Friday I stopped at a bakery on my route. I don't often stop there, only about once every two months. I love their lemon scones, and sometimes temptation overtakes me. When I walked into Pierre's Country Bakery the young woman behind the counter scowled at me.
Don't get me wrong…I understand that people are sometimes natural scowlers, or I might remind them of someone they hate. I try not to let it bother me too much. I knew I'd never seen her before and hadn't offended her. She asked me, "What do you want?" rather than, "May I help you?" I overlooked it. I said, "I'd like a lemon scone and coffee, please."
She told me the price and when I handed her a $20 bill she shot me another look of annoyance. Instead of counting out the change, or even handing it to me in a polite manner, she shoved a wad of bills and coins into my hand. "Sixteen or twenty ounce?" she asked. I asked her to repeat herself--I'm hard of hearing--and this time she shouted, "Sixteen or twenty ounces?!"
"Sixteen," I replied, still being as pleasant as possible. She went to the air pot that held the hot coffee and as she held down the top to draw the coffee she gave me her most glaring look yet. "Room for cream?"
"Beg your pardon?"
"I said, room for cream?!"
Yeah, sure.
When I left I felt the heat from her flaming eyeballs in the back of my head. What did I do to her, I thought.
The next school on my route has a couple of friendly secretaries, so I told them my story. One of them, Cris, told me, "You should have asked to see the manager and reported her." Ah, as I explained to Cris, I don't report people. I let other people report people. It was poor customer service, but not the worst I've ever gotten, and maybe she'd piss off someone who was more inclined to tell her boss.
When someone has a bad experience at a business they are most likely not to say anything, but they will not go back. They are also more likely to tell several friends, whereas if they have a good experience they are unlikely to tell anyone. It's human nature to talk about injustices, not everyday niceties. But it's those niceties that keep us coming back. So I'm reporting this to you. If you find yourself in Salt Lake City, Utah on 3300 South Street, right below Wasatch Boulevard, and see Pierre's Country Bakery sitting in a little strip mall, remember your old pal Postino's bad experience.
However, I know as sure as you're reading this--and if you've gotten this far then congratulations for putting up with my gasbagging--I will go back to Pierre's one day. The lure of the lemon scone is strong, even stronger than a memory of bad customer service.
Just a half hour earlier than my bad experience at Pierre's I was in a school talking with a principal who lives in Park City, Utah, where the Sundance Film Festival is currently happening. I asked her what it was like in her town right now, and she said it was awful. Maybe it's great for the stars and celebs, but it's terrible for the townfolk. She said she and her husband were on Main Street, so choked by people that, as she put it, "If someone had a heart attack they'd die because no one could get to them."
She also told me that last year she was standing in a line at her bank, patiently waiting her turn when a woman in a floor-length fur coat breezed in and went straight to the teller. The teller said, "The line is over there, ma'am, and you'll have to wait." The woman retorted, "I don't wait in lines."
When the teller caved in and helped the woman, a man standing behind the principal said, "God, I hate Sundance." Another tale of bad customer service, this time indirectly.
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