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.