Rudeness: You Don't Have To Be Rude, Though You Might Have To Preplan Not To Be
Novelist Rachel Cusk has a piece on rudeness in New York Times Magazine. An excerpt:
In a clothes shop in London, I sift through the rails, looking for something to wear. The instant I came in, the assistant bounded up to me and recited what was obviously a set of phrases scripted by the management. I dislike being spoken to in this way, though I realize the assistant doesn't do so out of choice. I told her I was fine. I told her I would find her if I needed anything. But a few minutes later, she's back.How's your day been so far? she says.
The truth? It's been a day of anxiety and self-criticism, of worry about children and money, and now to top it all off, I've made the mistake of coming here in the unfounded belief that it will make me look nicer, and that making myself look nicer will help.
It's been fine, I say.
There's a pause in which perhaps she is waiting for me to ask her about her own day in return, which I don't.
Are you looking for something special? she says.
Not really, I say.
So you're just browsing, she says.
There is a pause.
Did I tell you, she says, that we have other sizes downstairs?
You did, I say.
If you want something in another size, she says, you just have to ask me.
I will, I say.
I turn back to the rails and find that if anything, my delusion has been strengthened by this exchange, which has made me feel ugly and unlikable and in more need than ever of transformation. I take out a dress. It is blue. I look at it on its hanger.
Good choice, the assistant says. I love that dress. The color's amazing.
Immediately I put it back on the rail. I move away a little. After a while, I begin to forget about the assistant. I think about clothes, their strange promise, the way their problems so resemble the problems of love. I take out another dress, this one wine-colored and dramatic.
God, that would look amazing, the assistant says. Is it the right size?
According to the label, it is.
Yes, I say.
Shall I put it in the fitting room for you? she says. It's just easier, isn't it? Then you've got your hands free while you keep browsing.
For the first time, I look at her. She has a broad face and a wide mouth with which she smiles continually, desperately. I wonder whether the width of her smile was a factor in her being given this job. She is older than I expected. Her face is lined, and despite her efforts, the mouth betrays some knowledge of sorrow.
Thank you very much, I say.
I give her the dress, and she goes away. I find that I no longer want to be in the shop. I don't want to try on the dress. I don't want to take my clothes off or look at myself in a mirror. I consider quietly leaving while the assistant is gone, but the fact that I have caused the dress to be put in the fitting room is too significant. Perhaps it will be transformative after all. On my way there, I meet the assistant, who is on her way out. She widens her eyes and raises her hands in mock dismay.
I wasn't expecting you to be so quick! she exclaims. Didn't you find anything else you liked?
I'm in a bit of a hurry, I say.
If inequality is the basis on which language breaks down, how is it best to speak?
God, I know exactly what you mean, she says. We're all in such a hurry. There just isn't time to stop, is there?The fitting rooms are empty: There aren't any other customers. The assistant hovers behind me while I go into the cubicle where she has hung the dress. I wonder whether she will actually follow me in. I pull the curtain behind me and feel a sense of relief. My reflection in the mirror is glaring and strange. I have stood in such boxlike spaces before, alone with myself, and these moments seem connected to one another in a way I can't quite specify. It is as though life is a board game, and here is the starting point to which I keep finding myself unexpectedly returned. I take off my clothes. This suddenly seems like an extraordinary thing to do in an unfamiliar room in a street in central London. Through the gap in the curtain I can see into a dingy back room whose door has been left open. There are pipes running up the walls, a small fridge, a kettle, a box of tea bags. Someone has hung a coat on a hook. I realize that the theater of this shop is about to break down, and that the assistant's manner -- her bad acting, her inability to disguise herself in her role -- is partly to blame.
How is everything? she says.
I am standing there in my underwear, and her voice is so loud and close that I nearly jump out of my skin.
How's it going in there? How are you getting on?
I realize that she must be speaking to me.
I'm fine, I say.
How's the fit? she says. Do you need any other sizes?
I can hear the rustle of her clothes and the scraping sound of her nylon tights. She is standing right outside the curtain.
No, I say. Really, I'm fine.
Why don't you come out? she says. I can give you a second opinion.
