The Customer Is Always...Whatever

So here we are. Week 3 in our new home. Starting to get the lay of the land.

And as we venture out into the wilds of suburban Amstelveen, we notice various things. Things that are different here than in America.

Like the use of Smart Cars, the two-seaters that look like a Mini Cooper with the back end cut off. Like the widespread presence of bike paths, such that you need to look both ways before crossing the sidewalk. Or like the swans by the side of the canal a block away, who like to sleep right at the edge of the road – you know, right next to traffic. Where it’s cozy.

And then there’s customer service.

Customer service is a topic you'll often see voiced in complaints that Americans post on various expat blogs here. Some folks whine away, griping about how this or that retailer treated them poorly, delivered late or didn't seem to care. On and on they complain: Why can't the Dutch be, you know, more American?

Whatever their merits, these moan-fests often come across as culturally insensitive venting sessions. They leave me wondering why on earth some Americans bothered to leave their gated communities and SUVs behind, if they don't like to experience other ways of doing things.

That said, every now and then you run across someone like the Produce Guy who confirms the Dutch stereotype of "Customer service? What customer service?"

The Produce Guy is the guy at the local grocery store who's drawn the short straw in assignments. All he seems to do is stand behind the counter in the produce section, waiting for customers to request a bunch of bananas, a red onion or the gourd of the day. They place orders. He fulfills them. That is his lot.

The Produce Guy is neither happy to see you, nor unhappy. He's indifferent. He just doesn't care.

Like a good American, you haven't actually studied Dutch. You're planning to take a course. Next quarter. You've picked up a few phrases here or there that bring a smile to the faces of Dutch people you greet. You’d like to think they're smiling because they appreciate your effort. Then again, maybe they're smiling because you just tried to say "good afternoon" but actually said "I see you're still wearing those old shoes."

You approach the produce counter with some trepidation. You've been there before. You know the ways of the Produce Guy. And, frankly, he's a bit Intimidating.

But you put on your most affable face, take a deep breath and cheerfully (but not too cheerfully, for the Dutch take that as a sign of insincerity) say "gooiemiddag" (hchoo-eee-uh-middd-agggghhh), good afternoon.

“Dag,” (dogggghhhhh), good day, he replies in a surly tone. This response is a step down in formality from the greeting you offered. Not impolite but rather informal. Not exactly insulting. But not exactly a big warm fuzzy hug, a pat on the back and an invitation to come join him and his family for dinner, either.

You ratchet your smile down a notch. Two can play this game, Mister. Tit for tat. An eye for an eye. See, now you’re not getting my full smile. How do you like that?

You dispense with the pleasantries and switch to English. No further attempt at conversing in the Produce Guy’s home language. You’re gonna make him work.

“I’ll have the rest of the bananas,” you begin. There are only about a half dozen left. “And a half dozen Jona Gold apples.” You don’t even bother to pronounce “Jona” as he would: “Yo-nah.” Take that, Produce Guy.

He bags each set, places a sticker to seal each bag and hands them to you with all the warmth of a frozen herring. “Anything else?” he asks, clearly not caring one whit whether you want something else or not.

“No, thanks,” you reply, clearing not caring one whit whether he wants you to buy something else or not. Because he clearly doesn’t.

You turn and head for the checkout stand, leaving a wake of indifference equal in measure to the disaffected, dispassionate expression that first greeted you in the produce section.

Goodbye for now, Produce Guy. We shall meet again. But who cares?