Dare you ask

In the course of any study chump's retail career, the Question is bound to come up. The Question being, of course, "How are you?" A deeply considerate and caring inquiry into the health, happiness and general contentedness-of-being of another human person, this Question is typically used as a segway between greeting the customer and taking their order. The people who ask it rarely listen to the answer, and the people who answer it don't even listen to themselves. As a matter of fact, on several occasions, my customers have answered despite my not having asked.

"Hi there, how can I help you?"
"Good thanks, just browsing..."

Yah-huh.
In fact, in three solid years of customer service work, I have never asked the Question to a customer. This is on principle. I don't believe the pleasantry is worth my time, or theirs. Their answer won't be honest, and neither will my asking. I don't care. I despise "good thanks", but I don't want to hear about their recent cold, either.
Don't get me wrong. I pride myself in my level of customer service. I put genuine effort into pleasing my customers, whether it be by using the right kind of smile, a joke, or a special flourish on the plate I serve them. Hell, this week I charmed a cantankerous old woman by confiding my rare love for cream on cheesecake, which she had fussily requested.
But no personal inquiries. It's not my business. My business is cakes and shit.

My feelings about asking the Question are no doubt related to my own attitude in answering it.
Back in 2004, the year I got my first job, a friend told me she couldn't even imagine me working with customers. I was too cynical, she said.
"Just think. You'd ask how they are, and they'd go, 'okay, you?' and you'd just say, 'crap'."
She spoke the truth. I always give an honest answer to the Question, no matter who asks it. Certainly the response may be condensed if I am speaking to a person I don't know. At a supermarket checkout, this sort of exchange is typical:

"Hi, how are you today?"
"Hungry."

By contrast, here is the answer I gave an old acquaintance the other day when he dared to inquire:

"In the short term, I'm okay, could be better.
In the medium term, quite excellent and tremendously happy.
In long term terms, I'm fucked!"

He requested clarification. A mistake, perhaps.

"Part One: Short Term
I have a cold. I'm not breathing properly because of the wall of mucus between the oxygen and my windpipe. I have headaches and weariness. Last night I had work - I work at Village now, behind the bar in Cinema Europa. The guy who was meant to work with me called in sick and they didn't replace him. I therefore had to work alone. It was busy. It was hectic. I had no help. I had to be three people at once: podium ticket-ripper, bar service, and cinema cleaner. Barely got anything done to schedule and the customers just kept coming... you know, you can't serve customers while you're cleaning, and so they come into the cinema, confused, and watch you sweeping away popcorn. Please wait outside, sir. And yeah, I was unwell. So it was exhausting work and when I got home, I was a little bit ill, but pleased to be home and relaxing.

"Part Two: Medium Term
I'm on holiday! Things are good. Keeping myself amused by exploiting my free movie privileges (anything you want to see, I'll take ya) and commenting on my Dad's blog. (I'm cool, remember? Remember how cool I am?) Spending quality time with my friends and my girlfriend, feeling wealthy and self-satisfied, and doing a good deal of snacking.

"Part Three: Long Term
I have no career prospects and I'm scared that I will move back into my father's house when I'm thirty and never leave. I still don't know what I want to be, and I've only got one year of university left... shitshitshitshitshit... and sure, I can always complete further education, hell, I'm only doing an Arts degree, but WHAT? I still have no idea.

"So that's how I am. Oh, and update on the short term: THERE IS A FLY IN MY ROOM. IT WILL NOT STOP CIRCLING THE LIGHTBULB. OR, SQUARING WOULD BE MORE PRECISE. IT IS TURNING CORNERS IN THE AIR. I HAVE NO INSECT SPRAY."

I think the trouble is that I take the Question too literally. I know what it really means. I know it means, "I am being nice to you. See how pleasantly I speak? Let us begin to converse."

By chance I was up in Elwood early this week, ordering food at a fish and chip shop. The place was run by an Asian couple. The woman took orders while the man cooked them. She greeted me: "Hi whatdoyouwant?"
When I had paid for my order, she scribbled the number 74 on a piece of receipt paper and shoved it into my hand. "Thankyoubye."
I marveled at the abruptness, the seeming rudeness of this service, and mentioned it to a co-worker the next day. My co-worker replied that she'd found - not to be racist, but she'd found - that often Asians were like that, really aprupt, or direct, in their exchanges. They were snappy and wanted to get things done in a hurry, because they generally hold the view that the customer will be happier the faster they can get what they want. Which of course makes perfect sense. Except that in Australia, and probably in most English-speaking countries, we've got this nervous desire to feel loved and nurtured by the people that serve us. We want our soup ladled with love; our clothes dry-cleaned with respect. And so we've cultivated all these pleasantries, these extra little things to say to one another to assure each other that we're important.

At work, at the moment, we are being tested on our customer service skills. "Mystery shoppers" visit the cinema, purchasing tickets and popcorn and seeing our movies, and they assess our customer service abilities. We've been given a little checklist outlining the "steps of service" that we will be assessed on. 100% is the only pass mark. Included in the checklist are "wearing name badge" and "friendly parting greeting". Apparently, it is absolutely necessary to instruct each patron to enjoy their film.

So I say that pleasantries have gone too far. I say that people need to learn to accept the cold hard facts: your checkout operator is not concerned about your wellbeing. Nobody's really "okay". The sound of your voice asking the Question doesn't even reach their brains before their mouths respond.
I say it is time to reserve the Question for when you really damn well mean it.

Do you care how I'm feeling?
Have you got time to hear about it?
What if it's bad news?
Can you handle that?
What if I need help?
What if I'm not okay?

All right then. Ask away.