Inside Customer Service

By the end of your shift, you will have smiled through someone’s anger, apologized for things you didn’t do, and wondered why respect has become optional. You will have listened to complaints that aren’t yours, taken responsibility for mistakes you didn’t make, and kept calm when bring treated like you don’t matter. This is the reality of working in customer service.

Imagine starting your day knowing you will be yelled at. Not might-will. Imagine being blamed for things you didn’t break, didn’t decide, and can’t fix, while being required to stay calm and smile through it. Imagine preparing yourself not for the work itself, but for the impact-for raised voiced, slammed counters, insults disguised as complaints. We don’t come to work knowing that no matter how politely we speak, someone will decide we deserve their anger. This isn’t a worst-case scenario. This is customer service.

We are everywhere, and yet, somehow unseen. We are behind the counter, behind the register, behind the bar, on the phone, at the table, in the aisle, at the door, at the window. We are retail workers, servers, bartenders, hosts, cashiers, call center agents, delivery drivers, rideshare drivers, food runners, stockers-every person whose job it is to serve the public and keep daily like moving while being told to absorb whatever comes with it.

We don’t just clock in. We armor up.

We put on uniforms and name tags. We rehearse politeness. We soften our voices. We prepare explanations we already know won’t be accepted. We remind ourselves-before the doors open, before the phones ring, before the rush hits-that today may include being disrespected by someone who will forget our face the moment they leave. We learn quickly that customer service isn’t just labor-it’s emotional endurance.

The outbursts come in waves. Sometimes they’re loud and explosive. Sometimes they’re quiet and cutting. Customers scream over prices we didn’t set. Over policies we didn’t write. Over systems designed by people who will never be screamed at for them. They yell because an item was mislabeled, placed in the wrong spot by another customer, or has a tag that wasn’t updated. They yell because a table isn’t ready, a call wasn’t answered fast enough, or the world didn’t bend to their schedule.

They slam counters. They throw receipts, cups, food, merchandise. They lean in too close. They swear. They mock. They demand names. They threaten complaints, write reviews while staring us down, promise to “get us fired.” They do it loudly, confidently, knowing we are trapped by policies that forbid us from responding honestly.

And we are expected to take it.

We are told to “stay calm.” To “de-escalate.” To “be professional.” We are told the customer is always right-even when they are wrong, even when they are cruel, even when they are unsafe. This phrase-“the customer is always right”-is repeated like a mantra, but it is a lie. Customers are not always right. Sometimes they’re are impatient, entitled, misinformed, or taking out unrelated frustrations on someone who cannot change the situation. And yet, the myth demands we swallow our dignity, absorb their rage, and pretend it doesn’t hurt.

We are forced to enforced corporate policies that actively work against us. Policies that strip us of autonomy while keeping us fully responsible for the outcome. Policies that allow no flexibility, no nuance, no humanity-yet place us directly in the line of fire. We become the face of corporations that will never hear the yelling, never feel the fear, never clean up the emotional wreckage. We are the buffer between customer entitlement and corporate indifference.

Let me give you a glimpse of what that looks like in real life:

-The Waiter: A table of four complains that their food isn’t perfect. One person doesn’t like the sauce Another says the seating was uncomfortable. When the check arrives, a tip is withheld, and an insult is thrown on the way out. The waiter apologizes, smiles, and sweeps the crumbs, because corporate policy forbids confrontation and demands a positive review online. That one interaction, twenty minutes lone, leaves anxiety for hours, a knot in the stomach for the entire night, and sleep that comes only after replaying every word, every tone, every sigh.

-The Retail Cashier: A customer yells about an item having a different price on the shelf than at the register, even though the cashier didn’t place the item or set the pricing. The tag was wrong, someone else moved the product, or a mistake was made by the system. The customer escalates angrily, leaving the cashier apologizing and calming the next line of customers, all while performing their job under scrutiny and pressure. Corporate metrics demand fast checkout and zero complaints, but the cashier is left to absorb the confrontation.

-The Call Center Agent: Voices over the phone range from polite irritation to full-on rage. A customer demands an immediate refund for a product they never purchased. Another threatens legal action or berates the agent for delays that were completely out of their control. The agent must stay calm, follow strict scripts, and hide tears behind the headset, all while corporate metrics demand speed, politeness, and zero complaints. They juggle dozens of calls in a single shift, each interaction leaving a mental and emotional mark that lasts long after the phone is hung up.

