bev again.

For God’s Sake, we have our names on our aprons.

And then, today, the day after St. Patrick’s Day, every hung over grumpy person with any reason at all to be mad at us came to the service desk.  And I swear, some literally waited for me to finish with a customer so they could take their complaints to me.

 

At least none of the grumpy customers got my name wrong.