Withering Glance: Are you being served -- and thanked?

Rick Nelson and Claude Peck dispense unasked-for advice about clothing, relationships, grooming and more in a weekly dialogue.

RN: So here's my supermarket fantasy. I've just handed over a big pile of cash at a store -- for argument's sake, we'll call it Whole Paycheck -- and in response, the sales clerk makes my day by reciting the following phrase. ...

CP: ... lemme guess: "Can I see your AARP discount card?"

RN: And to think I once considered you my friend. Actually, the magic words are "thank you."

CP: There you go again with your "please and thank you" obsession. When I encounter a sullen clerk I figure they are underpaid, or in a bad mood, and I mentally cut them slack. I may even give them credit for refusing to drink the Kool-Aid of corporate happyspeak. It seems uncharitable to grouse about lowly paid service-industry personnel.

RN: I'm not asking for one of those saccharine "Welcome to insert-name-of-Big-Box-Retailer here" interactions; my heart goes out to anyone forced to do that for a living. But would it kill said minimum-wager to at least acknowledge the contribution my purchase has made to their employment status? Far too often, it's just a surly "sign here" and "paper or plastic?" and then they're on to their next obligation, er, customer.

CP: One thing that recently bugged me was a counter worker who was too friendly. I dodged into a Dunn Bros. the other morning for coffee. One person was working the counter and there was one customer ahead of me. Great, I thought, this'll be quick. But the customer, oblivious that anyone else might be waiting, asked endless questions about the history of coffee. The barista answered graciously, then she started chatting about "a friend of mine" and how "my sister went to Costa Rica and toured a coffee plantation." Jokes were shared, and laughter wafted among the smell of fresh-roasted beans.

RN: Something tells me that I know where this is going. You turned into my father, didn't you?

CP: My attempt to drill a hole in the back of the customer's head with my laser-beam eyes came to naught, so I split.

RN: No, my dad, who spent the better part of his career in the grocery industry, would have asked for the manager and then told them how to effectively administer customer service. Now you know where I get it. But I interrupted. Please continue.

CP: "That'll show 'em," I thought, but I guess losing the proceeds from one cup of coffee wasn't all that injurious. To me, if there is no other customer, you can lean on the counter and bump your gums till sundown, but if there is someone waiting, you are duty-bound to move things along swiftly.

RN: Speaking of efficiency, whenever I go to Lunds or the co-op or wherever, I usually play the checkout race. You know, which cashier is going to get me out the fastest? And I often lose, getting behind the shopper who, when presented with the total, only then realizes that she must retrieve her checkbook from the bottom of her pup tent-sized purse and spend, oh, two to three minutes laboriously writing out a check. I mean, who writes checks anymore? More to the point, who still accepts checks?

CP: I know. Checks are sooo '00. When I drift into a checkout line that has just opened up, I feel like I won a tiny lottery. Much more frequently I end up in a line that gets hung up on price checks, cash-register breakdowns and medalists in the World's Slowest Bagger Olympics.

RN: Jeez, we're bitter. We both could use a vacation. Let's just stay out of any and all stores.

CP: At least until the Labor Day sales begin.

Click on W.G.'s weekly podcast at www.

startribune.com/withering. E-mail W.G. at witheringglance@startribune.com.