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Cicero would like to apologise that due to unforeseen and
unavoidable family matters his presence has been lacking for a few weeks.
Hopefully you will all be re-assured to welcome his return to the blogosphere.
Yesterday evening when wending his weary home from the
centre for creative and marketing excellence where he is currently privileged
to ply his trade, Cicero had to stop at a local petrol station to fill up his
chariot.
This was naturally quite straightforward.
The madness started when he stepped up to pay for his fuel
.
When asked to specify what pump he had used, the acne
disfigured youth who was manning the pay station and with whom Cicero was
totally unfamiliar, referred to Cicero as ‘mate’.
When he was informed of the amount owed, Cicero was now
known as ‘buddy’.
And when asked to enter the four digits that compose his PIN
he was now ‘bud’.
This level of faux and faked familiarity shows the contempt
with which this well-known petroleum retailer shows its customers. Cicero wants
respect not familiarity from those to whom Cicero hands over his bawbees. The
occasional ‘sir’ would not go amiss.
And surely given the name is on the card it is not beyond the wit of the pimply and acned
yoof who seem to man pay stations everywhere these days-something to do with Minimum
Pay it is wagered- to use this information to apply the correct soubriquet (Mr,
Mrs, Miss, Ms) and use the name.
We call this respect for those who pay the wages of those
who choose to serve us, the customer.
So let this be a warning to any out there who may get the chance
to serve Cicero in the coming days, weeks, months, years. Do not think of him or
refer to him as a mate, buddy, bud, pal or any other word that implies
friendship or kinship unless and until and not before he has acknowledged your
friendship and admitted you to his small and close rank of friends.
Until that point he is Mr Cicero or even Sir.
Got it.
Buds are for flowers not customers.
Have a great week.
Sis felix. Et sis fortunatus.
1 comment:
Dearest Mr. Cicero, Sir,
Delighted, though, I'm sure we all are at your much awaited return, it would appear that you are still as distracted by irrelevancies and trifles as you were before your break. Please allow me to trouble you with the facts once again!
The days of having an obsequious petrol pump attendant standing by to fill your chariot and dot your petrol buying experience with pleasantries and platitudes have gone. Well gone! That there still exist staff with whom you can interact is to be marvelled at as so many services, such as those provisioning train tickets or supermarket shopping are increasingly self-operational now.
The petroleum companies are there to sell you petrol. From your description, this undertaking was delivered without fuss or inconvenience. You describe no arduous queues. The pumps themselves appeared to be well plemished with the requisite petrol you needed and your payment transaction seems to have gone without a hitch.
The dialogue, wished for or not, is "value add". The underpaid youth has no obligation to proclaim your name or attribute you with knighthoods. He did not strive to insult you, hinder or retain you. He delivered with alacrity a service that met your immediate customer needs in, what he would have considered to be a friendly and convivial manner.
I'm sure a fellow of your good social standing should not need to be so dependant upon such false, fatuous sycophancy anyway. For myself I am quite repulsed at the oily slither that I am presented with in emporia for the well-heeled.
Far from being pleased at my name being noted and utilised, I would consider any close inspection of my payment card to be a gross invasion of privacy and I should report any perpetrator immediately to the appropriate authorities.
In these times of employment defectors where a good number of people are feckless and work-shy, I think the young gentlemen in question should be praised for his obvious committed application to his duties and an extra £1 pressed into his hand for his open warmth and bonhomie.
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