TMID4

[captainsblog]

Which stands, possibly, for Happy Too Much Independence Day.

A dear, bright, funny and above all (for me, at least) well-spoken Friend posted the following words last night. Most of them are from here, the words of a Houston-based blogger who I'd not heard of before this morning, but the final words, just as poignant and well-intentioned, are from Sara- newly-married, twice-conferred with degrees attesting to her dedication and brilliance, but still a part, and a way-too-often forgotten part, of our stratified Service Economy:

Got the original link [to this from somebody]  and had to repost this article.

I try not to use this blog space to rant or be preachy. I’m not a fan of ranting or sermons (unless it’s Sunday - and even then it really depends on the sermon).

Think of this as a desperate plea.

Yesterday, while I was trying to enjoy my manicure, I watched in horror as the two women across from me talked on their phones the entire time they were getting their manicures. They employed head nods, eyebrow raises, and finger pointing to instruct the manicurists on things like nail length and polish choices.

I really couldn't believe it.

I’ve had my nails done by the same two women for 10 years. I know their names (their real Vietnamese names), their children’s names, and many of their stories. They know my name, my children’s names, and many of my stories. When I finally made a comment about the women on their cell phones, they both quickly averted their eyes. Finally, in a whisper, Susan said, “They don’t know. Most of them don’t think of us as real people.”

On the way home, I stopped at Barnes & Noble to pick up a magazine. The woman ahead of me in line bought two books, applied for a new “reader card,” and asked to get one book gift wrapped without getting off of her cell phone. She plowed through the entire exchange without making eye contact or directly speaking to the young woman working at the counter. She never acknowledged the presence of the human being across from her.

After leaving Barnes & Noble, I drove through the Chick-fil-A drive-thru to get a Diet Dr. Pepper. Right as I pulled up to the window, my cell phone rang. I wasn’t quite sure, but I thought it might be Charlie’s school calling. I answered it. It wasn’t Charlie’s school – it was someone calling to confirm my hair appointment. I got off the phone as quickly as I could.

In the short time it took me to say, “Yes, I’ll be at my appointment,” the woman in the window and I had finished our soda-for-money transaction. I apologized to her the second I got off of the phone. I said, “I’m so sorry. The phone rang right when I was pulling up and I thought it was my son’s school.”

I must have surprised her because she got huge tears in her eyes and said, “Thank you. Thank you so much. You have no idea how humiliating it is sometimes. They don’t even see us.”

I don’t know how it feels for her, but I do know how it feels to be an invisible member of the service industry. It can suck.

I worked my way through undergrad and some of graduate school by waiting tables. I worked in a really nice restaurant that was close to campus and a hot spot for wealthy college kids and their parents (parents who were visiting for the weekend and treating their kids and their kids’ friends to dinner). I was in my late 20’s and praying to finish my bachelor’s degree before I hit 30.

When the customers were kind and respectful, it was OK, but one “waiter as object” moment could tear me apart. Unfortunately, I now see those moments happening all of the time.

I see adults who don’t even look at their waiters when they speak to them. I see parents who let their young children talk down to store clerks. I see people rage and scream at receptionists then treat the bosses/doctors/bankers with the utmost respect.

And, I see the insidious nature of race, class, and privilege playing out in one of the most historically damaging ways possible – the server/served relationship.

Everyone wants to know why customer service has gone to hell in a handbasket.

I want to know why customer behavior has gone to hell in a handbasket.

When we treat people as objects, we dehumanize them. We do something really terrible to their souls and to our own.

Martin Buber, an Austrian-born philosopher, wrote about the differences between an "I-it" relationship and an "I-you" relationship. An "I-it" relationship is basically what we create when we are in transactions with people whom we treat like objects - people who are simply there to serve us or complete a task.

I-you relationships are characterized by human connection and empathy.

I’m not suggesting that we engage in a deep, meaningful relationship with the man who works at the cleaners or the woman who works at the drive-thru, but I am suggesting that we stop dehumanizing people and start looking them in the eye when we speak to them. If we don’t have the energy or time to do that, we should stay at home.

