I am by no means a religious zealot, but I do believe in the golden rule. It seems to me anyway, people are increasingly taking the golden rule, breaking it over their knee and crushing it into the ground like a cigarette butt. And from a moral stand-point I couldn't care less. But when services provided to me are concerned, that's when I become agitated; this agitation leads to frustration, which leads to depression, which leads to several nights of drunken ramblings, which leads to the written word. And lucky for you bastards, here it is: a hot teeming bowl of experience from my boringly complex life.
I went into HSBC the other day, which is a banking institution in this fine land. Republic Bank, with which I trust all my life savings, recently merged with HSBC, without so much as heads-up to me. But, no matter. I had seen all the wonderful television advertisements, convincing me that the merger was a great and dignified American transaction, that HSBC would provide the level of service I had grown accustomed to and more. "Great," I thought. "Now there's a bank around the corner from my house, instead of around the corner from work. Life is beautiful." I went up to the teller to deposit my paycheck into my account. The teller told me I couldn't do so because the complete convergence of the two into one hadn't completely happened. I was confused; I told her that I had done this at another HSBC branch before, and the check went into my account. The reason, this beacon of enlightenment told me, was because the bank where I made the deposit was a former Republic bank. Furthermore, any bank with a "hanging" HSBC sign was a former Republic bank, and I could deposit my checks at these "hanging sign" banks. Nearly mesmerized by this appalling train of logic, I asked her, "So, you expect me to go looking around town for hanging signs rather than regular signs just to put MY money into MY account?" "Yes, sir," she said, unwavering in her devotion to the madness. "Do you realize how ridiculous that is?" I asked. "Gimme my check back, bitch."
Fucking Customer Service.
After my errands were done that morning I went to the gym. I hadn't been there in a while (hence my current 2-day soreness), and as always I had my social phobia/new place anxiety working (a wonderfully charming personality trait, let me tell you.) Keep in mind, I'm not exactly your typical gym guy. I walk in carrying my Joyce Carol Oates, wearing my mismatched sweats, pair of glasses on my face, my beer gut flopping. So I go in, and start to walk into the locker room, intentionally looking for a sign near the door, seeing none. "SIR! HEY SIR!! EXCUSE ME, SIR!!" I hear some guy yell. I turn around and walk out. "That's the Women's Locker Room, sir," this muscle-head says. Stunned, I stammer, "Uhhh, oh sorry," or something as brilliant as that. I look around the door again and the nearby wall (making sure to see if I missed an obvious sign.) "There's no sign here," I said. "You guys should put up a sign." "You missed it, sir," the muscle-head says, slyly, giving me a look like I'm dumber than Ernest. "Huh?" I say, clever as ever. "It's right there, sir." He points it out. "You missed it," he says. It's at least 10 feet away from the entrance. "Do you realize how ridiculous that is?" I ask. "Shouldn't it be at least somewhere near the door? Why not put it in the fucking parking lot, it'd be just as effective."
Fucking Customer Service.
Is it me, or is this happening all over? In towns across America people are being flogged by stupidity on a daily basis. I may be prejudiced, but I place some blame on the current economy. I think because the economy's so good now, no one gives a shit about customer service. Who the fuck cares about 1 little account when there are another 10 million people who'll put up with crappy customer service in a heartbeat. The Masochists. Sadly, I am one of them.