I routinely ride my bike for errands. This saves me time and money as it allows
me to weave in and around traffic without burning gas or paying for fare.
I needed sugar this morning, two kilos of it. A kilo of white sugar costs 7 pesos more at the
local sarisari store than at the grocery, so biking 8 kilometers to and from
Robinsons Place would save me 14 pesos, and I get to earn a little exercise on
the side.
I usually park my bike where motorcycle riders park theirs,
near the rear entrance of the mall. As
customary, I politely ask the security guard in charge of the parking space “Sir,
paiwan lang ha. Mabilis lang ako.”
Instead of the usual “Sige sir, pakitabi na lang d’yan,” the guard on
duty sternly asked “Wala ka bang lock n’yan?” as he pointed to other bikes
padlocked to a steel post.
“Sir, saglit lang ako,” I repeated myself.
“Dapat kasi may lock ka, eh.”
“Wala nga sir, eh. Di
ko ba puedeng iwan?” I asked in a relaxed
voice.
“San mo iiwanan? My stand ba yan?, as he pointed to a line
of motorcycles that were standing on their own, indicating that they belong
where they are.
“Wala rin, sir.”
“Eh, dapat may stand yan.
Kung lalabas kayo at iiwanan ang bike nyo, dapat may lock at stand.”
My patience was wearing thin and I didn’t like the tone of
his voice. “Sir, gaano ba ka-imposible
ang hinihingi ko? At huwag mo ko
pagagalitan.”
“Sir,” the first time he used the word and at a lower
octave, “di ko naman kayo pinagagalitan, baka lang masalisihan tayo.”
“Tignan mo nga kung gaano kalaki ako (I am 185-pound, 6’1”
man)? Hindi mo kaya mapapansin kung biglang maliit na ang kukuha ng bike ko?”
He was determined not to let me park, but I was equally
determined to let him see my point – that leaving my bike at his post, won’t
cause him any trouble, and won’t result to a stolen bike provided that he opens
his eyes. It was as simple as that.
Perhaps realizing that I was not about to ride away, he
grudgingly gestured to a corner. It is
where I normally park my bike -- within his reach and sight.
I was back to retrieve my bike after no more than 10 minutes. Another guard was ogling it, while the guard
on duty was, well, standing where I left him: a meter away from it.
On my way home, I kept on repeating the conversation I had
with the guard in my head, trying to find a way to understand why he acted the
way he did. The most reasonable argument
would be that he was afraid that a bike that costs perhaps several months of
his salary could be stolen right under his nose. But
that doesn’t hold water. No thief would
be stupid enough to steal a bike when a guard can handcuff him even before he
can mount it. I suppose it’s
possible. But come on, even the most
desperate thief would at least try to steal something that he knows he has half
a chance of getting away with it.
So I came to this conclusion: The guard was just doing his
job. And that’s the problem, he was JUST
doing his job.
Years ago, I was asked to come up with an Annual Report
concept for Petron. They were then
trying to overhaul their service philosophy which mandated that everyone, from
the gas pump attendant dealing with a customer to the big bosses making the big
decision, should attend to his responsibilities with the end goal of creating
an extraordinary service experience for the other party. I encapsulated this thrust into the theme “Going
the extra mile for a smile.”
The guard was just doing his job, by following a job
description. I can’t help but think that
he considers his job as “merely” a source of income, nothing more, and
certainly not part of something bigger.
Which is not bad really, and I cannot fault him for it. Why should he go the extra mile when he had
already given what was required?
It’s the same as the karinderia owner who refuses extra
sabaw to a customer, a nurse who snubs a patient’s request to raise his bed a
little because she was only there to check on the meds, or a mechanic who
ignores a lose wheel nut because he was only asked to work on the brakes.
And to think the difference between a satisfied carinderia
customer, a relieved hospital patient or a safe car driver is just a few
seconds, and one unremarkable effort. Really, it
doesn’t take much to put a smile on somebody’s face.
Perhaps, I was just expecting too much because I believe
that every person doing a job has certain predispositions or qualities that would
make him effective.
I expect a guard to be alert and attentive. Just as I expect a chef to have a keen taste
for food, a teacher to be patient and knowledgeable, and a politician to be,
well, good at what politicians do (supply the word).
There is always a human element to any job that requires interaction. And this often entails a little flexibility
to adjust to the push of fulfilling a job description and the pull of giving in
to a reasonable, humane and helpful request. And sometimes, a little sensitivity to the situation.
When my father was in the hospital for Stage 4 cancer, he
was attended to by a female physician.
She was good and always knew what to do medically under any condition
and circumstance. But by then my father was
feeling pain all over his body. In one
of her rounds the good doctor found me massaging my father with coconut oil to
which she snapped, “Wala namang magagawa yang langis at masahe na ‘yan.” She didn’t get it. But she was doing her job.
Every job becomes more than what it is when we consider what it would mean to others. How about you, what is your job?
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