Customer Service and Introverts
Aug. 4th, 2008 11:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jakebe
One of the most difficult things about my job is dealing with all of the people. The really strange part is that I really like most of the people I work with and serve, but every interaction feels like a test in some way. Did I anticipate someone's need? Did I read their mood correctly? Was that joke really as dumb as it sounded? Was I as helpful as possible? In some way, I see every conversation with someone as a challenge; I can be more present, more helpful, a better person.
In general, I like this way of looking at things. The constant striving to be better at what I do that makes the job interesting, gives me a source of pride, makes me care about it. Honestly, when you're working as a contractor (even a long-term one) for a tech company with a broad disparity between its regular employees and its temps, you have to take your good points where you can get it.
I start each morning fresh. I meditate, I listen to or read a poem, I think about the things that make me happy. I listen to a few of my favorite songs on the walk from where![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
toob and I part ways at the University to work. I text a friend or two. I meet the Buddha at least two dozen times. I get in, I have breakfast, I read blogs and my horoscope. (A guilty pleasure, I know.) By the time I've done this morning ritual, I feel ready for whatever happens.
Most days, even during the worst rushes, I'm mostly fine. But my inward reserves are pretty drained by 4:30, almost all the time. Luckily, this coincides with a quick drop in the number of people I have to deal with. Adobe employees go home, and the temps who serve them are on skeleton crew. The one or two people who pop up are friendly and interesting, not-too-terrible distractions from my decompressing ritual of the afternoon. This consists of writing e-mails, chatting with a friend or two, and stretching out the closing of my little domain for the last 30 minutes of the day.
Then there are days like today. My morning routine was interrupted, and as soon as I got in the Service Center was in a fine state of chaos. Tickets for a local event were being given away for free, tickets to a local amusement park were being sold at a substantial discount, and the usual crowd of employees wanting to mail things or arrange meetings or get various perks on Mondays were crawling to get their stuff done. This combined for a perfect storm that made my little domain the place to be for just about everyone. On a normal day, even Mondays, I'd say we average 12 interactions an hour, spread out over e-mail, phone calls, and face-to-face conversations. I'd say today we averaged 40.
When things get really busy and I'm not prepared for it, the reserves deplete really quickly and despite my best efforts I end up pretty miserable by the afternoon. No matter how much I try, there's always some internal mechanism that tells me "That's enough dealing with people now. It's time for some quiet." This is an impossible need to satisfy when there are so many employees coming down for tickets and packages and whatever.
The longer I go without having some time to decompress, the more obviously miserable and harried I become. I know the customers can tell I'm having a bad day, which means I can't be as awesome as I'd really like to be, and that makes me feel even worse. It's never a good feeling when someone leaves feeling a little worse because of something you did (or didn't) do. Every interaction goes from being a challenge I can meet to being a reinforcement of failure. It's a feedback loop that doesn't end until I get to go home.
Who thinks this way? What's wrong with me? I get to the point where I want nothing more than to be away from everyone, but I also want to be comforted, held, told that it's all right. I just want someone to accept my need for quiet, but be there with me at the same time. This is the time where I need my friends because I'm just so sick of people. And this is an impossible thing to explain when I'm in the throes of it. "Be there for me, please, but shut up because I just can't bear to hear the sound of someone else's voice."
On the worst days, this is my hell. Trapped in a prison of my own devising, wishing for comfort but hoping that everyone will go away. There's got to be a way around this; at this point in my life, I don't think I can build the skill-set for more solitary work anytime soon. I like what I do, when I'm clicking on all cylinders, but it seems there's a faulty mechanism in my psychology that ensures that'll never happen.
The thing that kills me is there has to be a good way to deal with this. I'm sure this is just a matter of perspective, and finding the right one'll just do the trick. I'm sure I'll find it eventually, too. In the meantime, after days like today, the only thing I can do is console myself with the fact that tomorrow I'll have another crack at the whole thing.
In general, I like this way of looking at things. The constant striving to be better at what I do that makes the job interesting, gives me a source of pride, makes me care about it. Honestly, when you're working as a contractor (even a long-term one) for a tech company with a broad disparity between its regular employees and its temps, you have to take your good points where you can get it.
I start each morning fresh. I meditate, I listen to or read a poem, I think about the things that make me happy. I listen to a few of my favorite songs on the walk from where
toob and I part ways at the University to work. I text a friend or two. I meet the Buddha at least two dozen times. I get in, I have breakfast, I read blogs and my horoscope. (A guilty pleasure, I know.) By the time I've done this morning ritual, I feel ready for whatever happens.Most days, even during the worst rushes, I'm mostly fine. But my inward reserves are pretty drained by 4:30, almost all the time. Luckily, this coincides with a quick drop in the number of people I have to deal with. Adobe employees go home, and the temps who serve them are on skeleton crew. The one or two people who pop up are friendly and interesting, not-too-terrible distractions from my decompressing ritual of the afternoon. This consists of writing e-mails, chatting with a friend or two, and stretching out the closing of my little domain for the last 30 minutes of the day.
Then there are days like today. My morning routine was interrupted, and as soon as I got in the Service Center was in a fine state of chaos. Tickets for a local event were being given away for free, tickets to a local amusement park were being sold at a substantial discount, and the usual crowd of employees wanting to mail things or arrange meetings or get various perks on Mondays were crawling to get their stuff done. This combined for a perfect storm that made my little domain the place to be for just about everyone. On a normal day, even Mondays, I'd say we average 12 interactions an hour, spread out over e-mail, phone calls, and face-to-face conversations. I'd say today we averaged 40.
When things get really busy and I'm not prepared for it, the reserves deplete really quickly and despite my best efforts I end up pretty miserable by the afternoon. No matter how much I try, there's always some internal mechanism that tells me "That's enough dealing with people now. It's time for some quiet." This is an impossible need to satisfy when there are so many employees coming down for tickets and packages and whatever.
The longer I go without having some time to decompress, the more obviously miserable and harried I become. I know the customers can tell I'm having a bad day, which means I can't be as awesome as I'd really like to be, and that makes me feel even worse. It's never a good feeling when someone leaves feeling a little worse because of something you did (or didn't) do. Every interaction goes from being a challenge I can meet to being a reinforcement of failure. It's a feedback loop that doesn't end until I get to go home.
Who thinks this way? What's wrong with me? I get to the point where I want nothing more than to be away from everyone, but I also want to be comforted, held, told that it's all right. I just want someone to accept my need for quiet, but be there with me at the same time. This is the time where I need my friends because I'm just so sick of people. And this is an impossible thing to explain when I'm in the throes of it. "Be there for me, please, but shut up because I just can't bear to hear the sound of someone else's voice."
On the worst days, this is my hell. Trapped in a prison of my own devising, wishing for comfort but hoping that everyone will go away. There's got to be a way around this; at this point in my life, I don't think I can build the skill-set for more solitary work anytime soon. I like what I do, when I'm clicking on all cylinders, but it seems there's a faulty mechanism in my psychology that ensures that'll never happen.
The thing that kills me is there has to be a good way to deal with this. I'm sure this is just a matter of perspective, and finding the right one'll just do the trick. I'm sure I'll find it eventually, too. In the meantime, after days like today, the only thing I can do is console myself with the fact that tomorrow I'll have another crack at the whole thing.
