Reporting..LIVE from the Belly of the Beast!
Another "vacation" in Cupertino...spent working at Santa's Slave Pit aka Baskin Robbins.
I'm only home a couple weeks out of the year, and so I don't mind helping out my parents. My mom is in BR 12 hours a day, 7 days a week, and she's in her sixties. I really think she deserves a break...but the longer I'm at the store, the more I feel myself undergoing the transformation Jack Nicholson did in The Shining. The perky voice transitioning to a low growl, the smile into a feral glare, the irresistible urge to swing an ax at the next person who speaks to me. It's not my fault though. They, the nameless, faceless, demanding throng of morons that constitute the store's customer base, do everything in their collective power to provoke me.
There is just so much degradation embedded in the customer-service industry. Why should the employees adopt this obsequious attitude when dealing with customers? We're serving them...they should be thanking us.
I find myself robotically answering questions before they're asked:
1. "No, we don't have a bathroom." Actually, there is an employee one, but after thousands of requests from angry parents demanding their diarrhetic child be allowed to use out facilities, my mom just told us to lie. Of course, after this new policy was instated, customers began suspiciously asking us where we use the restroom if there wasn't one in the store. To quell the controversy, I was forced to say we peed out back near the trash.
2. "Yes, that will make you fat."
3. "Your lousy tip keeps me from spitting in your cup."
4. "Thank you, come again."
etc. etc.
Anyway, I've identified some long-term effects of working here. For one thing, I am damn sure I never want children. Ever. Kids, when viewed through the distorting lens of Baskin Robbins appear to be crazed, sugar-addicted brats that appear relentless in their appetite for destruction, and unrepentant in the face of a weary aproned clerk.
I look at their parents, and wonder to myself if they were ever...you know..normal. Did they ever have conversations that didn't involve the numbing rotation of child-rearing tips, diaper brands, and "Ashley just finished 3rd grade!"? How do these people cope? Yesterday, a couple came in with their one daughter. She ordered a cone and the parents just sat down for over an hour and watched her slowly lick it into oblivion. The dad blearily stared at her along with the mother who was cooing loudly. Did I mention the girl was atleast 12? How exciting could this possibly be?
I'm headed back to Boston in a couple days, and frankly I'm pretty relieved. After informing my mother that I was now a member of the dating community at large, she freaked and now all her usual lectures come with the frantic subtext "Guard your carnal treasure!" ...I'm sure this news only served to expedite the final arranged-marriage showdown tentatively scheduled for sometime before my 25th bday. Be there. And bring ammo.
Quotes of the Day:
Video Man: "Eyes down. Don't smile. Indian bride never smiles. You'll ruin the bloody video. "
Dressmaker: "Don't worry, Miss Bahmra. Our designs will make even these little mosquito bites look like juicy, juicy mangos!"
--- Bend it Like Beckham
I'm only home a couple weeks out of the year, and so I don't mind helping out my parents. My mom is in BR 12 hours a day, 7 days a week, and she's in her sixties. I really think she deserves a break...but the longer I'm at the store, the more I feel myself undergoing the transformation Jack Nicholson did in The Shining. The perky voice transitioning to a low growl, the smile into a feral glare, the irresistible urge to swing an ax at the next person who speaks to me. It's not my fault though. They, the nameless, faceless, demanding throng of morons that constitute the store's customer base, do everything in their collective power to provoke me.
There is just so much degradation embedded in the customer-service industry. Why should the employees adopt this obsequious attitude when dealing with customers? We're serving them...they should be thanking us.
I find myself robotically answering questions before they're asked:
1. "No, we don't have a bathroom." Actually, there is an employee one, but after thousands of requests from angry parents demanding their diarrhetic child be allowed to use out facilities, my mom just told us to lie. Of course, after this new policy was instated, customers began suspiciously asking us where we use the restroom if there wasn't one in the store. To quell the controversy, I was forced to say we peed out back near the trash.
2. "Yes, that will make you fat."
3. "Your lousy tip keeps me from spitting in your cup."
4. "Thank you, come again."
etc. etc.
Anyway, I've identified some long-term effects of working here. For one thing, I am damn sure I never want children. Ever. Kids, when viewed through the distorting lens of Baskin Robbins appear to be crazed, sugar-addicted brats that appear relentless in their appetite for destruction, and unrepentant in the face of a weary aproned clerk.
I look at their parents, and wonder to myself if they were ever...you know..normal. Did they ever have conversations that didn't involve the numbing rotation of child-rearing tips, diaper brands, and "Ashley just finished 3rd grade!"? How do these people cope? Yesterday, a couple came in with their one daughter. She ordered a cone and the parents just sat down for over an hour and watched her slowly lick it into oblivion. The dad blearily stared at her along with the mother who was cooing loudly. Did I mention the girl was atleast 12? How exciting could this possibly be?
I'm headed back to Boston in a couple days, and frankly I'm pretty relieved. After informing my mother that I was now a member of the dating community at large, she freaked and now all her usual lectures come with the frantic subtext "Guard your carnal treasure!" ...I'm sure this news only served to expedite the final arranged-marriage showdown tentatively scheduled for sometime before my 25th bday. Be there. And bring ammo.
Quotes of the Day:
Video Man: "Eyes down. Don't smile. Indian bride never smiles. You'll ruin the bloody video. "
Dressmaker: "Don't worry, Miss Bahmra. Our designs will make even these little mosquito bites look like juicy, juicy mangos!"
--- Bend it Like Beckham
