I’ve had one service-related job in my lifetime. It was when I was in high school and I worked in the bag room at The Country Club of Scranton. The job was decent. We had four or six hour shifts and we made minimum wage plus tips (sometimes) for club cleaning, club schlepping, etc. Also, we got to play all the free golf we wanted to on Mondays. That alone was worth it for me.
However, like just about anywhere you go, the Club wasn’t without its share of insufferable cocksucking members. I would say 92,7% of the membership were polite and treated us like we weren’t their personal slaves. But that other 7.3%…FUCK THEM. It wasn’t even their complete lack of tipping that annoyed me, it was their inability to be anything other than pretentious shitbags. But you know what? I should be thanking them, because if it wasn’t for their behavior, I might have made the horrific mistake of pursuing a career with more human interaction. They really helped me dodge that bullet.
Anyway, now that I’ve made this post entirely about ME, let’s talk about Australian author Patrick Lenton who recently tweeted a story about the time he was fed-up with a aggressive and irrational customer when he worked for Sydney airlines. He didn’t just sit there and stew about it, though. He went as far as (kind of) faking his own death after the customer insisted Lenton do something even after Lenton told the guy it was unsafe.