I saw a commercial while watching my beloved Denver Broncos get buried in the Oakland Raider Black Hole the other day. The spot claimed it had bank employees who were ‘obsessed’ with customer service. The narrator was a sad, hapless middle-American who ‘desperately’ needed his son’s passport so the kid could jet to Jamaica last minute. Manager appears at door of closed bank (probably left the Broncos game) and happily opened the bank for the suffering American who needed to see Jamaica. Doing this apparently brought joy to the bank manager.
That’s nice. I’ll take a bank like that. I’ll take a doctor like that. But I won’t be a doctor like that. Ever. I suppose the guys who do worship their jobs like that will make more money and maybe do a better job in the end. But I just can’t work that hard. I don’t think there’s anything on the planet that is so compelling to me that I’d be that dedicated to it.
Ice cream. Maybe I could worship ice cream. But even that’s iffy.
Aside from the obsessive nature of the bank guy, the example was also pretty goofy. It’s not like they’re preventing a great humanitarian tragedy by opening up the bank. It’s some teenager about to miss his flight to Jamaican decadence and leisure. Who cares? So the kid misses his flight and goes the next day. So what? I know, let’s ask the bank manager’s daughter if she’s obsessed with the customer service her Dad provides. Let’s ask her how cool it is that her Dad left the football game they were watching together, or maybe left church or the school play or a good soccer game…so he could get some punk off to his Jamaican holiday.
Can’t see how she’d be happy about that.
But hey, I’m watching the commercial when the Broncos are losing miserably. I’d probably LOVE the commercial if the scores were reversed.