And, for the love of humankind, we need to get off of our damn phones and show some basic respect to the people who are standing in front of us.

Buber wrote, “When two people relate to each other authentically and humanly, God is the electricity that surges between them.”

I just don’t think treating each other with basic dignity is asking too much.

[end of original blogger's post; beginning of Sara's:]

[Sara's friend] didn't have anything to add, but I do. I work alone for the majority of my day. I don't know if this is the norm or not for most service people; I do know, in the current economic climate, a lot of companies are cutting back and chances are that more and more service people are working alone more often. This means that sometimes for multiple hours of my day and theirs, our only connection is with the people we serve. They are the only ones we speak to or interact with. This means that the impact of one slight by a guest (and yes, not saying, "How are you?" back when asked is a slight), one failure to connect, one instance where not even eye contact is possible, these get magnified exponentially. I used to go home from work and cry for ten minutes when I was at the deepest part of my depression. I don't generally feel that way now, but there are many nights, too many, when I want to come home and do the same thing now, not because I'm in the depths of a chemical imbalance but because out of perhaps a hundred people I've served that day, maybe ten treated me like a human being, and I have a pretty broad definition for that. All I want is for you to ask me back when I say how are you--I do actually care, I love having a real conversation start here but even to just be asked back is enough--and for you to not expect me to scrape your money off the counter when you pay me. Seriously, that's it. I'm all alone and I just want you to throw me this one little bone.



I have a few kind words to add, too. Here, and in real life as a result of this revelation.

It's not just mobile phones making us oblivious to the people around us who would otherwise interact, and find connections, and become Real People to us if we only let them.  It's a host of technological "advances" which have come along in parallel to our cellular towers and turned us into far more oblivious zombies than we were even before the beginning of my own daughter's lifetime.

I'm as guilty as anyone of these sins, more of omission than commission. I've had a cellular earphone stuck in my ear, at least while driving, for most of the past decade, but I've gone beyond that form of isolation, as most of the people do who I'd otherwise meet, when I'm walking down the street. For most of my almost two years of fairly religious gymwork, my ears have been cut off by my own personal soundtrack of .mp3 choices, which cuts me off from the need, but also the opportunity, to ever have to say hello to, or make conversation with, or connect my world to their worlds- of the guy about my age in the yellow Adidas t-shirt, or the woman about my age with John Lennon glasses and the black workout pants, who I see virtually every time I'm in there but who I never have a chance, much less a need, to introduce myself to.

My debit cards speed me on my way through checkouts. My EZ-Pass keeps me from saying hello to, or exchanging money and smiles with, a very redundant bunch of Thruway toll-takers. And thanks to the joys of "smartphones" (a term encompassing Blackberrys and Palms and my own recent concession to the al-Lures of the i-Phone), there's rarely a  need to talk to anyone even telephonically anymore.

It's all bigger.Stronger. Faster. We have the technology. But is it better? I don't think my friends in retail (or my wife in retail, for that even more matter) would think so.

Earlier today, I stopped in our nearby Tarjay store to buy a panoply of things I'd put off- gym shorts to replace the increasingly felonious ones I'd been sporting, some new wine goblets, and some overdue chew-and-pull toys for the dogs.  I made a point of talking, generally and genuinely, with my cashier on the way out. I mentioned the recent experience of my Friend, the often-alone barista at an in-store Starbucks at an out-of-state Target store, and how important I knew it was to maintain contact with everyone I could connect with.

Her only reply was, "Wow, I wish we had a Starbucks in here." (There's one in the strip mall about 500 feet down the road.)

Hey. It's a start. 

Happy Interdependence Day to you, whether you observe it or not.

Comments

[sgauta.livejournal.com]

Well said, and I completely agree. By default I'm pretty much a reluctant technology user...I don't do it on purpose, I just can't help it. Half the time I can't even FIND my cell phone, but if I do have it on me and it rings in public I won't even look to see who it is until I've finished my business. When my phone rings in public I actually get red in the cheeks with embarrassment. Music players have REALLY disconnected people...having ear buds in has become the easiest excuse to not have to talk to another human being. It is all quite sad, but I'll keep plugging along the old fashioned way...