Thursday, August 16, 2018

How important is it

How important is it?
~Alanon slogan

It was all planned.  I was going to bike to my internet service provider on Sherbrooke and drop off some cables, then continue on my way to the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts to see the Picasso exhibition.  I was little annoyed at having to do this since I'd already come last week after interrupting my television service to drop off my terminals.  That was inconvenient enough but, since they'd forgotten to ask me to also return remotes and cables, I had to make a second trip.  Today I called before leaving to ask if I needed to bring anything else.  After being transferred from their technical team to customer service, "No," the guy on the phone answered, "You don't."

I arrived at 10.  The store should have been open but it was still dark behind those locked accordion bars.  A few miutes later a young man showed up, sweaty with skateboard under one arm, key in hand.  He opened the door, slid quickly through it then began locking it behind him. I asked, "Isn't the store open at 10?"  "Yes, but I need another 10-15 minutes," he said.  I shrugged, "The store is supposed to be open at 10."  He noticed I had stuff to return and said, "Well, if it's just to return those, then come on in." 

In I came.

At the desk he asked for my account number.  I didn't have it.  I said I was told all I needed to come with were the cables and remotes, and they always pull up my account number with my name and telephone number.  He couldn't find it and said I had to produce a bill; or maybe call my service provider and ask for my account number.  I said his colleague was able to find it last week.  Anyway, I took out my phone and called the head office. I pressed 2, then 4, then another number, and then I was told I'd have to wait 10 minutes.  I started to smoke...

I told the young man this was ridiculous. That I had come twice to return my stupid equipment, spoken to at least three agents, even double-checked I had everything necessary to finalize my friggin account closure.  That on top of this, he was late and, because he couldn't find my number, I had to call their office myself, and now I'm on hold...

He held up his hand, looked away and said, "Madame, that's enough.  You used the F-word and I've already told you what I can and cannot do so it's up to you." His refusal to look at me or validate my frustration really pissed me off but, to add insult to injury, he said, "And I wasn't late, I got here at right at 10". I was beginning to feel more like an employee than a customer and reminded him that he was getting paid to help me and hear my complaints, not the other way around.

Someone finally answered the phone and my account number was found and we both settled down.  A few minutes later, he handed me my receipt and I apologized for losing my temper and asked if I could tell him something, a bit of advice as a friend.  He agreed.

I said, "I know you're young and, at your age, I might not have had the patience to deal with someone like me either, but you should understand that clients are paying and you are being paid to help them.  It is not personal for you, you get paid anyway, but these frustrationss are personal for us because they cost us time and money.  A little compassion would go a long way and probably avoid an escalation.  Anyway I am sorry I lost my temper".

Then the young man asked if he could now speak and I said, "Of course".

He said, "I wasn't supposed to open the store today but was helping out my colleague who is sick. I rushed to get here but on the way I wiped out on my skateboard and I'm bleeding.  I really wanted to clean up before starting work.  I'm also sorry".

I said, "Oh! Are you hurt?"  He had tears in his eyes and said, "No, it's okay", and held out his hand to shake mine.  I gave him a big hug instead because suddenly he felt like my own son...

I got to te exhibition in good time.  It was very interesting, all about colonialism and Enlightenment and art... But this silly mask of an elder spoke to me more than any famous Picasso painting:

It's the mask of an elder which, despite its silly grin, is supposed to symbolize wisdom and experience, and is used in a Mexican dance ritual representing a reversal of social norms and order. 

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