Do I think my own schedule is more important than anyone else'? Obviously.
No. Scratch that. I do however think that people should generally respect others' schedules. I feel I can make a considerable contribution to the (made-up) study of Serviceology, having worked in jobs that require me to hike my voice up several octaves to a level saccharinely offensive to all living beings excluding the canine variety and render my face wrought with (faux-)smile lines.
During my lunch break, I went to Cosi to grab a salad. The lines for food during midday times on weekdays in midtown east are an exercise in starvation. I waited to order my Bombay Chicken Salad, ironically sans chicken, for fifteen minutes.
10 more minutes on a separate line to pay... broken computer system... angry asshole manager yelling at register-employees... me eating through the entire slab of bread which is supposed to accompany my salad... "we just opened the front register; you can go there." 10 more minutes in this line. Right before I pay, the women at the register LEAVES. I was going to walk out with a free salad. Sadly, I needed to get a fork and they hold them hostage behind the register.
Next journey: dropping off my father's prescriptions at Duane Reade. Lovely girl helped me. Asked if I'd like to wait for it for 20 minutes to which I responded that I had to run back to work but would pick it up at 4:15 on my way from work to class. (... you can see where this is headed.)
RUNNING from my office to class is hard enough during rush hour. And of course the prescription was not ready. But they didn't simply TELL me this. They disappeared into the back for ten minutes. And I had to send another person back there. She spoke with the original Inconsiderate Pharmacist, and then on her way back, stopped to check for another person's prescription before telling me that it wasn't ready. Sure. Take your time, lady.
"What time do you close?" asked I.
Rushing through my one-credit Astronomy winter-session lab, I ran huffing and puffing in stilettos from 41st and Lexington to 43rd and 3rd.
"What time do you close?"
... And then I blew up a Duane Reade.
Dunkin Donuts man ignores me and continues texting on his cell phone. Looks up at me. Then cleans off a coffee machine. Then gives me an attitude when I order something. Soorrrrryyyy for bothering you while you're getting paid.
Bookstore to pick up stupid Astronomy lab book. Guy ignores me for so long that after saying "Excuse me?" several times, I end up having to hit the BELL to get his attention. Was I at a hotel concierge desk in the 1980s?
At this point, I was already brewing from social interactions of this variety. I decided to treat myself to a Frappuccino Lite. My request was met by "Ah... we OUT of 'Lite' today."
And then a little angel dressed in a green Starbucks smock (the Official Away Uniform of Team Heaven) appeared from a cloud made of real fairy dust and offered to look in the back.
Ta-da! The first time someone goes out of her way to do her job, customer satisfaction (and in this case, restoration of faith in the merits serviceology) is achieved.
And then I tried a sampling of a new lemon/cherry/cake extravaganza, which complemented my Frappuccino Lite beautifully.
Parable: Wait. There is none. This is just me being cranky.
Also currently cranky about: "Doughnuts" being spelled "Donuts" and "Light" being spelled "Lite," and the fact that their having been "published" as such compels me to reproduce them in their stupid forms.
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