A Delicate Subject

Here's a subject that I've been mulling over a while. In fact, it was what got me interested in starting the blog in the first place. But the trouble is...it's a little hard to tell you about. Because we love and value all our customers, our supporters, without whom there wouldn't even be a Half & Half. So when I tell you about this, don't take it personally, because it's not you: I'm talking about someone else. I'm talking about the guy (or lady) (that isn't you!) who talks too much. The guy/girl who, despite the number of customers who might walk in the door while he's talking, does not stop, but might begin speaking louder in case we can't hear. This person could be someone I have never seen before, or a regular, or someone who normally keeps to themselves but for some reason has chosen this moment to open up, to tell you a story about their housemate, to share a complaint about their boss. And I am very much interested, entertained, amused and/or sympathetic, until I realize that have about a thousand things to do right at this moment. I will try subtlety, like offering a conclusive, "well! you know!" as a sort of Wrap-It-Up tool. I will make eye contact with the other customers, in the hopes that the compulsive talker will notice there are others in line. And then I get mad. I try to hide it, but I am not hiding it very well, because as this person is following me around my very small work area, continuing with a story which I am no longer hearing, a voice echoes in my head, "shut the fuck up! shut the fuck up! Let me work! Please, let me do my work!" Sometimes, the talker will pause as to allow me to help other people, or answer the phone. But after the break, it feels awkward even to me to not make some acknowledgment that clearly they are not done conversing, so lo and behold, we are back where we started.

I often ask myself, what is this phenomenon? Is it the "service" aspect that allows people take a narcissistic plunge, or is it from loneliness, or are these people high? Aside from the momentary rage when my patience craps out, I don't dislike any of these people. Some are really good friends. Which then makes me wonder if I am the asshole. Really, I believe it is all these things. More often than they don't, people want to talk about themselves. It's the most natural thing in the world (hello! read my blog!) And I would be no good at my job if I weren't interested in people, listening to as well as entertaining them. I know that more than a few times, or a few times a day, I force customers to listen and comment on my tales of mirth and woe, and they are as much a captive audience when I am making their latte, as I am when I'm waiting for their $2.65. My defense: they get to leave. Everyone has their story, and we are all desperate to be heard above the cacophony, so we just talk louder. I wonder if this an effect of living in Portland, a city full of people who are so progressive and open, and so defensive of their personal space. I am going to be in New England next week--let's see what it's like for me on the other side of the counter. Fortunately, I already know all the warning signs if I find myself elaborating on "how am I today."