By the time I was transferred to Terry (in Tulsa, she provided, when I queried her whereabouts), I had just about had it. After two hours of runaround from a number of on-line representatives from a couple of well-established businesses who had done little but put me on hold then foist me off to someone else, my patience was in short supply. One young man named Jay, actually declared, “I can’t spend any more time with you. I have to help other customers.” In an attempt to be fair, however, and to give Terry a chance, I warned her at the outset that I was already miffed and would try not to take it out on her. I have found that expressing just a bit of one’s frustration allows for a more cordial initial exchange. My experience hitherto had certainly not been her fault. At the same time, I wanted her to know that I was not in the mood for any more dismissals.
Terry (from Tulsa) said and did exactly what a well-trained professional should do: She commiserated, apologized on behalf of her company, and promised to do everything in her power to solve my problem. In only a few minutes, she had done just that and we were chatting like old friends. Terry was knowledgeable, efficient, straightforward, courteous, and empathetic. Looking to change our TV service, Terry also realized that, as a senior citizen on Social Security, I am eligible to qualify for something called Lifeline Internet, which should dramatically reduce the cost for internet service in both Wyoming and Nevada. That recommendation was not her responsibility. She just did it because it was the right thing to do.
As our conversation drew to a close, both of us having thoroughly enjoyed the interchange and I shed of previous frustrations, I asked to speak to Terry’s supervisor. My intention, of course, was to commend Terry for the exceptional work she had done and the many positive ways she reflected on her employer. Terry’s immediate response was, “Oh, no, did I do something wrong?” Frankly, I was shocked – and then maybe not so much. We have become a culture when, too often, customers only speak up when they have complaints. I had voiced nothing but appreciation, yet asking to speak to her supervisor automatically put Terry on edge. I assured her that I try to take the time to speak to those in charge when I think someone deserves praise – as well as when I think a boss should be aware of an employee’s dramatic shortcomings.
My father advised me, when I was a young teacher and then an administrator, to keep what he called an Orchid File. All educators are familiar with parents who complain, sometimes legitimately and respectfully, sometimes less so. We all treasure those who take the time and care to tell us when we have done something good, something memorable. For administrators, that includes parents who copy us on their appreciative notes to teachers or, even better, go out of their way to commend the ongoing hard work and care they witness on behalf of their child. My Orchid File includes notes and cards and letters accumulated over forty years. The couple of times a year that I stumble across it, I am reminded of wonderful little student faces and the kindness of their parents. The reminder that I made a bit of a difference in a child’s life is an enduring gift.
Terry’s supervisor was not available, sadly. I told Terry I would write a tribute to her and directed her to my blog. I hope she finds it. She deserves to know that she provided a very bright spot in an otherwise frustrating day. Especially during this pandemic time, when there are lots of occasions for frustration, I urge you to thank the Terrys whom you encounter. They, too, must be dealing with all kinds of fears and frustrations of which we are not aware. Go ahead; make their day.
Glass Full 