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Wednesday, 5 November 2014


I was in the health centre the other day ordering a repeat prescription.  I stood at the window and waited.  As I waited, I was privileged to watched two receptionists footering away on keyboards and scanning computer screens for whatever their quest was at that moment.  I knew that at least one receptionist was aware of my presence but footer away she did, no eye contact, no "I'll just be a minute", no kiss-my-arse (not allowed anyway according to the employee handbook), nothing, zip, nada.

A few minutes later, her eyes still locked on the obviously hypnotic screen: "Can I help?"  Just three practical, efficient, robotic words.

I ordered the prescription and walked away, without hearing any parting comments.  Obviously, like a germ, I was an irritation.

Human beings in close proximity, one a server, the other to be served had just experienced a communication process that was as warm as a naked person on his way up a ski slope exchanging unpleasantries with another on the way down.

Customer service is not just about shops, restaurants and hotels.  I suppose in their defence, M'Lord, health centre workers deal with so much misery that eventually, for some, it seeps into their very souls.

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