I don’t know whether it is to do with my advancing years or my utter lack of worldliness, but happy people tire me these days. Lately, there is nothing more annoying to me than listening to their exclamations of delight over their jobs, family, friends, holidays, neighbours etc.
One tries to change the subject and talk about something as dreary as the weather, but they immediately respond by telling you how and why they are overjoyed with it! There is no respite, I tell you.
On the other hand, the constant complainers can be tiresome too, because who wants to be party to a litany of complaints that are presented at the drop of a hat? But between the grumblers and the gloaters, I prefer the grumblers. Any day!
There are two reasons for this. The first is that, in the company of moaners, one feels better instantly. And that is because one realizes that one is not the only one getting the raw end of the deal. Also, secondly, and more importantly, one can offer them some suggestions from one’s own personal experience, which could perhaps better their lot. Hence, it gives one a sense of usefulness as well, so to speak.
However, this dual opportunity is lost on the cheerful set because why would anyone give them advice? They have no need for it; in fact, they don’t even heed to it because they are extremely busy being, well, happy.
There is so much sugary sweetness in their personality, without any sour or spicy side to it, that it sets my teeth on edge. I often wonder if these individuals are in this state of bliss all the time or there are invisible masks that they wear over their faces in public which are removed once they enter their private spaces. Who knows?
Meanwhile, the faultfinders are diligent in discovering mistakes that they unceremoniously bring to the notice of the concerned authorities by filling feedback forms and complaints registers. Greatly inspired by their complaining enthusiasm, I decide to follow their lead the next time I experience bad service.
Subsequently, when I visit Lake Victoria in Tanzania, I order some food from the in-room dining menu that seems inviting. But the delivery takes so many hours to arrive that I lose my appetite and am goaded into taking extreme action. I request for the complaint form and fill it up from top to bottom answering some questions that are not even asked.
Roughly, two months after I return home, my phone rings.
“Ma’am, you had a bad time at our hotel,” states an alien voice belligerently.
“Who is speaking?” I try connecting the dots.
“Your breakfast order arrived at dinnertime,” the voice continues in the same tone.
“Aha! Lake Victoria,” I exclaim in recognition.
“I am the owner of the hotel,” he thunders.
I am taken aback with the introduction.
“Hello, hello, you there?” he bellows.
The caller switches hands suddenly and there is a new suave voice on the line.
“We did a thorough investigation, Madam. I am the GM speaking,” says the GM.
“How are you?” I ask.
“Could not be better. Your constructive criticism was the best thing that happened to us,” he gushes cheerfully.
I cough in surprise.
“We have improved everything now, including a new cough remedy which is extremely effective…” he prattles happily.
I sigh tiredly before disconnecting.
By Nickunj Malik
|| features@portugalresident.com
Nickunj Malik’s journalistic career began when she walked into the office of Khaleej Times newspaper in Dubai thirty-one years ago and got the job. Since then, her articles have appeared in various newspapers all over the world. She now resides in Portugal and is married to a banker who loves numbers more than words.
