Sammich--Equal Exchange

Oh hay, I'm back again. Yes, with another topic to hopelessly knock you off of your high and mighty I'm-a-customer-I'm-always-right throne and realize the truth: employees are humans. Unless we're Hitler.

Oh burn

Anyway, onto today's topic: equal exchange. You may think that your throwing money at us is a fair trade for our time, food and energy, but think again. Because you're wrong. I know--the truth hurts, but it will set you free.

As a customer, you're essentially paying for a service. You're paying us for:

a) The materials, such as machine costs and the food itself--

and b) Our time and energy. Our work as human beings.

Believe it or not, you're not paying us to be nice. Being nice is a marketing campaign--we use it to bring you back. Nobody likes someone who's mean...but you're certainly not paying us for it.

Sure, we can get fired for being jerks. But we're certainly not being paid to be nice.

Therefore, our kindness and smiles is not included in the wad of money you toss at our faces. It's completely separate. Consequently to that--we expect something in return.

And what better way to pay for a smile than with a smile of your own? : )

Time for an analogy. Say that we're married: you're my handsome hubby, and I'm your woman. Now, being your wife, I'm expected to make sandwiches for you. I make sandwiches every day for you after work; and you never say thank you. You just come home from work, thinking "I make money for her. She's just paying me back for my hard work."

But I say nay! I make sandwiches for you because I love and adore and appreciate you and all your being.

Now, what would be the best way for you to show your appreciation for me, in that situation? Stay longer after work? No--that would just frustrate you and leave me feeling guilty.

The best way to pay me back would to make a sandwich for me, of course. After a hard day of cleaning and baby-raising, what if you come home from work and made me a sandwich? Oh darling, we would have sweet romance.

In this analogy, the sandwiches are obviously the smiles; the work is the money. Giving us more money doesn't yield more smiles, it yields a bit of confusion.

"Smile at me. here's five bucks."

But sandwiches yield sandwiches. Smiles yield smiles. It's just how it works.

The meat:

You're not paying us to be nice, you're paying for a service.

Therefore, we're nice out of our own hearts.

We'd like to see some niceness from you too.

I know this whole post was like Swedish gibberish, but I just got home from a whopping five-hour shift and I'm totally beat. I guess I'll draw comics now, toodles!

Perfection

I've totally been neglecting you guys, sooo I'm sorry about that. I'm glad you're not puppies or small children.

Anyway, I come to you today with (what I consider) to be a relatively important topic: Perfection.

Ladies and Gentlemen.

There is no possible way--

No possible way in heaven, hell or Earth

in America, in Europe, Africa, Australia or Asia

That we can be perfect.

Not all women look like Megan Fox, not all men look like Antonio Banderas. It's a fact of life that you should take notice to.

Therefore--

If we screw up your order, don't hold it against us.

First off, we're human and make mistakes. And believe it or not, a lot of us are even further proned to make mistakes because we're under the stress of your approval. Although some of us might not seem like we care, ultimately, we're all trying to make you as happy as possible. And that's hard to do when you're staring us down.

We do ask stupid questions.

Our minds run a mile-a-minute, and sometimes we don't know what we're saying. On top of that, we have a billion or so pre-programmed phrases that (although you may have specified earlier that you didn't want any sauce for your nuggets) we'll present to you. We're not stupid, we don't think you're stupid. We're just running on a flipping crank-it-up-Russians-are-invading top speed.

All this being said, please don't expect us to be perfect. Laugh with us through our mistakes, or smile kindly.

Because the only thing we can be perfect with is our till (if we have one). I got word yesterday that my till was perfect. It felt so good.

The meat:

We're not perfect, won't ever be.

Laugh through our stupid questions.

We can only be perfect with our till count.