No Service, No Sale

I wouldn’t have believed it if I’d only heard about the course of events, but I was actually there and got to see the whole thing. Chances are no one else noticed me, otherwise perhaps things would have been different, but I was there, in the background, with my mouth hanging open in sheer amazement. And all because someone was incapable of making a milk coffee and didn’t know that ham is meat.

Now, I might have mentioned this in an earlier post, but it runs something like this: an order for a bread roll without meat, since there is nothing else in the café on display but you can normally expect someone to make a fresh roll for you, gets answered with an offer of a ham roll. A cup of milk coffee – hot milk with coffee – to take out results in a cup of black coffee, no milk anywhere near. A complaint about the two events to the two members of staff concerned results in abuse.

Normally you’d think that would be it. Someone somewhere would try to find out if ham really is meat and, perhaps, whether milk coffee includes milk in the recipe. It’s not exactly rocket science. Nothing of the kind. In fact, completely the opposite, as I discovered as I waited for a good friend of mine to pay his gas bill so that we could get on with the afternoon, and despite the fact that this encounter over ham and coffee took place several weeks ago.

Photo Source: Susan Stienstra – Creative Commons

All he did was top up the gas tank while I went into the shop, then come in, greet those there with the usual ‘Good Morning’ – which is a quaint German custom, whether you know anyone there or not – and walk to the cash desk.

The man and woman standing at the cash desk promptly went off in different directions, leaving him there, gas tank full, payment in his hand, alone. Then the man decided it might be better to serve or, at the very least, get the money, so he came back with a ‘what do you want’ in an exceptionally rude and unfriendly tone. This is when my mouth began to sag downwards: I have never seen this sort of reaction from anyone in a shop, store, gas station or anywhere else where service is offered.

My friend said, politely, that he’d like to pay for number eight – the station number – with his bank card. The assistant replied with a ‘there’ and pointed to the card reader, tapped on the till to get the right station and walked away again. My friend inserted his card, typed in the code, removed his card. The woman came over, took the receipt out of the printer, slapped it on the counter and walked away.

The Classic gas station here is supposed to be one of the best ones in the north of Germany. It is, after all, situated in the town where the company which owns it, and which operates as a well-known mineral oil supplier for the whole of northern and some of eastern Germany, was founded in 1882 and still has its headquarters. The Classic Oil company – which is actually called Lühmann KG – frequently points out that it has been voted the most popular gas station company in northern Germany although, I have since discovered, this is apparently a vote amongst gas station owners and not from customers.

I asked my friend why he put up with such disrespectful, obnoxious service when this gas station is not the only one in town. Was it worth, I asked him, the one cent he saves on each liter of gas? I should point out that the people who run the gas station – in a franchise manner – are apparently contractually obligated to remain one cent cheaper than their rival in the same town; whether that is true in this case or not I do not know. His answer surprised me: he buys his gas there because the owner of the company – not the gas station owner – has always been friendly, polite and helpful to him. The owner has helped many ordinary people in town and used his position to improve life for many wherever possible. The staff make no difference to him, he knows that they have next to no real training as sales staff and, I suspect, possibly no real education – but I could be wrong there, perhaps they are just plain obnoxious as a rule – which could have helped them get on better in life. They have chance to earn a living there, part-time or full-time, and perhaps their entire existence revolves around this job.

Photo Source: WeiterWinkel – Creative Commons

I can understand his perspective, I know how much he does to help other people and how much he has helped me over the years that I’ve been here. Even so, we had a long conversation – long because, as you know, it takes me a while to get my side of the talking across! – and came to an agreement. It has nothing to do with the one cent he saves by buying gas at Classic, the difference in price for him is perhaps one Euro fifty a month, and more to do with what he considers a form of friend. However friendship has its limits, and the treatment he received – which I witnessed – today at Classic, has nothing to do with friendship and no direct connection to the owners of the oil company either. It has to do with service or, in this case, a complete lack of service right down to the basics of rudeness and abuse.

We will be steering our wheels towards the other gas station in future – even though it is not a local one, not a local company – and paying the extra one cent for a liter there. That is, both of us. I most certainly won’t be shopping there again, not after what I witnessed today. And if any of our friends ask why, I shall explain. Perhaps a few more will pay the extra one cent in future, even though the staff – the people who are paid to provide service – won’t even notice the difference, it makes a difference to us.

Love & Kisses, Viki.

The post No Service, No Sale appeared first on Viktoria Michaelis.