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Lisa's |
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Write:
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GO SERVE YOURSELF! Most of us are average, everyday people, working for a
living at whatever we may do. Basically,
our days, weeks, months, and years are consumed by catering to other people.
Once in a while, we all enjoy the luxury of being served by others for a
change. We’d like this privilege
all the time, although only the wealthy elite is allowed the right. Therefore, the seldom chances we have to be indulged in
whatever little pampering we relish are clenched. I remember the excitement of buying new shoes years ago.
As a teenager, I felt like a million bucks purchasing a twenty-dollar
fashionable pair. The salesperson
would ask what I was interested in and show me comparable styles, complete with
front and lateral views. After
measuring my feet with one of those flat metal devices for accuracy, the store
representative was off to retrieve the objects of my desire.
Waiting impatiently, three or four stacked boxes with a pair of legs
underneath could be seen approaching towards me.
I smiled in sheer delight as each one was opened, revealing its glorious
contents. Slipping on each shoe
with the help of my personal assistant, I’d walk across the floor as if I were
a 5’4” runway model. The
associate remained nearby and made sure the shoes fit properly. He or she was happy, or at least put on a good act, to show
me as many pairs as I deemed necessary. I
felt special, proud, and confident while making my purchase, as I was given the
right time of day; those were the days. Now, I walk into a shoe store and am faced with a
thousand boxes before my eyes. No
one asks if I need any assistance. Left
on my own to tackle the quest, I must locate the style, size, and determine the
proper fit myself. I dare not ask
if my correct size is in the back room if not on the shelf. For I know it is not. The
universal response is: “Whatever’s out, ma’am.” I usually leave the store empty-handed and my feet aren’t
too happy, either. The rare
occasions I do manage to find a shoe that’s stylish, comfortable, and
available in my size, I rejoice. Several years ago, I shopped at a supermarket in
California with my aunt. As the
cashier was ringing up her groceries, I began packing them. My aunt asked me what in the world I was doing.
In California, as well as other parts of the country, the cashier
actually bags the groceries AND another store employee takes them to your car.
I couldn’t believe it! Here, in New York, you’d better pack your own
groceries. And if you wait for
someone to escort you with your groceries to the car, you’ll be standing there
long enough to watch the milk begin to expire.
There’s a well-known donut shop I stroll into once in
a while. Sometimes for donuts, but
mostly for coffee. The other day, I
stopped at a particular location I’ve never been to before. The man behind the counter asked if he could help me.
Yes, indeed. I proceeded to order two medium coffees, one with milk and
sugar, the other, just milk. He
pointed downward and told me to serve myself!
I looked at the counter and noticed the coffee pots accompanied by the
milk and sugar. Gee whiz.
A little convenience such as having a friendly employee serve a cup or
two of coffee has been taken from me. Not
that I’m lazy, but if I wanted to prepare my own coffee, I’d have gone home.
Perhaps that’s the reason I pull up to the Full Serve pump at the gas
station, provided I see one. Before
it’s totally obsolete, I’ll take pleasure in being served whenever I can.
Come to think of it, I’ve yet to hear representatives
of new car dealerships tell me to help myself.
Maybe someday one will. Now THAT would be self-service with a smile.
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