Service Industry

In America, people expect good service. At restaurants, you expect to get your food quickly. At the store, you expect the cashier to be pleasant and courteous. The only workers that are historically known to be problematic are government workers. For some reason, Americans will undergo significantly poorer service at the DMV than at TGIFridays.

I have worked in the service industry in a variety of ways, most recently as a cashier at Borders Books and Music. As a cashier, I had to stand behind the counter, promptly greet the customer, smile, make small talk, answer questions and concerns and so forth. From time to time I was graded on this by secret shoppers who looked to see if I close the sale using the customer's first name (if he or she used a credit card), if I smiled and welcomed them to the store, how pleasant I was and so on. These grades would then be posted in the store for all the other employees to see, and were used as a determining factor for raises and promotions.

Other stats about me were tracked as well: how many customers I pressured to signing up for Borders Rewards, how many people I convinced to donate books to charity, and so on. I was good at my job, and nearly set the record for donations during the Christmas season. I also was more than compliant with the Borders Rewards, often exceeding the percentage of new sign-ups I was to hit in each shift.

In Wales, things are much different. Much different. And this is something that I have not quite gotten used to.

Today, for instance, I wanted to get a train ticket to London. The first time I went to do this, getting tickets for Erika and I to go to and from London her trip out her in March, I must have gotten the best employee there. I told her the trip I was looking to make, and she helped me get the cheapest tickets available. The man that was working today was less than helpful. In fact, he was almost indignantly unhelpful.

I approached the counter and the ticket agent was standing on the other side of the glass window with his back to me. The person he was talking to gestured that I was standing there, but he felt it was necessary to finish his conversation before he addressed my concerns. After a few moments, he turned, and said, "Yes, please;" the typical British greeting at the point of sale.
"Hi, I need a ticket for the 11th or 12th, which ever is cheaper. To go to London."
He stared at me for a minute. Then, he said, "Well, which day?"
"The 11th or the 12th," I replied.
"But which day do you want to go out on?"
I was confused. It seemed that I was being clear: I wanted the cheapest ticket for either day.
"Either day. I just want the cheapest ticket possible."
"Well, you have to pick a day. We have to start with a day."
At this point, I would have pulled up the 11th, and started looking for train tickets. In fact, by this point, he could have answered my question had he done exactly that.
"Fine," I said, "Let's look at the 11th first."
"Okay. Which train?"
Really? I thought. Did I not make it clear that I wanted the cheapest fare to London on that day.
"Which ever train is cheap."
"We have seven trains. And you need to tell me which one."
I was getting really annoyed at this point. It seemed to me that he was being willfully unhelpful. Had I been at a train station in the States, I would have asked to speak to a manager, and demanded something be done about this. But, I took a deep breath and continued to try and deal with this man.
"I don't know. The afternoon."
"What time? We have seven trains that leave at all times through out the day."
I couldn't believe the tone this guy was taking with me. It was as if he was talking to a seven year trying to explain to them why they couldn't fly. I understand the way the train system works: trains leave at one time and arrive at another. That isn't my concern. My concern was that I wanted a cheap ticket.
"Listen," I said, trying to remain calm and not seem like a boorish American, "I don't know what time the trains leave. I just need a cheap ticket on this day for London."
He looked at me and audibly sighed, as if I was inconveniencing him, keeping him from whatever conversation I interrupted a few minutes prior to that. "Half one or half three..."
"The first one," I said, cutting him off.
"Rail card?"
"No."
"Just the single?"
"No, I need a return ticket." Buying a return ticket is sometimes the best thing to do as you can get a discount for buying together.
He looked at me, exasperated. "Well, do you know what time you need that for? I have to know that before I can ring this ticket up."
At this point, I just left. I was growing more and more frustrated and was about to explode: LISTEN TO ME YOU ANGRY LITTLE MAN! I need a ticket! Read me the times and the prices and I will tell you which one I want! Speak like this to me again, and I will end your miserable life!

I can see why Americans have the reputations they have. Because we have perfected the art of the service industry, we have come to expect a certain kind of experience when exchanging money for goods and services. In a recent conversation with one of my roommates, he said that the consumer culture is dying in Britain, and the more and more people are buying things on-line. I can see why, if this is the type of treatment people get when they try to buy things at a store, or a shop, as they say here.