After such a bitter review of English manners in my previous post, today I should counterbalance my opinion and recognize that Brits do have good manners in most occasions, indeed.
This is something I noticed from my very first week here in London. From my very first experience in a shop on the Queen's soil (hope nodoby will get angry at me for this expression!), which took place at Stansted airport precisely one month ago. All shop assistants welcome you at the cashier with a smile upon their face and say soft-spokenly: "Hello, thank you for waiting."
The bank clerk that assisted me while struggling to open an account welcomed me with the same spiel and kept smiling jolly at me all the time, even though I was most annoying asking her to repeat every single detail over and over again. For the record, I would have probably done the same in Italy, 'cause my financial skills are nearly non-existing.
It happened tonight at the supermarket and at the bookshop. You may think these assistants are quite hyprocritical. It's humanly impossible to be cheerful at the end of the day, after you've spent eight or more hours working. And it's quite useless too, as a formula. What does it mean in the end? What else can the customer do other than waiting? However, it's joyful for the customer to be welcomed in such a polite way. Sometimes a well-mannered encounter can make your day, or simply cast a smile on your face and you exit the store a little bit more light-hearted.
So, thumbs up for the training in politeness that shop assistants and office workers go through! And even big toes up for the strain of doing so at whatever time of the day!
I remember with glee the mild-mannered civil servant that helped me when I was trying to figure out how the Oyster card (card that charges low-priced fees for public transport) works. He carefully explained to me all the different options and since I was still doubtful, he started all over again. He also used a Forrest Gump-like metaphor involving chocolates and sweets to point out that there is no best solution but only relatively good ones. As I felt grateful for his helpfulness and compelled to tell him so, he then added: "No, it's a pleasure to be helpful when someone is nice. Sometimes people come here and are in such a hurry, and grumpy, that it makes you feel like you don't to be kind either!" And that reminded me that all relations, even the more ephemeral ones, are two-sided and mutually established.
Customer service is a part of British culture that I admire. It makes you feel important even if you're not. And it must be hard, as the dear TFL clerk suggested, when everyboy's at speed and has very little time to be polite. It must come natural after a while.
In Italy such thing does not exist, and I'm afraid to become aware of the fact that our fame precedes us. I was recently talking to a guy from London who took a Master's degree in Scandinavian studies. He heard, or rather knew, about Italian postal service. These days, Brits are having problem with lazy Royal Mail postmen as well, but I think Italian postal service scores first in any public service list in terms of inefficiency, slowness and grumpiness. I reckon that it must take strenuous effort to bare the grievances of retired people who regularly go to the post office to collect their poor pensions or to put up with the bothering bloke that shows up at the very last minute to hand in a letter to send by recorded delivery.
Nevertheless, it would take just a little more patience and endurance to say the few magic words that might turn the grumpy old folk and the angry busy businessperson that has no time to waste into friendly chaps: "Thank you for waiting."
Take it as it is: false, rehearsed, robotically repeated with no sensitivity attached. It's still better to find a fake happy smile than a sincere gloomy countanance, isn't it? And to be honest, this politeness helped me cope with the puzzling settling down in the City as I arrived. When you feel lost in a big city it's pretty comforting to know that somebody out there, despite the daily mayhem of life, is willing to help you.
This is something I noticed from my very first week here in London. From my very first experience in a shop on the Queen's soil (hope nodoby will get angry at me for this expression!), which took place at Stansted airport precisely one month ago. All shop assistants welcome you at the cashier with a smile upon their face and say soft-spokenly: "Hello, thank you for waiting."
The bank clerk that assisted me while struggling to open an account welcomed me with the same spiel and kept smiling jolly at me all the time, even though I was most annoying asking her to repeat every single detail over and over again. For the record, I would have probably done the same in Italy, 'cause my financial skills are nearly non-existing.
It happened tonight at the supermarket and at the bookshop. You may think these assistants are quite hyprocritical. It's humanly impossible to be cheerful at the end of the day, after you've spent eight or more hours working. And it's quite useless too, as a formula. What does it mean in the end? What else can the customer do other than waiting? However, it's joyful for the customer to be welcomed in such a polite way. Sometimes a well-mannered encounter can make your day, or simply cast a smile on your face and you exit the store a little bit more light-hearted.
So, thumbs up for the training in politeness that shop assistants and office workers go through! And even big toes up for the strain of doing so at whatever time of the day!
I remember with glee the mild-mannered civil servant that helped me when I was trying to figure out how the Oyster card (card that charges low-priced fees for public transport) works. He carefully explained to me all the different options and since I was still doubtful, he started all over again. He also used a Forrest Gump-like metaphor involving chocolates and sweets to point out that there is no best solution but only relatively good ones. As I felt grateful for his helpfulness and compelled to tell him so, he then added: "No, it's a pleasure to be helpful when someone is nice. Sometimes people come here and are in such a hurry, and grumpy, that it makes you feel like you don't to be kind either!" And that reminded me that all relations, even the more ephemeral ones, are two-sided and mutually established.
Customer service is a part of British culture that I admire. It makes you feel important even if you're not. And it must be hard, as the dear TFL clerk suggested, when everyboy's at speed and has very little time to be polite. It must come natural after a while.
In Italy such thing does not exist, and I'm afraid to become aware of the fact that our fame precedes us. I was recently talking to a guy from London who took a Master's degree in Scandinavian studies. He heard, or rather knew, about Italian postal service. These days, Brits are having problem with lazy Royal Mail postmen as well, but I think Italian postal service scores first in any public service list in terms of inefficiency, slowness and grumpiness. I reckon that it must take strenuous effort to bare the grievances of retired people who regularly go to the post office to collect their poor pensions or to put up with the bothering bloke that shows up at the very last minute to hand in a letter to send by recorded delivery.
Nevertheless, it would take just a little more patience and endurance to say the few magic words that might turn the grumpy old folk and the angry busy businessperson that has no time to waste into friendly chaps: "Thank you for waiting."
Take it as it is: false, rehearsed, robotically repeated with no sensitivity attached. It's still better to find a fake happy smile than a sincere gloomy countanance, isn't it? And to be honest, this politeness helped me cope with the puzzling settling down in the City as I arrived. When you feel lost in a big city it's pretty comforting to know that somebody out there, despite the daily mayhem of life, is willing to help you.
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