-The Delivery Driver (DoorDash, Uber Eats, etc.): Drivers brave weather, traffic, and sometimes unsafe neighborhoods to deliver meals and groceries promptly. Yet customers sometimes fail to tip, reduce tips because the food was delayed (even if delays were beyond the driver’s control), or tip inappropriately for hazardous conditions. Drivers handle multiple orders at once, navigate complex apps, and bear the brunt of customer frustration, all while staying polite and professional. They do the work customers often won’t do themselves, and many are judged unfairly for factors outside their control.

-The Rideshare Driver (Uber/Lyft): Drivers navigate traffic, follow directions, and maintain safety, all while transporting strangers who may be impatient, rude, intoxicated, or demanding. They handle complaints about routes, music, air conditioning, or timing, and sometimes face unsafe or hostile situations with no direct support. The expectation is that drivers remain professional, calm, and courteous, regardless of the treatment they receive.

Customers often say, “I know it’s not your fault, but...” And then they unload anyway.

That “but” is where entitlement lives. That “but” excuses cruelty. That “but” becomes a daily mountain we must climb. And climbing it wears us down.

This work demands emotional labor most people will never experience. We are expected to manage other people’s emotions while suppressing out own. We are expected to be empathetic on demand, patient under pressure, calm under hostility. We absorb stress like a sponge and wring ourselves out at home and alone. The toll is cumulative-days of abuse build into anxiety that follows us into relationships, sleep, and everyday life. We replay every interaction. We second-guess ourselves. We fear that one wrong move will be remembered long after the customer has forgotten our name. It’s not just a shift-it’s a weight that lingers.

Over time, it changes you.

It creates hypervigilance. Anxiety before shifts. Flinches when voices ride. Constant scanning of tone and body language. It convinces us that being treated poorly is normal-that abuse is just part of earning a living… Because we have bills to pay, rent to cover, groceries to buy, insurance premiums, school loans, utilities, and responsibilities that will not pause for anyone’s entitlement.

And still-we show up.

We show up during holidays when everyone else is off. We show up during evenings, weekends, and nights, when most people are enjoying their downtime. We show up during pandemics, natural disasters, and severe weather, when being “essential” meant putting ourselves at risk. We show up during understaffed shifts where one person is owing the work of three. Without us, stores would not be open, restaurants would not serve meals, rides would not arrive, apps would not deliver, and your convenience simply wouldn’t exist. The options people take for granted-late night food, holiday shopping, grocery deliveries-exist because we are there, sacrificing comfort and safety.

There are good moments. And they matter more than most people realize. A customer who waits patiently during a rush. Someone who notices you’re struggling and offers kindness. Someone who tips generously, leaves a positive note, helps a fellow customer, or simply acknowledges the difficulty of your job. A smile, a thank you, or even a simple nod can restore faith in humanity and remind us why we endure the work we do. These moments don’t erase the harm-but they restore hope, compassion, and the reason we continue to show up.

Of course, there are a few bad apples. Employees who show up just for the paycheck, who don’t take pride in their work, who don’t care. But they are the exception, not the rule. The majority of service workers apply for their jobs with intent, skill, and professionalism. We are trained, we are taught, we show up, and we care-every shift, every interaction, every time.

The ugly truth is this: society has normalized cruelty towards service workers. It excuses it as stress. Justifies it as honesty. Enables it through corporate systems that prioritize profits, speed, and ratings over human well-being. Reinforces it every time abuse is tolerated, minimized, or ignored. Every time a bystander looks away. Every time a manager shrugs and says, “That’s just how customers are.”

That normalization is a choice.

And so is ending it.

The next time you’re frustrated, pause. The next time something goes wrong, ask who actually has the power to fix it-and who doesn’t. The next time you feel entitled to raise your voice, remember that we will carry that moment long after you forget it. Speak with respect. Hold corporations accountable instead of attacking workers. Intervene when you witness abuse. Teach empathy by example.

We are not your punching bag. We are not your emotional dumping ground. We are not invisible.

We are people.

And how you treat us-when things go wrong, when you’re stressed, when no one is watching-says everything about who you are.

If this made you uncomfortable, sit with that. Discomfort is where awareness begins. And awareness is where change starts.