I’ve decided it’s time to start writing on a more broad selection of topics. Hence, my site has undergone a mild makeover (no plastic surgery) and is ready to receive some new blog posts based more around my endless thoughts and musings.
Every time I talk on the phone with my mum, she tells me that I complain too much. My response is that it’s her fault for raising a child who is part American and part British. The English are expert complainers over anything frivolous and will begin most conversations with a complaint about the weather or something their hairdresser did wrong. However, we will rarely complain to those that can actually make a difference, such as that hairdresser who did wrong. The Americans on the other hand will hold their complaints only for the people who matter (or twitter). My mother was never one to shy away from telling the waiter that we were seated at an insulting table or sending back a plate of food as it was not up up to her standards.
However, due to my mixed nationality and having lived in America for the past 3 years, I have become a dangerous mix of the two. I’ll complain to my friends about something I complained about earlier. Even if the matter has been resolved, I’ll still follow up with my British-style complaint as though this were my only way to handle the matter.
Growing up, I was not this way at all. I was always embarrassed by my mother’s willingness to complain to get her way, and thought the best way to deal would be to suffer in silence (the British way). However, after having moved to America, I began to see the beauty of my mother’s ways. I was already an expert complainer after years of doing it in secret, and now I was able to put my skills to good use. I complained to the bank and got given $20 (owed to me) on the spot, rather than waiting weeks. I got IKEA to deliver furniture parts that were missing without having to return to the store where we had picked them up from. I learned that if you actually complained about things, your problems were resolved.
It wasn’t until I began working in the customer service department of a New York establishment that I realized what I had actually been doing. I had thought complaints were just the way people dealt with problems and everyone’s matters were fixed in America because of this. However, it turns out I had just entered myself into a select group of “problem people”. At my new job, whenever there was a problem, our orders were to calm the individual and then try and appease them by explaining the situation. We were also told that if someone was getting angry or was not appeased by our explanations, we should transfer them to our supervisor who would make special allowances.
special allowances.
That’s what all these people I’d interacted with had done for me. I was their problem customer who had to be appeased by going the extra mile. I wasn’t being treated like everyone else, I was being treated like a crying baby who needed to be shut up. I wasn’t so much disappointed in my own behavior but that of the industry itself. Those individuals that were nice to us and patient were told to wait another few weeks for their product, and those that complained and yelled and made us feel like lesser humans were given expedited shipping and invites to special promotions.
I realized how backwards the whole system is; the people who are kind get nothing, and those that are belligerent get special treatment.
It becomes an issue of should I be nice and get nothing, or be a little angrier and get what I am owed. Whilst I am not proud personally to say this, I still do demand to speak to managers to get my own way. I am aware of the lack of power in the person who answers the phone and I know that their job is to get me off the line with understanding but no changes made. So I’m not proud to admit it, but sometimes I get a little mean to get what I want.
An apology to anyone I’ve talked to on the phone if I’ve gotten a little mean.