A look at the price of gas these days can make one shake and quiver and sweat just inserting the worn-out credit card into the pump. But I'm not talking about gas prices, but rather something else fairly noticeable to those at least maybe 40 years and older.
Driving into a gas station (filling station for those who remember), one could pick a section of pumps: “Full Serve” or “Self Serve.” Of course, the full serve pumps were the ones closest to the station office, but it was pretty simple. Gas was a few cents cheaper if you opted for the full service deal.
But back to my point.
What exactly was full service anyways? And what was it doing at a gas st … I’m sorry, filling station. How nice to have a friendly young fellow come out of the station office, ask how much gas we wanted, and, get this, without even asking, checked the oil and cleaned the windshields.
Boy, those were the days. And while it may seem like I am dating myself, I’m not. This was only a decade or so ago.
I don’t think I’m alone in observing that customer service these days is fading away. Seriously, sometimes laughable, but serious too.
Stopped a gas station recently? Yep, not only pump your own, but heaven forbid if you dare venture inside the little hut to request a receipt with that purchase (maybe I wouldn’t have to if the paper would be replaced once in a while at the gas kiosk), you can experience a whole new sort of customer service.
I’m sorry to interrupt your cell phone conversation or that important text, but hey, you’re on the clock honey.
Recently I witnessed another classic case of poor customer service. “The Restaurant.”
We’ve all been there. Slow service, poor food quality, vanishing waitresses, clueless managers (what is their job exactly?).
It was a nice warm summer night in Providence and my wife and I had the rare opportunity to spend a night out with a babysitter taking care of the little guy. It was a promising start as our table was waiting for us when we arrived and had a perfect spot along the lovely, and scenic Seekonk river where the Grille is located.
But, then, the most feared words a patron with an empty stomach growling for some delicious food: “this is my first day on the job, and you’re my first customer.”
NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!
I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, but it just went downhill from there. I mean, there’s only so much water and bread we can eat while waiting more than an hour for something like linguine and shrimp.
Huh. “No, I don’t want more water .. look out, you just spilled ice all over the floor.”
I could sympathize a little. Afterall, it was his first day. But the manager, who appeared to have said a few stern words to our young lad, seemed more concerned more with watching his performance than what the heck was going on in his own kitchen.
I mean, an hour for linguine. Just unacceptable. But as long as the manager’s Sears Roebuck suit and matching Old Spice cologne (word of advice: not in the summer, dude).
But I’m fine with it. It’s your wardrobe. But instead of worrying about your little apprentice, a managers duties should be to interact with the customers, inform of the situation, maybe offer a complimentary glass of wine (I’d be all for that), and show some pride.
I could care less about seeing (and smelling) you each time you walked past, headed to some strange magical place around the corner where maybe all was right in your world.
That’s fine. But we won’t be coming back anytime soon.
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