Hold.
Ring.
"Thisislinushowcanihelpyou."1
A woman's voice. "I'm looking for a book about Martha's Vineyard. It was a recent bestseller, I think. Martha's Vineyard may be the title."
I damn well know, before even checking, that the title is definitely not Martha's Vineyard, so I just put those two words into the keyword search so that the computer will pull up any books with them in the title. Best bet to be the book she's looking for is
so I tell her and she seems to think this is probably the right book. "One moment," I say, as I put her on hold and page the second floor so they can check to see if they have the book on their shelves. Someone answers the page, I give them the ISBN, then I hang up, satisfied that I have discharged my duties in a satisfactory manner. I go back to doing nothing for a minute or so.
Ring.
"Thisislinushowcanihelpyou."
"Yes, Linus, I was on hold for the Martha's Vineyard book. Are you looking for it?"
For a second, I think I've accidentally picked up the line that I just put on hold, but then I realize that the line I put on hold was line two, and I am talking on line seven.
"Wait," I say, "did you hang up?"
"Yes," she replies, "you had me on hold for a while --"
"One moment," I say, and I put her back on hold. This is the point where the customer has used up all my good will by making my job a little more difficult. Now, I have to call back up to the second floor again and notify them that the person who was holding on line two is now on line seven. This may take a while because for all I know the only person currently stationed at that desk is on the floor looking for the book. It's just an unnecessary pain in the ass.
Just before I hit the hold button I can hear her trying to say something, but I absolutely don't care and cut her off because I figure she's just going to give me shit about putting her on hold again. I start to dial the second floor extension, line seven goes dead.
"Oh, bitch you did not just hang up on me."
But I am not a conjurer or a god and when I say things they do not become true. She hung up on me. "I'm not answering that phone anymore," I say just as the phone begins to ring again. Line seven. I know exactly who it is, and I tell T., the manager at the desk, that I'm not answering it. T. is black. This becomes important later.
I hang out after T. answers, because it immediately becomes clear that she is dealing with the same customer I was dealing with. At one point, while obviously listening to the customer complain about me, T. looks over at me with a mock angry expression on her face before her face twists as she tries to keep from laughing at the woman on the phone. T. explains that she has to put her on hold so that someone can look for the book. She puts her on hold and calls the second floor, telling them, "Make sure you pick up the phone first thing and make sure she knows you're looking for the book."
T. hangs up the phone. Line seven goes dead.
T.: "She hung up!"
It turns out that not only was the customer complaining about being put on hold for an "unreasonable" amount of time (which was really no longer than usual), she also wanted someone to look through the book to see if it was worth her coming down to the store to pick up. We do not do this for customers, period. T. speaks up when I start complaining about what I believe are this woman's reasons for being, you know, a bitch.2
"You know, Linus," T. says, "I'm about to talk smack about my own people here, but I know what that woman's problem was. She's a bourgie black person."
(I'm not exactly sure how to spell the B word, but as long as you get the idea that it's short for "bourgeois" then I suppose it's not important.)
"Bourgie black people," T. continues, "are everything that's annoying about New Yorkers, times 100. I do not get along with them. She's pampered."
Every day I am reminded of how much I have to learn. If you happen to remember the "The More You Know" music, now would be a good time to mentally play it back.
1 My name is not really "Linus".
2 If I remember correctly, my hypothesis was that she, like many people and many New Yorkers in particular, suffers from the delusion that her time is much more valuable than it actually is.
"Thisislinushowcanihelpyou."1
A woman's voice. "I'm looking for a book about Martha's Vineyard. It was a recent bestseller, I think. Martha's Vineyard may be the title."
I damn well know, before even checking, that the title is definitely not Martha's Vineyard, so I just put those two words into the keyword search so that the computer will pull up any books with them in the title. Best bet to be the book she's looking for is
so I tell her and she seems to think this is probably the right book. "One moment," I say, as I put her on hold and page the second floor so they can check to see if they have the book on their shelves. Someone answers the page, I give them the ISBN, then I hang up, satisfied that I have discharged my duties in a satisfactory manner. I go back to doing nothing for a minute or so.
Ring.
"Thisislinushowcanihelpyou."
"Yes, Linus, I was on hold for the Martha's Vineyard book. Are you looking for it?"
For a second, I think I've accidentally picked up the line that I just put on hold, but then I realize that the line I put on hold was line two, and I am talking on line seven.
"Wait," I say, "did you hang up?"
"Yes," she replies, "you had me on hold for a while --"
"One moment," I say, and I put her back on hold. This is the point where the customer has used up all my good will by making my job a little more difficult. Now, I have to call back up to the second floor again and notify them that the person who was holding on line two is now on line seven. This may take a while because for all I know the only person currently stationed at that desk is on the floor looking for the book. It's just an unnecessary pain in the ass.
Just before I hit the hold button I can hear her trying to say something, but I absolutely don't care and cut her off because I figure she's just going to give me shit about putting her on hold again. I start to dial the second floor extension, line seven goes dead.
"Oh, bitch you did not just hang up on me."
But I am not a conjurer or a god and when I say things they do not become true. She hung up on me. "I'm not answering that phone anymore," I say just as the phone begins to ring again. Line seven. I know exactly who it is, and I tell T., the manager at the desk, that I'm not answering it. T. is black. This becomes important later.
I hang out after T. answers, because it immediately becomes clear that she is dealing with the same customer I was dealing with. At one point, while obviously listening to the customer complain about me, T. looks over at me with a mock angry expression on her face before her face twists as she tries to keep from laughing at the woman on the phone. T. explains that she has to put her on hold so that someone can look for the book. She puts her on hold and calls the second floor, telling them, "Make sure you pick up the phone first thing and make sure she knows you're looking for the book."
T. hangs up the phone. Line seven goes dead.
T.: "She hung up!"
It turns out that not only was the customer complaining about being put on hold for an "unreasonable" amount of time (which was really no longer than usual), she also wanted someone to look through the book to see if it was worth her coming down to the store to pick up. We do not do this for customers, period. T. speaks up when I start complaining about what I believe are this woman's reasons for being, you know, a bitch.2
"You know, Linus," T. says, "I'm about to talk smack about my own people here, but I know what that woman's problem was. She's a bourgie black person."
(I'm not exactly sure how to spell the B word, but as long as you get the idea that it's short for "bourgeois" then I suppose it's not important.)
"Bourgie black people," T. continues, "are everything that's annoying about New Yorkers, times 100. I do not get along with them. She's pampered."
Every day I am reminded of how much I have to learn. If you happen to remember the "The More You Know" music, now would be a good time to mentally play it back.
1 My name is not really "Linus".
2 If I remember correctly, my hypothesis was that she, like many people and many New Yorkers in particular, suffers from the delusion that her time is much more valuable than it actually is.
posted by Dktr. Blasphemy at 3:37 AM
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