Suddenly I am angry. I forget to feel sorry for her; I forget that she did not choose to say these things; I forget that she is perhaps in the wrong job. I feel trapped, humiliated, misunderstood. I feel that people always have a choice where language is concerned, that the moral and relational basis of our existence depends on that principle. I wish to tell her that there are those who have sacrificed themselves to defend it. If we stop speaking to one another as individuals, I want to say to her, if we allow language to become a tool of coercion, then we are lost.
No, I say. Actually, I don't want to come out.
There is a silence outside the curtain. Then I hear the rustling of her clothes as she starts to move away.
All right then, she says, in a voice that for the first time I can identify as hers. It is a flat voice, disaffected, a voice that expresses no surprise when things turn out badly.
I put my clothes back on and take the dress on its hanger and leave the cubicle. The assistant is standing with her back to me on the empty shop floor, her arms folded across her chest, looking out the window. She does not ask me how I got on or whether I liked the dress and intend to buy it. She does not offer to take the dress from me and hang it back on its rail. She is offended, and she is very deliberately showing it. We are, then, equal at least in our lack of self-control. I hang up the dress myself.
It wasn't my day, I say to her, by way of an apology.
She gives a small start and utters a sound. She is trying to say something: She is searching, I see, for one of her scripted phrases in the effort to reassume her persona. Falteringly, she half-smiles, but her mouth is turned down at the corners like a clown's. I imagine her going home this evening, unhappy.
When I tell the story afterward, making myself both its villain and its butt, it goes like this: I, currently dismayed by the sudden ascent of rudeness in our world and wondering what it means, am betrayed into rudeness myself by a personal sensitivity to language that causes me to do the very thing I despise, which is fail to recognize another human's individuality. But the person I tell it to doesn't hear it that way at all. He hears it as a story about how annoying shop assistants are.
I hate it when they do that, he says. It was good you made an issue of it. Maybe she'll give feedback to the management, and they'll stop making people say all that stuff.
Right. She's going to tell management "Your sales tactics are all wrong, you bozos!"
What that last comment is is a justification by Cusk for being rude -- the opposite of being accountable for it. Being accountable is what helps you change.
Passive aggressiveness seems to be at root in Cusk's behavior.
However, what makes her so annoyed, ultimately, is her neglecting to say what works for her -- to set up some boundaries.
Yes, once again, it's on her.
In a way, she's lost some freedom (though, yes, to a relatively small degree). Feeling a loss of freedom psychologist Jack Brehm found causes "psychological reactance" -- basically, rebellion against our freedom being impinged on.
If you're shy or freeze in the moment, you could do what I advise in "Good Manners for Nice People Who Sometimes Say F*ck" -- to preplan for situations like this. Remind yourself in advance that it's good to assert yourself. Politely -- as soon as you feel impinged upon: Like by saying, "Thanks, I'm just browsing."
You may need to say it twice, like if you end up in the dressing room and there's an attempt to give an opinion you don't want. I just say, "Thanks, appreciate that -- but I have a pretty particular personal style, so I'm good." Do I really "appreciate that"? Fuck no. I'm annoyed and don't want to be bothered. But why not stretch that tiny bit and cover that up -- because it's the kind thing to do?
If you do preplan, and you do assert yourself, it'll keep you from feeling increasingly abused -- until you blow up and go all ugly on some woman who's just saying those things because it's her job...surely not because she, personally, chooses to say them.
Great advice, as usual, but I have a slightly different implementation. Compare ...
Amy: "Thanks, appreciate that -- but I have a pretty particular personal style, so I'm good."
Jim: "No, thanks."
Spoken in my friendliest, chirpiest, sing-songy voice.
Easily repeatable, as necessary.
jim simon at February 16, 2017 4:39 AM
The replay of that conversation was pretty weird. No one is making the sales lady say anything. They may have quotas but I've never heard of a script.
Back when I worked retail, a lot of my conversations went about like that. I liked to see people in the clothes that they chose. I had dreams of designing fashion and I loved to see people looking their best - that was what made it fun. When people modeled for me, I could see exactly how the item fit and how it draped so I could suggest it to someone it would look great on. I could accessorize an outfit so it when from meh to mahvalous! It would increase my sales, they would feel great about themselves, and they would come back for the full service experience again. If what they chose was not flattering, I did my best to find something that was. It was not all about making a sale. Of course, if you keep leaving with something great and find it's a go-to, you will probably go back to that store.
