The groceries were bagged. The credit card was swiped. The dotted line was signed. Any other day and I would be out of the store by now and my car would be making its familiar “beep-beep” as I clicked the remote door-opener.
But not today.
Because today is Customer Appreciation Day.
The store clerk continued to stare at my signed receipt. At first I thought there was something wrong with my signature – had this girl noticed how subtly it had changed over the years and no longer resembled the one on the card? What had been my initial and full first name now resembled the markings made by a chicken scratching away at the sand (so beautifully and succinctly described in Tamil as “kozhi-kirukkal”). But no, it wasn’t that – it was something more serious.
It was the first bead of sweat slowly trickling down the clerk’s forehead that gave it away: She was trying to pronounce my name.
“Mr. Na … Naaaryaa … Mr. Nnnnaa ….”
Heaven praise the person who came up the idea that store clerks should address customers by name on Customer Appreciation Day.
“Mr. Narayaaaaa …”
She was getting desperate and was looking around for any help she could get but the other clerks were fighting their own battles (“Mr. Venkatasuuuuu….”, “Mr. Gopa …” . If those were really the names I was almost sure they were, then Good Luck getting them right! I thought)
“Sir … Pra Praaaash ….” My first name was not of much help either ….
There were already more than ten people behind me now and one look at their ethnicities told me this was not my clerk’s day. By now her sweaty palms had rendered my receipt to an undecipherable mass of pulp and she was close to tears. I decided I had had enough fun for the day.
“Just call me Mr. N”, I said gleefully as I scraped the remains of the receipt off her hand and raced for the exit.
Only another month for the next Customer Appreciation Day.
I can’t wait!