I started working at 16 and was always taught from my parents as well as employers that the customer is always right. In other words if you work a taco stand and a customer says they saw a commercial for $2.99 Ribeyes, you had better be running to a store for them rather than explain that they have the wrong place. Repeat service and advertising by word of mouth was the name of the game. It seems though that this is no longer necessary. In fact my motto in the last couple of years has become “the customer is always right, except when I am the customer”. This would be because no matter where I go, when something goes wrong, I find the finger pointing back at me. Here is an example from my day today.

I have been bounced through multiple appointments and approvals for five months trying to get a tuba ligation. I had finally arrived at the day of my pre-op this morning to rush around dressing little ones, drag them out and about with entertainment and snacks in hand anticipating a long wait, and get settled in a chair in my ob’s office, when an hour into the juggling act and 25 minutes after arriving I am informed the Dr. is not in and I will have to return on a different day. The first offer was to return on Wednesday at 5pm. Uh, sure. I have three kids, with two who will be nagging to go trick-o-treating the second they wake up, but I am certain though they would prefer sitting in a Dr.’s office watching birth videos instead, thanks, but I think I will pass. After many attempts to reschedule we found a day that worked, but not before the unnecessary eye rolling and sigh from the assistant at having to look for something else. The look on my face must have been pure psychosis as I wanted to cross over the counter and take out the scrawny 19 year old who most assuredly has no idea what jumping through these hoops again in the same week with a full schedule means. There was never an apology or explanation offered just a silent “get the hell out” look.

My next stop today was to exchange some pants at Walmart since my son has gone from an 8, to a 10, to a 12 in less than a year and didn’t fit the new pants he needed for his costume. This is where I was ignored by an over worked, bitter, cashier who would apparently rather munch on her donut than acknowledge the guest standing behind her. I presented my receipt and kindly explained them not fitting my fast growing son and received nothing more than a blank stare and my refund slapped down on the counter.

Day not going so good, and over an hour until my son got out of school, I stopped for lunch. Though I suppose I should have anticipated from the empty parking lot a long wait, it would never have occurred to me that a french dip could be mistaken for a grilled chicken sandwich. 45 minutes into remaking the order it finally arrives as the server nudges toward an explanation of “MY” error in ordering being the cause of the mistake. Silly me, I forgot that the word chicken was slang for beef in some social networks. Once again the customer is always right, except when I am the customer.