Let’s say you are a bank teller.
You are there in your booth with your fresh haircut or your new hairdo, your name tag dangling from your neck, or pinned on your breast pocket.
I, a customer who just spent 30 torturous minutes standing in a long queue that is moving terribly slowly, am there with you, withdrawing funds, or making a deposit, or receiving some money via MoneyGram from this person I just met online.
Whilst attending to my needs and desires, Shii, from customer service, walks into your booth, carrying a paper, and asks you something while handing it to you.
She leans on your desk, placing one arm on it and holding the other arm akimbo. She is looking at you. You give that paper careful observation and tell her something.
She shakes her head in protest, her big, beaded earrings swinging and gently slapping her cheeks, and then points at something on the paper.
You examine it again. Then you dismissively tell her something as you give her back the paper. She leaves.
Then you focus your attention back on me. Before you are done fulfilling my financial fantasies, Shii comes back, holding the same paper. She tells you something.
You grab the paper from her, get up, and together disappear into an opaque glass door.
I stand at the booth feeling a bit agitated and wait. I fiddle with the cord that is attaching a pen to the booth. I wait. I do not know what to do with my life. I shift my weight to the other leg.
I can feel other customers, impatiently waiting in the queue behind me, deliberately sighing loudly and clucking their tongues, loathing me for taking too long at the booth.
Feeling judged
I feel them despising me for having a transaction that takes more than three minutes. Detesting me for being that person who makes the teller go to other rooms to do whatever it is they go there to do.
I can feel them all looking at me in disgust, as if I am the monster that had farted earlier on, the horrid smell making the queue break as people, their nostrils and lungs brutally violated by the fetid, reeking fumes from a rotten bowel, scrambled to safety, desperately gasping for some non-polluted air.
There had been untold confusion, while people, petrified, spoke in different languages to express their shock and revulsion towards such a transgression. It wasn’t me. But now I look like a strong suspect.
After 10 minutes or so, you come back, accompanied by Shii, laughing together about something amusing.
She is still holding that darned paper in one hand, the other hand resting on your shoulder, as she bows her head in hysterical laughter, her shoulders rhythmically shaking with the roar.
I am incensed. I am itching to say something in a foul language. Then you sit down, she says something, then quickly goes away.
And then, with no apologies, you finish up what you were doing with me as if you did not just walk out on me. As if you did not just abandon and neglect me when I most needed you.
Or let’s say you are a civil servant. I am there at your desk, in your unkempt, open-plan offices that have old posters of voter registration campaigns.
I am tired and frustrated and I just need you to fill out your part on these forms and sign them. Then I will be at rest.
I have been pursuing this thing for months, and you guys have been acting as though you are not paid to give me State service.
So, finally, here we are. You are (finally) playing your part and I am (finally) beaming with hope and optimism.
As you are in the middle of showing your commitment to me, and letting me see that the months of frustration have all been a big misunderstanding, Davy, from two desks away, comes to your desk and places an open file right on top of the form you were filling. My form.
He is holding a large phone that looks like a 40-inch Samsung LED Smart TV. He adjusts his trousers.
He wants you to confirm something. Haya. You confirm. Davy refutes your confirmation. Then a heated debate ensues. You firmly stand your ground, unmoved by Davy’s argument and presentation.
Loud cough
You tap on the desk with your pen as you stress on some particular, important words in your extrapolation.
Davy slaps the desk as he emphasises an interesting point. Then he swipes the screen of his huge phone, scrolls, swipes, then gives you the phone for you to see something that supports his defence.
I sit there looking at you two, completely oblivious of my presence, feeling peeved. I remind you of my presence by letting out a loud, bronchial cough, followed by a fake clearing of my throat.
It appears to work, because then, you pick up the file that has been the source of conflict between you and Davy, close it, then hand it to him.
You tell him to look for you when he is armed with facts. He takes the file while laughing, and starts walking away.
You then, as if you did not just waste 10 precious minutes of my existence, get back to work. I feel some relief.
But my relief is short-lived because when Davy gets to Josephine’s desk, behind yours, he loudly asks her something related to that debate. You hear Josephine’s answer. It goes against what you believe in.
Immediately, you turn around to face Josephine, while Davy taunts, “You see? I told you!” And another debate is born.
And then after you have argued your point, you turn back to me and, with no apologies, finish up with the form as if you have not just reduced my life expectancy, and made me feel unimportant and unloved.
You people, when you are attending to a client, and a colleague comes up to you for whatever, can you, please, just ask them to let you finish with the client first?
Or just do not go to your colleague for anything when they are clearly engaged with a client.
[wankavengi@gmail.com]