Attention Shakespeare

Pardon me, Will, but I have answered your infamous question:

"Customer service, oh customer service, wherefore art thou, customer service?"

The answer, sadly, is nowhere. At least as evidenced by the near dozen phone calls and interactions I have had lately that have left me confused, frustrated and unserviced.

Twice, so-called customer service personnel have told me to have "common sense." Not only is that a bit rude, but in one instance such common sense meant knowing a complicated search term that only a hardcore computer geek would know ... or someone with little computer knowledge who is reading off a generic troubleshooting sheet.

The thing is, I'm not THAT customer. You know, the one who demands a different table at a restaurant, who insists on getting compensation for any slight, who rails on a slightly slow cashier or who yells at someone on the phone who had nothing to do with the problem that spurred the call ... Who says things like, "I'm the customer!"

In fact, I loathe THAT customer. I just don't understand people who expect 5-star service from a mediocre restaurant with a teenage waiting staff. I don't get it when someone insists on speaking to the manager unless they've been physically assaulted by the previous helper. And I don't think anyone deserves to be treated like royalty unless their first name starts with "King," "Queen," or "Really, really, ridiculously rich guy."

But I do think customer service should be helpful. I do think, for example, that you shouldn't return a computer without even looking at it and then insist on having it sent back. And I do think, for example, that you shouldn't punish me for trying to get paperwork in order ahead of time. And I definitely think you shouldn't ask me to hold and then precede to tell the person next to you all about your weekend barbecue, no matter how tasty those wings were.

I mean, I'm the customer.