I Don't Care About You

On the desk, I am there for one reason, and one reason only.

To serve. To find you the information that you need, efficiently and effectively.

That's it.

Well, no, there is one additional reason. That is, to get paid. Because everybody has to make a living somehow.

But let us make one thing perfectly clear: what I am not here to do - what I am not paid to do - is listen to your drivel.

I don't care why you need the information.

I don't care about your life story preceding the information.

I don't care what you are going to do with the information.

I don't care where you've already tried to find it.

I don't care why you couldn't find it yourself.

However:

I do care about finding what I am asked to find.

I do care whether or not you are satisfied with my level of service.

And, most importantly of all, I do care about your level of personal hygiene. Big time.

But you? Do I care, at all, about you?

No more than you care about me. I'm that guy behind the desk who you expect to spit out answers off the top of my head, like some Asimovian robot. You're the person in front of the desk whom I've come to expect to emit a terrible odor, like the vegetable drawer in my fridge.

It is what it is, we are who we are, and our expectations of each other are not going to change. Don't try to dance around it; simply admit it, own it, work within its confines, and we will get along fine.

Just don't expect me to take any kind of special interest in you and all your little problems and dramas. I'm not paid nearly well enough to make that kind of effort.

Okay? Glad that we got that settled.

Now, how can I help you today?