I am in training to take phone calls. My supervisor is, well, more street-smart than book-smart. So far I have heard another supervisor misuse the word “poignant.” I believe she meant “pertinent,” as we collect info about defective products, not emotion-evoking memories. Today, this supervisor began yelling at me for not showing “empathy” in a response email. “Empathy” means responding with or acknowledging emotions and “I’m sorry” is considered to be one of the worst ways to empathize because it shows pity.

Like many people who have no idea what a word actually means, this supervisor clings to one example of its usage. When I tried to explain that “empathy” can include, “Wow, that sounds frustrating,” or, “I am here to help with that!” this supervisor accused me of “not accepting feedback.”

The best/worst part of it was that said supervisor showed zero empathy for my point of view!

I was informed by said supervisor that I need to accept feedback with a “thank you.” And you can bet that I will one-up that by being all, “Thank you, ma’am,” “Of course, ma’am,” “I will work on that, ma’am,” while I pray for a new job to show up soon!

(I work near the United States border at a business which mainly caters to Canadians. I wish I had a loony for every time this exchange took place.)

Me: “Okay, your total is $5.00.”

Customer: “Hmm, how much is that in Canadian?”

Me: *already wary* “If you have $7.00 Cdn, that will cover it.”

Customer: *hands me a $10*

Me: *deep, calming breath* “Okay. This Canadian ten is worth seven US dollars. You owe us five US. So, I’m going to give you two US in change. Okay?”

Customer: *thinks*

Me: *thinking* “Please understand it… Please understand it… Please understand it…”

Customer: “But you owe me $3!”

Me: *wishes we had conquered Canada back in 1812*

(When I was about 11, I used to stuff invoice envelopes in the back room of the business my dad and his friend owned for a bit of extra money on weekends. My brother, and three other children also did this. At this time I was running the automatic stamping machine.)

Customer: They make stamping machines??

(I work at the order desk for a company that supplies drugstores with all of their merchandise – pharmaceuticals, candy, cigarettes, you name it. Drugstore employees call me and give me their orders, which I enter on my computer. I work in the office area, and all of the items are stored in a separate warehouse. I can depend on having a conversation like this at least once a week:)

Customer: “I want some cigarettes.”

Me: “Sure. What kind?”

Customer: “Uh… I don’t know the name. You know, the ones in the red box.”

Me: “Sorry, I don’t know which ones those are.”

Customer: “The red box.”

Me: “I’ll need a name, sir, plus a quantity.”

Customer: “Tell you what, honey. You run over to wherever you store those things, find alllllll the ones in red boxes, write down the names, and then come tell me what they are.”

Me: “I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir–”

Customer: “Let me guess; too much work?”

Me: “No. I mean that the cigarettes are stored in a warehouse, and I don’t have access to it.”

Customer: “Yeah, right. Wait— You’re new, aren’t you?”

Me: “No, sir. I’ve worked here for six months.”

Customer: “Then you should know which cigarettes come in red boxes!”

Me: *sigh*

(I work at a company that requires you to use an ID badge to get through the front doors. However, rather than having an automatic reader you scan, there is instead a manual, hand-held scanner that the person behind the reception desk will use to scan the ID. If they get the green light, they’ll then hit a button behind the desk to open the doors. On this particular day, I get to the desk while I am still trying to pull my ID out of my pocket. The lady behind the desk is someone who I’ve never seen before.)

Receptionist: “You need to present your ID.”

Me: *cheerfully* “Yep, sorry. It got stuck in my pocket.”

Receptionist: *rolls her eyes* “If you don’t have an ID, you aren’t getting in.”

(At that moment, I manage to pull it free of the fold it was stuck on, and hold it out.)

Me: “Right, sorry. There you go.”

Receptionist: *not even looking at my card* “You need a card to get in.”

Me: *slowly wiggling it back and forth* “Yes, it’s right here.”

Receptionist: *turns away and starts fiddling with her computer* “I can’t just let you in without an ID.”

Me: *frustrated at this point* “I know, which is why I have my ID right here.”

(She doesn’t respond, leaving me standing there with my ID out. After a moment, one of the security officers for the building comes over.)

Officer: “Is there a problem?”

Receptionist: *wheeling around* “He’s trying to get in without an ID.”

(The officer looked between the card in my hand and the receptionist, before reaching over and picking up the hand scanner. He didn’t say a word as he scanned my card, the light flashed green, and he then reached around and hit the door-open button behind the desk. Throughout all this, the receptionist kept looking at him, continuing to not even acknowledge that my card existed. I left at that point, and I haven’t seen that woman at the desk since then. I’m still not sure if this was some sort of weird power play on her part, or if her brain really was filtering out the existence of my ID card.)