Unsurprisingly, the concept of customer service in a Communist society was a contradiction in terms, illustrated on a daily basis.
The first hurdle was to even get anywhere near the goods you were considering purchasing. In bookshops and record shops a counter and a cordon firmly separated you from the items in question, each of which had to be asked for by name or title – though these were indecipherable from such a distance, leaving you craning your neck and straining your eyes in the hope of being able to identify what you might want. Browsing was both alien and forbidden.
‘Have you got a …..?’ or ‘Where can I find the….?’ were invariably greeted with a shrug of the shoulders or a vague wave of the hand into the distance.
The answer, ‘We might have it in the storeroom,’ on the other hand, provided you with the opportunity to indulge in some small-time bribery. An answer of ‘I would be grateful if you would have a look,’ meant you were tacitly agreeing to tip the assistant for taking the trouble to fetch it.
It was a matter of complete indifference to everyone whether you bought anything in their shop or not. The assistants were paid a pittance (as everyone was) and no-one stood directly to gain from your purchase – except if you had to tip them to sell it to you in the first place!
Where the transaction was more complicated, possibly in an office or suchlike, it was not at all uncommon to see satisfied customers or clients return with bouquets of flowers and other presents for the person who had so pleased them by, in fact, just doing their job!
Friends visited in the summer, and on their last afternoon we went to the House of Terror museum, ending up in the shop half an hour before the museum closed. Standing with the card and money in her hand Rose turned to the counter, but no-one was there. A young French couple stood waiting to buy a book. A security guard informed us that the shop assistant had gone home. ‘But the museum doesn’t close for half an hour,’ I said. He shrugged. ‘You’ll have to come back tomorrow morning,’ he said. They were flying back the next day. I took Rose’s money from her hand, put it on the counter and walked past the stupified guard, postcard in hand. ‘You can’t do that,’ he began; we did.
Then on Friday in a small, unassuming café where I sat out on the pavement, the flowers I had just been given were smilingly put in a jug of water; food and drink were brought quickly; and when I left, kitchen paper was offered for me to wrap the stems of the flowers in for my journey home.
Today, most shopping experiences seem to straddle the old, ‘We are very pleased not to be of service,’ variety, alongside what foreigners consider normal - and what those of us innured to old Communist ways still find a pleasant surprise worth commenting upon.
Following a ‘normal’ transaction where the assistant talks to me politely (smiles, even!), offers to get something from the infamous storeroom, packs it up and hands it to me (with a smile!) wishing me viszontlátásra, I cannot desist from thinking (saying, if I’m with someone else) : She was friendly / pleasant etc. And if they have had to go to particular trouble – ringing another of their shops to see if the item is available there - I still have to stop myself wondering what tip I should give!
The first hurdle was to even get anywhere near the goods you were considering purchasing. In bookshops and record shops a counter and a cordon firmly separated you from the items in question, each of which had to be asked for by name or title – though these were indecipherable from such a distance, leaving you craning your neck and straining your eyes in the hope of being able to identify what you might want. Browsing was both alien and forbidden.
‘Have you got a …..?’ or ‘Where can I find the….?’ were invariably greeted with a shrug of the shoulders or a vague wave of the hand into the distance.
The answer, ‘We might have it in the storeroom,’ on the other hand, provided you with the opportunity to indulge in some small-time bribery. An answer of ‘I would be grateful if you would have a look,’ meant you were tacitly agreeing to tip the assistant for taking the trouble to fetch it.
It was a matter of complete indifference to everyone whether you bought anything in their shop or not. The assistants were paid a pittance (as everyone was) and no-one stood directly to gain from your purchase – except if you had to tip them to sell it to you in the first place!
Where the transaction was more complicated, possibly in an office or suchlike, it was not at all uncommon to see satisfied customers or clients return with bouquets of flowers and other presents for the person who had so pleased them by, in fact, just doing their job!
Friends visited in the summer, and on their last afternoon we went to the House of Terror museum, ending up in the shop half an hour before the museum closed. Standing with the card and money in her hand Rose turned to the counter, but no-one was there. A young French couple stood waiting to buy a book. A security guard informed us that the shop assistant had gone home. ‘But the museum doesn’t close for half an hour,’ I said. He shrugged. ‘You’ll have to come back tomorrow morning,’ he said. They were flying back the next day. I took Rose’s money from her hand, put it on the counter and walked past the stupified guard, postcard in hand. ‘You can’t do that,’ he began; we did.
Then on Friday in a small, unassuming café where I sat out on the pavement, the flowers I had just been given were smilingly put in a jug of water; food and drink were brought quickly; and when I left, kitchen paper was offered for me to wrap the stems of the flowers in for my journey home.
Today, most shopping experiences seem to straddle the old, ‘We are very pleased not to be of service,’ variety, alongside what foreigners consider normal - and what those of us innured to old Communist ways still find a pleasant surprise worth commenting upon.
Following a ‘normal’ transaction where the assistant talks to me politely (smiles, even!), offers to get something from the infamous storeroom, packs it up and hands it to me (with a smile!) wishing me viszontlátásra, I cannot desist from thinking (saying, if I’m with someone else) : She was friendly / pleasant etc. And if they have had to go to particular trouble – ringing another of their shops to see if the item is available there - I still have to stop myself wondering what tip I should give!
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