We live in a world of entitlement and immediate gratification. Most people these days are of the opinion that they owed everything, are entitled to everything and assume they’re always right. I see a lot of that. Cue a British retail mogul named Selfridge, who coined the phrase “the customer is always right…” In the early 20th Century, Selfridge coined this slogan, but the part that modern people seem to forget, is that the slogan actually reads, “the customer is always right in matters of taste.” This slogan was meant to emphasize that customers should always have their preferences catered to, rather than lose the sale. Somehow, over the decades that followed, it got shortened to “the customer is always right,” and customers the world over have used this as a weapon to assume businesses should bend over backwards to provide things the customer either hasn’t paid for, or isn’t entitled to. The flip side to that coin, is the degradation of customer service in modern retail. More and more, it seems that getting decent service and correct orders in almost any industry is a dead art; businesses preferring to assume customers should just take their chances and suck it up if it’s wrong, rather than actually try to do it right.
It’s a bit of a cynical view, I admit. But it comes from a place of experience and knowledge. I’ve worked in retail industries often over the past three decades, despite my policing career, and I’ve seen the damage from both sides. This is why, when good service is provided, especially good service that goes above and beyond, I believe that is should not only be recognized but thoroughly congratulated. So, here’s the background. I was diagnosed as Type-1 Diabetic when I was four years old. As of two days go, that means that I’ve been Type-1 for 43 years. I’ve been around the block, as far as dealing with every possible situation Diabetes can throw at me, including ketoacidosis, comas, frequent dehydration, eye issues (hence my eye injections) and kidney issues. I’m among the lucky ones, as I’ve worked and fought hard to maintain myself and my health, preventing some of the more serious complications of Type-1, such as organ failure and, well… death. So believe me when I say that I try and do everything right and control my condition with an almost surgeon-like precision.
Whenever I travel, whenever I leave the house, really, I always make a point of bringing along certain necessities with me. This usually includes nasal spray, hand sanitizer, a portable first aid kit, a glucometer, and last but not least, fast-acting carbohydrates, like Skittles or Swedish Berries. This is done almost without exception since, even on a short car ride, my blood can suddenly drop for little to no reason and I can find myself stuck in traffic with no means of treating a low. It’s almost reflexive at this point, having done so for most of my adult life. Which is why the situation that happened last Thursday night came as a bit of a shock… I travelled to Saskatoon for my scheduled eye injections. I do these at 13-week intervals now, which is a marked improvement from the 4-week intervals I started at. Once again, a testament to how the body can heal itself from many conditions if you take care of yourself and give it the tools it needs. I travelled to the city Thursday morning and checked into my hotel room without issue. I walked over to the hospital about mid-afternoon and got checked into for my procedure. Getting through the process can take a couple of hours but the procedure itself is only about ten minutes. Modern medicine, go figure.
That evening, I enjoyed a solitary meal at the Irish pub located on the ground floor of my hotel. Everything went fine and I made my way back up to my room to binge-watch some Netflix and go to sleep. I awoke a couple of hours later to my insulin pump blaring an alarm at me. It appeared that I was suffering a low. Not just a low, but I got the dreaded “Below 2.8mmol/L” message, which meant that my low blood sugar was basically at a life-threatening level. The only thing I can figure is that I had over-bolused for my meal and the additional insulin hadn’t caught up to me until then. Yet another reason why it’s never a good idea to eat so close to bedtime. Accustomed to treating late-night lows, I staggered over to my backpack and rummaged through, trying to wrap my fingers around the live-saving gummies or Skittles I expected to find. Only, I found nothing… The candies I usually so meticulously packed in every bag whenever I left the house were nowhere to be found. Panic began to set in. I considered downing the little sugar packet included with my coffee station but quickly dismissed the idea, since it would have very little effect and I would still be in trouble. With little other choice and quickly losing sense of my faculties, I did the only thing I COULD do; I grabbed my room key and debit card and stumbled out of my room to seek help.
