I Despise the Service Industry

Now, let me get one thing straight when I say that I despise the service industry. I do not despise the industry as a whole. It performs a valuable duty by providing services. There are, however, certain areas of the service industry that I do loathe with a fury like that of a thousand suns gone nova. What I hate is a certain sector of the service industry. In a word or two: fast food joints and their ilk.

What I don't like is the whole stigma surrounding them. When you look at it, they are the most profitable sector in the service industry accounting for billions of dollars in revenue. It pains me that so many would rather go to some fast food joint for "comfort food" than do other things. When I worked Thanksgiving, the place was packed. Lots of people. I saw more people coming in to Tim Hortons to get their coffee fix than staying at home with friends and family. And it isn't just that that bothers me. I had a woman come in and order a coffee one time. She tells me she wants sweetener in her coffee, not sugar. Tells me it's because she's trying to watch her weight. Then she orders a donut! I was so incredulous that I outright told her to skip the donut and take the sugar. At least you know the sugar is healthy for you -- sweetener, as I've read in a few articles and studies, is bad for you and the environment. Well, suffice to say, the woman got angry.

Another is people asking for both milk and cream in their coffee, thinking this is somehow a healthier choice. As though they need to justify the fact they're splurging on the most unhealthy things.

It isn't just the way people justify their crappy existence, but the attitudes that come with it. Airy ideas of superiority when they make their orders, or believing that I can somehow read their mind. People who see me working and think I'm a lower lifeform and that I'm some meek creature that won't talk back. Uh, hate to break it to you, but I've got a mind and I use it. And I'm lippy. An example? Well, one night a woman got locked in a stall in the woman's washroom. He screamed for help. I had to lift the door off the hinges to get her out. The lock had broke. I put the door back on and put a sign on the door stating that this particular stall is out of order. Well, not even a half hour later, some other woman comes up to me, bitching to me about how she'd gotten locked in one of the stalls and had to climb under the door to get herself out. The conversation went something along the lines of:

"Uh-huh. So, was there an out of order sign on the door?"

"What? No, there was no sign on the door."

"Really? So, if I go into the woman's washroom, and I see the sign on the door, and you used that stall knowing full well that perhaps that sign is there for a reason, you absolve me of all problems because of your own screw-up."

The woman didn't like the idea that I would so easily catch her in her own little lie. She pretty much gave up trying to be lippy with me since it was a losing battle on her side. As for the job in general, the persons I have that come in there, they just frustrate me to no end. I'm tired of the retarded morons that come in there. I can't wait to move and leave this job in the ditch. I despise the service industry.

The Price is Wrong, Moron

So, after having worked at my local Tim Hortons for nearly six months now, I can safely say I know a good deal about it. I know a majority of the prices for food and drinks off the top of my head, quoting without difficulty what it is, including the tax. This sometimes even pertains to multiples of said items. I've gotten good at it, and can tell a person without looking at the screen how much their drink is going to cost without having punched it in yet. But, some people, even after being told what they owe don't feel like ponying up the cash to pay for it.

An example would be tonight when I got and order at Drive-Thru for a couple large coffees. Nod a big deal. Off the top of my head I can tell a person without thinking that it'll be three-oh-seven. I then make the drinks and come to the window. The guy hands me three-oh-one for his drinks. At this, I inform him that, no, it's three-oh-seven and he still owes me six cents. He points to the little lighted number box outside the Drive-Thru window which says "three-oh-one." I tell him that that device is broken and has been for months and that I'd already informed him of what he owe for the coffee at the speaker box long before getting to the window. What ensued was an argument that lasted almost a minute where he told me that "the customer is always right," and said customer was getting his information from a broken box.

I humored him, told him that a large coffee, by itself is a buck a buck-fifty-three, and that if you were multiply this by two, you'd get three-oh-six, not three-oh-one. Then I explained to him, due to decimal-point calculations within a computers programming, there is a margin of error, especially when calculating percentiles such as tax on an item, therefore, he had to fork over an extra six cents for his coffee due to that margin of decimal-point error. After gripping a moment, he handed me the extra six cents.

If you think this only happens once in a while, let me tell you, there was another guy sometime later with the same ordeal. Only this time, he knew the price of a single large coffee, did the simple math and came out with three-oh-six. Normally, I'm not such a douchebag and would forget the penny, only he asked me if I had said "three-oh-seven." When I confirmed this, he said to me, "Oh. Well wouldn't it be three-oh-six because two large coffees are a dollar-fifty-three?" Again, my prior argument about programming came into play. He then demanded that it be only three-oh-six and I didn't know what I was talking about. At that point, I decided, no, I'm going to be a douchebag because this guy deserves it. After a moment-or-two or argument, he cussed me out, handed over the extra penny, took his coffee and drove off.

All in all, a wonderful night.

The Buzz

(23:39:15) Starry: How was work?

(23:40:11) Wolf: As I snapped to a woman while on Drive-Thru about a wasp buzzing around my head: "If I got stung, it wouldn't be the most painful part of my day."