The Nameless Blonde Woman: A positive customer service story.

Plenty of people have written articles on why you should be nice to your waitresses and cashiers or how much it sucks to be in customer service. But the majority of those articles tell the bad stories—the people who yell and scream or ask to speak to the manager, etc. etc.  I want to tell a good story about working in the customer service industry.

I’ve been a bank teller for about a month now, and after observing for two weeks and training for another two, I now have a cash drawer and station to my own. Of course there are still people watching over my shoulder most of the time, and there’s always someone nearby to help, but there’s a lot more of a chance of me screwing something up.

My first day on the job was difficult and overwhelming, but for the most part, all of my customers were very nice to me and understanding that I was new.  My second day was just as overwhelming, but the customers were not as nice. But I’m not going to tell you about the bad parts, because there’s already enough people bashing in this world.  But in order to preface this story, I do need to tell you that I had a few customers in a row that were not very nice. One gentleman was so annoyed that I asked for his ID (so I knew I was giving HIS MONEY to the right person) that he asked to complain to the manager.  He actually said “who can I complain to?”

And of course, all of my wonderful coworkers and my assistant manager backed me up to the max, and told me I did everything right and it wasn’t my fault (even though I already knew that).  Unfortunately, there was a line building up in the lobby, so I didn’t have time to go gather my thoughts and compose myself. I honestly don’t remember the next few customers, but by the time I got to the last one in line, a middle aged blonde woman with two easy-peasy cash deposits, I was at my breaking point.

I could feel my eyes starting to water and was having trouble concentrating on this super easy deposit.  She could see that something was obviously wrong, and she could probably see the tears forming at the corner of my eyes.

“Your glasses look really good on you” she said to me.

And I almost broke down and cried right there because of the pure kindness of the comment.  Such a simple thing can restore someone’s faith in humanity. I thanked her kindly and we talked a bit about how glasses are so much more fashionable than they used to be.  She left and I bolted to the bathroom and burst into tears.  A coworker came to hug me and tell me I did everything right, and eventually I wiped my tears away and went back to the teller line where everyone patted me on the back (metaphorically) and made it known they were on my side.

As much as I love my coworkers and appreciate their kindness, I already knew what they were telling me. I know that I did everything right, that I was just doing my job.  And I know that those customers were just jerks, and that sometimes you get jerks and it happens and you just have to deal with it. I know all of that and I know that it will happen again.  But I also know that my coworkers, my family, my friends an Jim the boyfriend are always gonna back me up in a situation like that.  It’s their duty—their obligation—to comfort me and tell me it’ll be okay.  That’s the emotional contract a decent person signs when a new person enters your life in a big way.

But that customer didn’t have to.  She wasn’t obligated by the bonds of friendship or daily contact of biology. That nameless blonde middle aged woman didn’t know my name, doesn’t know a single thing about me.  She didn’t know what I went through today or have gone through in the past.  She wasn’t even in the building when the first few customers were there.  In fact, she probably had every reason to not be nice. She had been waiting in line for a while and the teller was taking too long to do an easy transaction. But she didn’t ask me to hurry up or tap her fingers on the counter.  She chose to give me a compliment. To see if she could help make my day, my life, a little bit better. And she did. Thank you nameless woman. You gave my miserable horrible cloudy day a little bit of sunshine.  I hope I can pay it forward.

We're Here! ...Now What?

We got into Virginia late at night and spent the night at my aunt and uncle’s house. It would have been so crazy to have to unpack our truck at midnight. And the mattress was all the way in the back of the truck so I am very grateful to them for their hospitality.

The next day was beautiful! It was almost sixty degrees out and sunny. The perfect day to be outside unpacking a moving truck. Our house was much bigger than expected. A large living room, a kitchen with a stove and an oven and a fridge and a pantry and a bathroom all on the first floor. The second floor has three bedrooms. Two of them are attached with a doorway but smaller than my old single dorm room. It really looks more like a big bedroom that someone put a wall in the middle of.  And then our bedroom is so big we don’t know what to do with it! And we have an attic! Surprise! We had no idea we were going to have that much space!

We brought all our stuff in and I organized everything within a week. I thought of a few home improvement things, but then it was Christmas and after that it got really, really cold, so those fell through.

And then came the job search. I had applied to a few jobs before we moved down, but nothing came of it.  So when we finally got settled, that was the next step.

Let me just tell you: unemployment SUCKS. It’s just boring. It’s like a vacation but you’re not allowed to spend ANY money.  No, it’s probably more like house arrest.  But I can’t really compare because I’ve never been arrested.

