Dear customer,

I want you to know that I, like you, am also human. I have feelings. I get tired. I get distracted. I make mistakes. I’m not perfect. But perfection is an expectation thrust upon me by your needlessly high standards. I promise to do everything I can to ensure that your experience in my store is nearly perfect but I cannot promise outright perfection. I will accidentally write the wrong name on your cup. I will mishear your order. I will spill milk every now and then. I will not always be perfect. Just like I know you won’t always be complete perfection either. So, why do you, a non-perfect human being, expect perfection from me? Is it the name tag I proudly display on my apron? Is it the huge corporate organization I represent while working? Or, is it that you expect perfection because you’ve been told to expect it. The corporate overlords that control my life, and my paycheck, have drilled it into your brain that you deserve perfection. Your hard earned money deserves to be spent on perfection, not wasted on a mediocre product constructed by a mediocre customer service worker.

Listen up, dearest customer, you don’t deserve perfection. You deserve the best I’m physically and mentally able to give you. I’m a human being. I’m a college student. I’m sleep deprived. I’m stressed out. I’m anxious. I’m not perfect. And neither are you.

I’m willing to accept that you’re having a bad day when you don’t return my smile at the register. I’m willing to accept that you just paid bills when you walk away without placing anything in my tip jar. I’m willing to accept that your boss took out his/her/their own anger out on you when you berate me for the lack of sugar on the condiment bar. I’m willing to accept that you’re late for a really important meeting when you scream at me to hurry up.

I’m willing to accept your imperfections. Your moments of anger. Your short temper. Your eye rolls. I’m willing to accept that you’re allowed to be less than perfect. Why can’t you do the same of me?

When you scream at me for my less than perfect service I tell people about you. You become the butt of a joke between my coworkers. We laugh at you. We insult you. Because you do the same to us. Just as you return to your place of work and tell your coworkers about the lazy, stupid customer service worker who fucked up your order I tell mine about the rude, abrasive customer who yelled at me because their order wasn’t exactly perfect.

People ask me all the time if I love my job. It’d be nice to answer that yes, I do, instead of replying with a half-assed smile and a shrug.

I have to work to pay for school, to buy food, to save up for an apartment. I have to deal with you to survive. But you don’t have to be a dick to me because your life isn’t perfect. Guess what: life isn’t perfect. Perfection is a bull shit concept that you shouldn’t hold me to. Because I will never, ever expect perfection from you.

Sincerely,

A fed up customer service worker.