Essay

Below is an personal narrative essay I wrote in high school about customer service.

On Customer Service

It’s Friday afternoon as I arrive at Hy-Vee. As I drive into the parking lot, my practiced eyes gauge the number of cars. Most of the slots are filled, and the ones that remain are far from the entrance. Yep, I say to myself. It’s going to be busy today.

A few minutes later, I move through the crowds of people and make my way to the customer service desk. A couple of employees are already behind the desk, but five customers still wait in line. I walk behind the desk and make eye-contact with the next person in line. The customer is a thin, older man with gray hair. He walks forward and asks for a money order for $867.76. I repeat back the amount to him, to be sure I don’t misprint it: “A money order for eight hundred sixty-seven dollars and seventy-six cents?” “No,” he replies, “Eight six seven seven six.” Isn’t that what I said? I check what I typed into my screen, repeat the amount, and this time, he accepts my words. As he opens his tattered wallet, I ponder what the money order might be for. Is he paying a bill? Is he sending it to someone? I start counting the cash, making sure that it’s the right amount. After triple checking—I don’t want to get in trouble for losing money—I switch to another machine to ring up the money order. The machine slowly prints the order and I hand it to him. He walks away, leaving me to wonder if he has ever paid a bill online.

Now, a customer asks for some scratch-off lottery games. He considers the many scratch games and decides on three different ones. I grab the ones he asks for and start to ring them up. “It’s Friday night fun,” he explains. Fun if you like losing your money. He hands over the cash and I hand over the scratch games. I feel like a con man.

The phone starts ringing. I pick it up, put on a cheerful voice, and answer it with the same prepared speech I always use. The customer asks to speak to the pharmacy. (For some strange reason, the pharmacy doesn’t have its own number. Actually, none of the departments do. All the phone calls go through me.) I complete the transfer and answer the next call. This customer starts talking about their online shopping order. All their frozen items are missing. I can’t help them with that, but I can’t interrupt them either. I wait for them to finish talking, express my concern, and then transfer them to Aisles Online. Our Aisles Online department usually succeeds in shopping for customers, but on a busy day like this, we tend to make mistakes.

Another customer comes up to the desk. I recognize her. She is an older woman with short gray hair and glasses who comes to customer service every few weeks. She only comes for one thing. Cheerfully, she says, “A carton of Pall Mall Lights, please. The shorts.” I cringe inside, but obediently turn to my left and look through the cartons. I locate the cigarettes and place them on the counter. Ironically, she has come to Customer Service to buy these. Isn’t it a Customer Disservice to be selling poison to this woman? I scan the carton, and in a flat voice say, “$86.29 please.” She gives me the exact change, takes her cigarettes, and walks away. She’ll be back in a few weeks for more. I wonder how long it will be until she doesn’t come back. If I don’t see her for a while, I’ll have to assume the cigarettes finally consumed her.

A young mother with a child comes to mail some packages. As I start typing in the zip code, her four-year-old child starts wandering off. “Elijah!” she calls, “Come back.” He pays no attention to her. I ask her how she wants the package sent, and she decides on the cheaper option, first-class mail. She grabs her child and tries to keep him occupied by talking to him. It doesn’t work.

As I print out the labels, the phone starts ringing again. I pick up the phone, but the action distracts me, and the mailing label falls to the ground. Thankfully, it falls face-up and doesn’t stick to the ground. Awkwardly, I bend to the ground and pick up the label while still holding the corded phone. The customer on the phone wants to speak with someone about hot food. I put them on hold and page the kitchen. I apologize to the woman with the packages, but she isn’t bothered by me answering the phone. I place the label on the package and move to the next one. Her child runs off again and is now touching another customer’s cart.

Later, a very young woman asks to buy some lottery tickets. She looks too young to buy tickets, so I ask for an ID. Timidly, she explains that she forgot to bring it, but she is eighteen, and doesn’t have another way to prove she is, so does she need to have her Mom come and buy them? Slightly confused, I reply, “Yeah, that would work.” She leaves, but another customer will come to the desk soon. Who will I serve next?