The looks and the lifestyle.
I want a new job.
It's not that I hate the company I work for (how do you hate someone who
keeps paying you, as long as they remain financially solvent and pay you at
least what they SAY they will?); I just don't think I can do another 10
years in Customer Service. Now, before you start asking me where I've
hidden the Just For Men (ok, ok, I admit it; I use Rogaine, and copious
amounts of it...), take a minute and realize that I have been in some form
of Customer Service position since I first started working. When was that,
you ask, snickering at the Ancient One, that August Personage In Cheese (my
apologies to the estate of Sax Rohmer)? 20 or 28 years, depending on when
you start the clock.
When I was almost 5, I trotted through the neighborhood door-to-door,
trying to sell postcards I'd received. I raised five dollars before Mom and
Dad caught up with me. I made sure that everyone who bought a postcard was invited to my father's upcoming 40th birthday party...well, I invited them. My parents may have had a different guestlist, but they've always had a slightly different social agenda than I do. I'm all about inclusion.
When I was 14, I looked about 19, which allowed me to purchase discounted periodicals of many, many varieties, some of which were less well-respected than they are now; a friend took them to school with
him, I found some buyers in homeroom, and we cleaned up (for a pair of 14-year-olds, anyway). In retrospect, he may have just bought them for
himself, but as long as the customer is happy, they can say and do what they like.
I believe that all fields are actually Customer Service, if you're doing
the job right. Pimps, hookers, lawyers, guys who run fruit stands...they're
just like normal people; they have a service to provide, and if you're not
happy, their profit margin can plummet. On the flip side, though, every
person you talk to on the phone regarding a typo that costs you thousands
in tax refunds, every cashier who seems a tad developmentally disabled,
every yutz you accidentally vote into the Oval Office...they're in CS, too.
They get gnawed on, just like you and I do (if they're even capable of
paying attention). People who don't realize the importance of good relations with the anonymous voice, the faceless waitstaff, the ubiquitous valet, are among the truly lost souls in this world. Treat folks right, and at least they'll feel bad when the transaction fails, the food isn't fit for Enron convicts, or the stain really won't come out of your good purple crushed-velvet fedora.
Does the world need love, sweet love? No. It needs people who sympathize, people who realize, who theorize on their own time but bust ass to make The Man's dime. They're all around you. Chances are, they ARE you, somewhere or other.