I am a low maintenance girl. After only one day in Kolkata, I have been reminded of this key personality trait several times.
Folks fussin’ over me makes me…well, it’s not like I deplore such treatment. Just that it makes me a little uncomfortable. And suspicious. (Which I think has become more of my personality since living in New York City). Service people in India make a big fuss. Even when a fuss is not necessary.
Keturah’s Slightly Uncomfortable Moment #1
This morning, I casually ask the hotel clerk if the bank across the street is open. When he says, “Well, yes, Madam, indeed it is a 24 hour bank service,” I thank him and walk out. He runs out after me – causing me to wonder if the bank had armed assassins waiting in the wings to unburden rich westerners of their newly-acquired rupees - and gives me DETAILED instructions on how to get to the bank. The bank is directly across the street from the hotel. I kid you not, my walk to the subway each morning is longer and more confusing than the 35 second route to this bank. When I walk out the gate, other employees who were milling about suddenly jump up and want to know what I need, where I’m going, and if I’ll need anything once I am there. To be the cause of people’s work anxiety makes me just as anxious as them.
Keturah’s Slightly Uncomfortable Moment #2
After the how-will-we-help-the-American-lady-get-to-the-bank anxiety, I caused the wait staff even more anxiety in the restaurant. I only wanted to eat my complimentary omelette, drink my complimentary juice, read my book and be on my way. But, the complimentary breakfast apparently had been designed to be much more of a grand affair. There were two waiters (I was the only diner) and one was not performing to the obviously more senior waiter’s standards. When he thought I wasn’t paying attention, the senior waiter quietly chided the more junior server for a number of atrocities, one of which was placing the plate of toast on the wrong side of the table. The senior waiter never yelled at his little trainee, but he did roll his eyes A LOT and when he thought I was deeply engrossed in my book, made several gestures that comically highlighted how much of a jackass the senior waiter obviously took the junior waiter to be.
All of this happened “when I wasn’t watching,” which leads me to believe the servers didn’t want to make me uncomfortable. Funny that their careful interactions did exactly that. How can a low maintenance girl feel comfortable when a timid, anxious waiter comes up to her and humbly confesses: “I am very sorry, Madam…we do not have orange juice. Only pineapple. And it is not fresh squeezed.”
Perhaps the customer service of New York City – a bizarre mixture of indifference and hostility with a dollop of poorly repressed rage – feels more right to me. Does that make me a masochist?
You occassionally see a similar type of service here. I still remember being impressed by a conversation that I heard on the bus. A service worker at one of the local hotels was incensed that she was being asked NOT to change the sheets every day (after Katrina). She said that the customer was paying for 5 star service and she wanted to provide it.
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