Language Peeves #1

I'm reading a cranky little book called Literally the Best Language Book Ever, by a self-appointed language cop named Paul Yeager.* I wish I could say I am enjoying it, but while I agree with many of Yeager's assertions (and find myself continually guilty of transgressions both public and private), I nonetheless regard him as just too much of a prescriptivist for my tastes. He is also flat-out wrong about some of his language peeves. Yeager is no Safire.

What sets me off today is Yeager's entry concerning the ubiquitous and perfunctory customer service phrase, "May I help you?" I have no quarrel with perfunctory phrases. They are the language equivalent of holding the door for the person behind you. The person may be an elderly lady carrying half a dozen boxes of Depends, or he may be a body builder who could open the door himself with one of his steroid-soaked pecs. It makes no difference—good manners are intended to smooth the way in society, and customer service is an obvious place to apply them.

My problem with the phrase "May I help you?" is not its presence, but its decline in favor of what I consider the rudest "polite" phrase in the customer service world: "Can I help who's next?" or the more efficient and more boorish, "Next in line." It is in fact a fusion of two separate questions: "Who is next?" and "Can I (shudder) help you?" But don't stoop to calling it verbal multitasking or some such nonsense. It's bad grammar.

It's also terrible manners.

Here in the early days of the 21st century, this affront to both language and etiquette can be found in any business establishment where people queue up for service, but most especially at any Starbucks in the USA. It is practiced in its perfection on the island of Manhattan. Here are the field notes:


 There are two possible queue formations in the typical Starbucks. One configuration has customers lining up perpendicular to the counter; the other formation (and this usually depends on the shape of the room) requires the line to form parallel to the counter. Each adds its own special flavor to the occasion. In the former, the barista (an odious term in its own right) uses the phrase to leapfrog over the customer at the head of the line—who is presumably being helped by the (ugh!) barista's colleague—to get things moving. Saying "Can I help who's next?" absolves the boorista (there, that's better) from any responsibility to actually determine who's next for herself. Customers who fail to line up in an orderly manner are presumably expected to fight it out among themselves. 
In any case, the responsibility for identifying the future owner of the next grande decaf cappuchino lies on the public side of the counter. It's the law of the faux-Italian jungle.

In the other configuration (parallel), the boorista has an additional priority, which is to physically move the line forward, especially when the establishment is busy. This movement is achieved with the variant, "Next in line," which may include the passive-aggressive use of the word "please." Most Starbucks have not one but two cash registers, and "customer leapfrog" is a common sport. In crowded Manhattan stores, the invitation is often accompanied by a mildly annoyed wave of the boorista's arm, on the theory that the unaccompanied loud New Yorker voice is insufficient to get the attention of other loud New Yorkers.

But let's not pick on New York. The same rude "wave-'em-on-through" cattle-herding approach may be found in California, Illinois, and even my home state of Massachusetts. I even saw it in Scotland last year. Horrors. 

It happened yesterday. The Starbucks in question was not busy. It was, if anything, surprisingly quiet for a place that sells stimulants by the pound without a prescription. I was "next" in a line that consisted of myself and a middle-aged lady in bicycle shorts. The fresh-faced, unsmiling little twenty-something in the green apron looked right at me—no, looked right through me—and said, "Can I help who's next?" 

I paused, glancing over my shoulder at the woman in the bike shorts. Was it possible I has jumped the line? She gave no sign from behind her sunglasses. I looked back at the boorista, who seemed not to care. I was at a total loss. If the professional was unsure, who was I, an untrained amateur, to make the call? 

All this could be avoided with a simple alteration of behavior. Instead of the noncommittal, "Can I help who's next?" the proper approach is to look AT the person to whom you are speaking (there's a novel approach) and say, "May I (let us not even discuss "can I") help you, sir?" 

Yes, I am a "sir," and prefer to be addressed that way by service personnel half my age, especially when I'm paying nearly five dollars for a cup of coffee. It should come with the territory. Perhaps you are a "sir," perhaps a "ma'am." (Check your equipment.) You might even be a "miss." Whatever else we are, we are not merely "who's next." Who's next sounds as though I am not even in the room, but merely being discussed by others.

Why should the typical boorista care about such things? After all, s/he is a highly-trained (and, if you believe Forbes magazine, well-compensated) professional. Why can't such people be free to determine for themselves the best way—the most efficient way—to do their jobs? 
Simple. If you work in one of these places and have ever used the "Can I help who's next?" line, remember that I am a tipper. I like to be acknowledged as a person, not merely as a way to kill time until your shift is over. I use my Starbucks card for convenience, but I carry cash to say thank you. 
 I never tip after being impersonally referred to as "next in line." 
 







*"Self-appointed" is a bit unfair. Mr. Yeager is in fact the managing editor of Accuweather.com, so presumably he was in fact appointed by someone else. 

 

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  • 6/28/2008 12:37 AM Mary wrote:
    I couldn't agree with you less!

    I read the book and loved it. I certainly didn't agree with every entry, either, and with over 350 entries in the book, who would?

    Besides, it was clear to me that the book is half language help and half satire--and always funny.

    Read it for yourself and decide if the book is any good.
    Reply to this
    1. 6/28/2008 7:56 AM Codswallop wrote:
      Dissenting opinions are always welcome.

      Can I help who's next?
      Reply to this

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