not always right.

There are many perks working in customer service.

The biggest “perk” would be serving folks coffee (*wink wink).

I also like sharing my love of java with those who walk through the door, a shared connection over this heavenly cup. I cherish the connections I make with guests, making friends with those I see every day at 2pm for their Midnight Sun Mocha. I beam when I see people pleased with their time aboard and I enjoy making someone’s day just a little bit better.

That is what keeps me fueled and coming back to work in this business, day after day: that bond I make with customers.

But you can’t have one good customer without experiencing the other, right?

And this weekend I had to put up with the latter.

Trying not to hurl when he brought up spanking, taking pictures of “innocent little girls”, big racks, and kissing, I uncomfortably fake- laughed at his horrible humor and hoped to goodness I would never have to see him again.

Which of course I did, the very next day.

This time, it was personal. He had been looking for me (and found me) and wouldn’t stop bothering me with small talk and slightly inappropriate conversation. Feeling stuck between putting up with this discomfort that often comes with working in customer service and wanting to run the hell away from him, it got to the point where I actually felt I was being creeped on.

He had given me a gift and talked about seeing me on the cover of Vogue (wow- haven’t heard that line before or anything…), and then he asked to take a photo of me.

As if the previous disconcerting comments weren’t enough, I had to suffer through an awkward response.

You know when you hear about harassment and creepy things old men say to young women, and you come up with all these bossy and firm “HELL NO” responses, for the next time it happens to you? (because there will always be a next time)

Well when push came to shove, I froze. I felt like this weak, powerless little mouse that forgot how to use her voice. I couldn’t say no. I wanted to, wanted to give him a look that would perfectly execute how disgusted I felt at his request, but instead, I said “I’ll be right back!” and hid.

I had already been doing this multiple times during my shift, ducking away to the kitchen in avoidance of him as he paced back and forth in front of the hostess stand, but this was different.

I couldn’t take it any longer. Frustrated at my lack of courage in standing up for myself and thoroughly pissed that I seem to have such a problem with older men hitting on me in such an indecorous manner, I held back tears, body shivering in discomfort.

Why do the guys I like never like me back, and the guys that do like me are hard- ass creepers?

Wanting so badly to have one of the male kitchen crew come out front and ask “so someone wants to take pictures of my wife?”, I thought briefly of having someone else confront him.

No, he needed to hear it from me.

Breathing deeply, I walked back out there and offhandedly told him “It’s not going to happen, you can leave,” and then he was gone.

For now.

When he finally pulled away and out of my sight (please be forever), I was still rattled.

I felt squeamish, powerless, fidgety and embarrassed, still. Bothered, I wanted to know why I hadn’t put him in his place the moment I started feeling uncomfortable, and what is it about me that invites such vile behavior?

Part of it is my role in customer service, and the years of instilled belief that the “customer is always right.” But they never talk about the behavior that you don’t have to put up with, or about the customers that you don’t have to pretend be nice to because they don’t deserve it.

I’ve had to put up with a lot of intolerable behavior from men in my short 24 years, along with nearly every other female on the planet, and I want to get to that point where I can assertively and confidently tell someone off when they’ve crossed the line and put me, or others, in obvious discomfort.

There will always be a crew of family and friends that will have my back, which brings me comfort and solace, because I know it won’t be the last time I’ll have to deal with odious men who prey on innocent girls who have been taught to put up with them because of the industry they work in.

I’ll tell you now: the customer is NOT always right, and sometimes, we have to learn that the hard way.

A Box of Cookies.

I was in the process of sitting, hoping, wishing, and praying for inspiration to strike, when an angel came forth bearing a white box of cookies.

It was a delivery from my monthly cookie club, but this time it turned out to be a lot more than just a box of cookies.

Eagerly encouraged to open it up and take a look, I carefully lifted the lid and what I saw inside brought tears to my eyes.

Which has never happened to me before, of course!

I mean who would’ve thought cookies could make you cry.

(then again I cry at literally everything)

But these were happy tears, very happy tears, because the cookies in front of me were the most thoughtful ones I have ever received.

Carefully drawn on top of the most scrumptious sugar cookies were various illustrations, including a cat, a journal, some quotes, a camera, and a spitting image of me.

They were all engravings of the things most important in my life: writing, inspiration, cats, coffee, and a lovely portrait that mirrored an image taken of me for a blog post in which I talked about growth and embracing the journey of life.

There I was, holding this precious box of cookies, tears welling out of my eyes, in absolute disbelief that someone had taken the time and care to craft such sweet (literally, and figuratively) treats that displayed all the loves of my life.

It was just the kind of inspiration I was looking for.

Sometimes, I forget that people care about me. This becomes especially present during my lousy lows, when I truly believe that I’m all alone, that no one minds me.

And I know it’s not true. But sometimes the phone devoid of messages and the lack of social activity lining the pages of my planner take a toll on me.

Then something like this happens, this simple act of receiving an extraordinary box of cookies, and I’m reminded that I’m not alone, and that people out there do care, pay attention, and support and believe in me.

Things like this make me stop and think of all the people in my life I love and care about. I think to myself, how often do I tell them or show them I feel this way? I know it’s not enough. And it will never be enough because there aren’t enough words in the world that express how much I love and appreciate that person.

But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t stop expressing it, in any way I can.

This angel who delivered the blessed box of cookies showed me that it doesn’t take a lot to express how much you care, that sometimes it’s the little things that mean the most and have the most profound influence.

It’s the little things that make the “sweetest” impact.