Of course, people are different and you have to be sensitive to that but how many people do you think came in like that lady and got into the experience and left a friend - and looking great? It is a boost to look your best.
Jen at February 16, 2017 4:56 AM
Amy: "Thanks, appreciate that -- but I have a pretty particular personal style, so I'm good."
I do this because I want to be kind. it's less abrupt and giving a reason may help it go down better.
I'm really good with fashion. Just am. If I help you with your outfit, you'll look better, so Jen, I understand where you're coming from.
Still, when I used to go to stores -- designer resale or Salvation Army (the Santa Monica one is marvelous), shopping was a sort of soothing treasure hunt, and I wanted to be alone. I don't "need" any clothes; I just used to go look and see whether I could find some fabulous bargain, like the Madonna Gaultier boobs jeans jacket I got years ago for $25 at the designer resale store. It has one snap missing on the sleeve, so nobody wanted it. I don't snap the sleeps, and it's cool, so who cares?
Amy Alkon at February 16, 2017 5:38 AM
I had an entirely different experience working in furniture sales for a family store.
Each member had a different "sales" technique I had to use. It did not matter what the customer's attitude was I HAD to do that.
(Got frustrated one day and explained that I had used the son's technique because I had not had luck w/her technique. That went over well.)
It was funny. One customer that had been in previously looking at beds in the back of the store came in practically running to the back. I let him go on ahead and the owner came over and said I had done "it" wrong again. I should be in front of the customer (the one running). I laughed and said "Well, I'm between him and the door so it should work out well."
Gave my notice a few days later. Do not like family stores. They took my good customers (big orders and paid in cash) and did not share commission.
Bob in Texas at February 16, 2017 5:54 AM
Family stores that are smart treat great employees like family.
The woman who works for me I love like a sister, and I think she feels similarly.
Amy Alkon at February 16, 2017 6:15 AM
Right. She's going to tell management "Your sales tactics are all wrong, you bozos!"
I always told customers they had to tell management because management didnt listen to us.
lujlp at February 16, 2017 6:21 AM
I am reminded of a department store in St. Louis that I visited some years ago. While on a business trip, I had gone to this mall that I had seen from the Interstate, just to look around. As soon as I stepped in, I realized that it was a failing mall. It wasn't obvious from the outside. But most of the storefronts were closed and about half of them were boarded up and clearly had not been occupied in some time. Dim lighting. Fountains and stuff not working. Restrooms closed. Gang-bangers walking about. A couple of the looked at me like they were thinking about whether to mess with me. One store was in the process of being closed down; two people were busy moving out fixtures and taking them to a truck.
I ducked into this department store, and immediately, four salespeople pounced on me. Did I want to look at clothes? Or shoes? How about housewares? Appliances? Did my watch need a new battery? I was annoyed at first, and tried to brush them off as I browsed around.
Then it dawned on me. There was a good chance I was the only customer they had seen that hour, or maybe all night. They were trying to get work done and put on a brave face while they worried about their jobs and about the latent threat from the gang-bangers just outside their interior door. Most sales people are extroverts, and they weren't getting any contact with people.
So I struck up conversations with them. I walked around the store, talking to different people about their jobs, where they lived, what was happening with the neighborhood and the city, etc. They confided in me about their belief that the store would close soon, and about their future plans. A lady from the missy's section was worried about how she was going to support her mother, who was in ill health. A young man in appliances had just had his fiancee break off their engagement. Another lady had just become an aunt -- her sister had just had the first child among her siblings. An older guy was a big Cardinals fan and told me stories about going to games and watching Ozzie Smith and Mark McGuire.
I would up strolling around the store with a group. I circled back to the men's department and they invited me to point out anything I wanted to try and they would bring it to the dressing room. "Do you need another size? Hand it through the door and I'll get you another one." One lady in particular had an eye for fashion and what looked good on me. I'd step out of the dressing room and stand in front of the mirror, and she'd make a fuss over me, fixing the pants cuffs and straightening out the collar and shirt tail. "Let me get you a belt that might look good with that..."
