Christopher Gabriel, CGabriel.com

It all started out like a great idea.  You drive up and order.  You drive a little further and pay.  Then you wait patiently before you receive what you’ve ordered.  And within minutes, you’re on your way.  Coffee, food, prescriptions, even alcohol - you did it all without ever getting out of the car.  It’s a beautiful system.  For the most part.

Lately I’ve been on what has amounted to a Top Ten list for running into the nastiest, annoyed with humanity, happy to share their burnt toast and cold coffee attitude Drive-Thru Professionals on the planet.  And if you’re scoring at home, we call them DTP’s.

Have you hugged your DTP today?  Do you even know where one is?  Does that sound bitter? 

If so, I’m ok with that.  I bet you are, too.  I’m of the opinion, not even knowing most of you by name, that you’ve had your fair share of saucy DTP’s in recent weeks.  Feel free to call me . . . share . . . we can help one another, because I’m one bank deposit slip away from DTP therapy.

Long before the aforementioned coffee, food, prescriptions and alcohol, banks were the trailblazers in drive-thru convenience.  They set the bar a long, long time ago.  With that in mind, take a brief journey with me to my bank . . . which may soon be my former bank.

Not once, not twice, but three times in the past few weeks I’ve had reason to use my bank’s drive-thru window.  Although I have tolerance to cold weather approaching that of a penguin, I still prefer to stay in my car when running errands if a drive-thru window exists.  Plus, I’m taller than penguins.  That fact doesn’t further this story . . . I just wanted to be clear.

Pulling up to the speaker several aisles away from the window where my DTP sat at the ready, I placed my deposit into the clear tube, pressed a button and WHOOSH, off it went.  You do know the tube I’m referring to, right?  The one that gets sucked through the earth’s core and back in about four seconds, eventually landing inside the bank?  If you get too close to it, the thing will extract you from your car and give you the thrill of a lifetime. 

It was 8 degrees outside but I kept my window open so I could say hello when he greeted me.  The greeting never came.  I pulled my car a few inches forward, trying to get his attention; maybe just a quick wave, I thought. 

What you need to understand is I enjoy communicating with people.  Although I realize not everyone shares that view, I’m of the opinion manners, common courtesy and simple kindness are growing more scarce every day.  So, if I annoy someone because I simply want to smile, say hello and maybe chat for a moment or two, I’ll take that chance.  And you know what – 99 times out of 100, the person always smiles back, we have a conversation and both of our days are just a little better than before . . . . . . . this was not one of the 99 times.

I looked over at him . . . and looked . . . and looked some more.  Nothing.  Slappy the Angry Clam was gone.  He was in his own world focusing hard on the task at hand:  Filing a deposit slip and giving me a receipt. 

Two more times over the next couple of weeks I had the same guy as my DTP.  Both times I desperately wanted to squeeze into that little tube and get sucked into the bank just to see if he was capable of even saying “Hello.”  I’d gladly have gone the more conventional route of walking in but the lobby was closed. 

Come to think of it, when he’s working the lobby always seems to be closed.  Wait a minute . . . this is all suddenly becoming very clear.  The bank wants us to deal with him and only him.  It keeps him busy, thereby allowing the rest of the bank’s employees the opportunity – the freedom – of not having to deal with him.  Genius.  Absolute genius.

It’s classic Minnesota:  Land of 10,000 Passive Aggressive Techniques to Drive Outsiders Crazy.  I’m an outsider.  I’m crazy.  They’ve succeeded.

It was the dreaded Technique #3418:  Creating a situation where everyone in a primary work environment (the bank) isolates a co-worker so that their indifference to those around them becomes focused on a single target falling outside of the primary environment.

I’ve been here 10 years and finally, they got me with 3418.  Not once, not twice, but three straight times.  Don’t get me wrong, I love living in Minnesota but I’ve always been aware of 3418.  It’s like living in Southern California:  Sooner or later, you know you’re going to experience an earthquake.

Look, I understand not everyone enjoys the job they’re in.  But in a climate of economic strife, if you’re fortunate to actually have a job and it requires you to deal with the public, you could at least make a modicum of effort to muster up a “Hi” when a customer is standing in front of you.  Or sitting in his car at your drive-thru window.  That would be a significant improvement over what far too many of you roll out as standard operating procedure:  Irritated indifference.

Although it’s late I could really stand for a cup of coffee right about now but we’re out here at home.  Maybe I’ll go to the coffee place up the street.  I think their drive-thru is open.

drive-thru sign, courtesy neonsign.com 

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