Is it an art?

Posted by bakerboy on Nov 25, 2011 | Comments Off

I was strolling up to the window at my credit union and rolled down the car window, popped out the capsule, slid in my check and deposit slip, placed it back into the vacuum…and waited. I changed the radio station a few times, popped in a cd, made a couple of personal notes…and to this point had received no greeting.

I look up to the window, but of course could not see through their reflective privacy glass…so it was as if I were looking at myself. This is where I began to practice some patience…thinking to myself, well, there’s a car in the other lane, I guess you could say they are…nope; that doesn’t cut it. You can’t say they’re busy simply because there’s another car there. Maybe the lady behind the counter was having a bad day. Although I believe it is part of their responsibility to check their personal problems at the door when they come in for work, because their job is all about us at that point…not about them, however, this course of thinking does not reflect an attitude which states that I should be handing out smiles to those who need them. I should be thinking about how I may be of service to others as my hero as exemplified throughout his life…not how can they serve me.

After another couple of minutes, I received the capsule back, a little cash, and my receipt along with a very short and quick, “Thank You” which to their own dismay, is what I have come to expect from this credit union. Afterwards, I take the dough over to my bank, stroll up to the window, slide the money in the capsule, press the button, and once again…begin to wait…patiently. Within 1 minute, I hear an angelic voice saying, “Welcome to Wells Fargo, my name is Angela, …making a deposit today?”

With confusion draped across my face I reply, “Yup. That’s it.” A couple of moments later I hear the capsule coming through the flute and a voice very politely saying, “Thanks so much for visiting us today, you have a wonderful weekend.” Again…remember I was at a bank. I drove away asking myself, “Where am I? In What Twilight Zone episode am I? Into What dimension did I accidentally fall? With money and receipt in hand I continued to drive away with the notion that perhaps the art of customer service is not dead, even though it should have never been considered an art form, but you rarely see it in the World Gone Mad.

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