I walked out with three shirts. The lady who rang it up said it was only her second sale of the night. There were about six people helping me so I have no idea how they split the commission. Maybe they put it in a beer fund. On my next trip to St. Louis, about three months later, I went by there again. The mall was closed. I looked in the department store's windows, and all of the racks were empty and the floor was covered with tissue paper and packing materials. A handwritten note taped to the door told people where they needed to go to pick up remaining clothes left for alteration.
I've had something happen recently that has impressed on me the importance of human contact, and I thought about this the other day. I'm really glad I didn't follow my usual inclination and blow those sales people off when I walked in the door.
Cousin Dave at February 16, 2017 7:43 AM
I will often walk into a clothing store and the first thing I will encounter is a sales associate with a big smile and "Hi! Welcome! Can I help you with anything?" My response is, "Yeah, remind me not to apply for a job here."
Fayd at February 16, 2017 8:00 AM
Recently got back from India where the shopping experience is like this on speed. This is exacerbated by the fact that NOTHING has price tags (because you are expected to bargain), so you constantly have to involve the salespeople, just to ask the price.
I'd usually say, "Can you do me a favor? I like to be relaxed when I shop. I'm not used to all this action. How about I put everything I like in a basket, and then we can talk price and other colors if I like?"
It worked most of the time.
My (Indian) husband's mom and aunties would be much more direct and say, "Stop bothering us. You keep showing us ugly, expensive things."
That worked too. Pretty sure that would make an American sales rep cry, though.
sofar at February 16, 2017 8:01 AM
I'm confused. Maybe it's the lack of quotation marks, but I don't see anything horribly rude there. Saying "No" or "No. Actually, I don't want to come out," isn't particularly rude. It sounds like the first time she actually said what she meant. Sure, it could have been sugar coated, but it's not exactly a snappy retort or something. Am I missing something?
I mean, snapping "leave me alone bitch" would be rude for sure. Maybe it's a tone she used, but I didn't see a whole lot of indication of that.
Or maybe I need some coffee...
Shannon at February 16, 2017 8:18 AM
I am working part time at HD. I am at the service desk, and I deal with people who are pissed off because they want to return something and expect a confrontation (and some are pissed off when I cheerfully take back the merchandise, they wanted a fight!). Some are breathtakingly rude. Some are physically threatening.
What I dislike the most is the assumption that people make about people who work in retail, that we can't do better than this.
I'm semi-retired. I worked for years in IT, traveling all over the US and to the UK, implementing system software and training people how to use it. And I don't want to do that anymore. I want to make a few dollars to help support my angora goat habit.
Here in the middle of the country, I think we tend to be kinder than on either coast, and most definitely kinder than people in the UK, but we still get grumpy, rude people who seem to get off on being rude to those of us they consider to be less than them.
Beth Donovan at February 16, 2017 8:19 AM
"Rudeness is a weak man's imitation of strength."
Marc 'The Animal' MacYoung (which he stole from someone else IIRC)
warhawke223 at February 16, 2017 8:52 AM
What self-indulgent, condescending drivel. How about treating the sales lady like a human being?
Conan the Grammarian at February 16, 2017 12:02 PM
"Rudeness is a weak man's imitation of strength."
The Netherlands and all of her citizens, for example.
Gog_Magog_Carpet_Reclaimers at February 16, 2017 12:56 PM
I'd have thought France for rudeness Gog. But I can't honestly call them weak. If anything they are rabid dogs fighting everything in sight until they start gnawing on their own flesh. And they look good while doing it too somehow.
Ben at February 17, 2017 7:57 AM
This is why I haven't Christmas shopped in a brick and mortar store in 3 years. I'm an introvert. I just can't handle this weird human interaction that puts the onus on me to put up a hard personal space boundary that most US citizens realize is there. I once walked a quarter mile outside a mall in crappy weather to avoid the crazy kiosk sales lady who kept trying to pull me over to her and slather sea salt crap on me. No. Just no. I live in the South, I've been bred to be overly polite and for people to like me and I can't handle the social awkwardness of saying no. It's on me, it's my problem, I know, but encounters like this one reflect just how hard it is for women especially to balance social niceties with boundary crossing idiots. I mean, if I don't make eye contact with you, leave me the flip alone. How hard is that?
gooseegg at February 18, 2017 7:24 AM
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