Friday, June 9, 2017

On Customer Service


by William Snyder


© 2016 William Snyder


The shop was empty. A somber, middle aged woman from somewhere on the other side of the world stood behind the counter to not greet me. 

"Hello," I said.


The woman said absolutely nothing. As a matter of fact, she pretty much gave me the stink eye. I could have walked out - but I was hungry. And the sandwiches were cheap.

I ordered a meatball sandwich on Italian herbs and cheese bread. 

She barely opened her mouth to ask, "Toasted?"

"Please," I responded, flashing my winningest smile.

Removing the sandwich from the oven, she complied with my request to add lettuce, tomatoes, black olives, banana peppers, jalapenos, Chipolte Southwest sauce and light Parmesan cheese.

"Meal deal?" she asked, looking at me as if I had a swastika carved into my forehead. 

"Just the sandwich."


"Three-sixteen."

I handed her four dollars and she dropped the change into my hand. 

Another customer appeared behind me. 

"Can I help you?" she said, looking right through me.

I didn't get a can I help you.

"Hold on a minute," I said.

The woman looked at me, stink eye on maximum.

"Who owns this place?" I demanded

"I do."

"And you don't see fit to say thank you after a customer frequents your place?"

Nothing but major league stink eye.

"I tell you what, I'm never coming back here."

She smiled her winningest smile and said,"Thank you!" 

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