People say that looking for a job is a full time job.  But you’re not getting paid, and there’s only so much you can do in one day.  Really.  If there are no new jobs posted on Craigslist and InDeed and Career Builder and Monster—what do you do?  You applied to 5 jobs yesterday and there’s nothing new posted that you’re qualified for.  After a while you’ll just end up applying for stuff you’re not qualified for: “Receptionist wanted: Must speak Spanish.” I applied for that. I took 2 years of Spanish in middle school, then forgot it, then 2 years in high-school, then forgot it, then 2 semesters in college, then… you get it. I know maybe 100 words in Spanish. MAYBE.

And after a few weeks and you still haven’t heard anything—I mean ANYTHING: no email rejections, no phone calls, nothing—you start applying for things that you’re way overqualified for.  I applied to cracker barrel and Jim the boyfriend stooped down to Wal-Mart and Game Stop (he probably would have loved working at Game Stop).  Luckily, after my first interview at Cracker Barrel, I got a phone-call from a bank I had applied to.  Still customer service, and I’m still overqualified with a bachelor’s degree, but I figured it was a step up from waitressing.  I kept my options open and went to my second interview at CB, then my first interview at the bank.

After my interview, the manager I met with said it might be a few days till I heard from them.  She still had to set up an interview with another girl and HR had final say on the hire, so she’d have to go through them first.

To my surprise and delight, I got a phone call the next morning offering me the position.  Here I was thinking I would hear until next week, but I guess the manager and the other girls I met really liked me, so they pushed to get me in.  And I’m so thankful they did.  I took the job (obviously) and even though its not my dream job and it’s not what I spent the last 4 years studying, I love my coworkers and I think it will be a good stepping stone to my future career, whatever that may turn out to be.

From One Home to Another

It’s been a long time since I blogged. Since I wrote really. I was pretty sure I was just gonna give up on it completely, but my mother kindly requested that I write more.  Which makes ZERO sense to me because I talk to her almost every other day and tell her everything that’s going on in my life. So I don’t understand why she’d want to read about something I already told her about… but I guess that’s mothers for you.

            Well I’ve obviously had a lot going on the past few months. Last time I wrote was before I moved to Virginia. Now, We’ve been living here for two months, and a lot has happened. But for now, I’ll tell you the story chronologically.

I went back and forth between two main emotional states during the moving process, which I expect many people also go through during their first—or maybe any—big move.

In the months between when we decided to move and when we actually moved, I flip-flopped back and forth daily between excitement and a mix of terrified sadness. Jim had to deal with at least one spiraling mental breakdown. The most intense one I specifically remember started with a simple argument, about something Jim hadn’t done, the dishes or the laundry or something unimportant that I had requested. I was mad at him for something—neither of us can remember—and neither of us know how, but before we knew it I was bawling my eyes out in the bathroom. He came over and I tried to explain that I wasn’t crying because I was mad at him, but because I was afraid to leave my family and my friends and everything I know. One thing had spiraled into another and made me think of everything I was leaving. I’ve lived in the same house in the same small town since before I can remember. I know people and they know me. The people at the sandwich shop know me by name, the pizza shop guy remembers me as “the girl who still hasn’t seen Silence of The Lambs” and I was camp counselor to not one, but at least 2 of the cashiers at the local grocery store. I am known and loved in that small town. And I know and love those people back. And I realized that I was leaving all of this for him. And he couldn’t even do one simple thing for me.

Jim found a way to talk me down from this intense panic attack, and reminded me that there were plenty of reasons I was coming with him, my reasons. I started breathing regularly again and wiped my tears away and somehow managed to go to work and see all my beloved kindergarteners and without breaking down again.

I shot back to excitement while we were packing up the truck, even though I could tell my parents’ and friends’ hearts were breaking to see me leave. I was ready to go off and make a new life for myself with a new adventure, and as much as I knew I was going to miss all of those people back home, I knew I needed to do this for myself, and I was excited.

But when Jim and I got separated on the road in New Jersey in the middle of a snow-storm, I relapsed into panic mode again and had to call my mother to calm me down (I wanted Jim to calm me down but his phone doubles as his GPS and was unwilling to trade the directions to comfort me). I remember saying to her “I just want to go home!”  But we were past the point of no return.  Well, more like past the midpoint, so it would have been a waste of a good 10 hours to turn back at that point. Anywhoo, that was the last of my breakdowns so far, and I got through the storm and actually beat Jim  to Virginia by about an hour and a half.