I made my way to the ground floor and remembered the bank of vending machines to my left. I walked over and struggled to see clearly, both from the blood sugar and from my recent eye injections, to figure out if one of the machines took debit. I felt the minutes melting away, so I walked up to the counter and asked the front clerk for help. I managed to mumble out that I was Type-1 Diabetic and was having a low episode and needed his help. Although I have been staying at this hotel for over ten years, I didn’t recognize this man, which likely makes sense as I’m usually sleeping during the over night. This man guided me over to the lobby couch, sat me down and hustled into the restaurant’s kitchen and got me a cup of straight Coke. He handed it to me and watched me as I drank it readily. He got me a refill once I had finished the first cup and carried on from the reception desk, while keeping a clear eye on me. After about ten minutes, my blood sugars started to climb back to a level where I could at least start to see properly and feel a sense of coherence again. He asked me how I was feeling, to which I replied that I was coming around. The clarity of my voice must have encouraged him, compared to what I had initially mumbled.
I slowly walked over to the vending machines and I was able to find one machine that took debit, so I got myself a bottle of Coke to bring back to the room, in the event I dropped again or if I needed a little bit extra. I was sure to thank this gentleman before getting on the elevator. My blood rose to over 4.0 mmol/L before I finally fell back asleep, which isn’t phenomenal but was a clear sign it was climbing and my pump would wake me if it dropped again. I woke up the next morning feeling as though I had been hit by a freight train. I felt like an absolute inexperienced idiot. Not only did I have one of the worst lows in recent memory, I ad to do it while I was away from home and on the one occasion where I somehow forgot to pack some carbs for the trip. I know how the latter happened but I won’t bore you with the reasoning. The bottom line is that when it comes to my health, there is no valid excuse. If anything, I should have checked my back when I arrived and unpacked. At least then, I would have had the opportunity to buy something for the room ahead of time and I could have avoided the whole thing.
As I started sipping my morning caffeine, the reality of the situation started to sink in. The severity of the low and the situation I was in, alone in a hotel room, no sugary products to consume and slowly losing cognitive capacity, this could have gone from bad to extremely worse in very short order, had I not made my way downstairs and if my mystery clerk hadn’t assisted me. Although he may not have been fully aware of just how serious a state I was in, and he may not recognize that he may have potentially saved my life (or at the very least, saved me from an ambulance ride), he rose to the occasion and helped me without hesitation. He could have done what many would have done, and what I’ve been subjected to in the past, where security could have been called, accused me of being intoxicated, etc. After all, incoherent, stumbling man on shorts and bare-footed, mumbling something about an episode; many would have acted differently. But not this man. This man stepped up and gave me the help I needed to allow me to help myself. For me, that’s customer service that goes above and beyond what one would usually hope to find.
When I checked out of my room that morning, I asked the front desk clerk who the gentleman working overnight was called. As I asked, I reached over to the bank of business cards on the desk and grabbed one for the General Manager. I think the clerk took this as a bad sign and asked me if something had happened. I said that yeah, something had happened. This man possibly saved my damn life and I wanted his name so her could be recognized. She told me her name was Greg, and was happy to hear that he was able to help. I’ll be sending a note to their General Manager recognizing this man and what he did for me last Thursday. He showed the kind of attention and assistance that everyone in the service industry should be able to provide for their guests/customers. And I should dare say that customer service like that doesn’t belong on the night shift. Hat’s off to you, Greg! You’re an example to others. Keep up the good work!
For myself, this was a sobering reminder that my condition follows me wherever I go. It doesn’t take days off, doesn’t stay behind when I travel and won’t give me an inch for the mile. By virtue of that, it’s all the more reason for me to be vigilant in preparing for any outing, trip or travel. After all, I can’t always assume that in the event of an emergency, Greg will be there to save the day. Sugary food for thought… ☯️
The Blogging Buddhist 