Seen as the voice of the downtrodden, a man who defied the business adage that “the customer is always right,” Steven Slater, a JetBlue flight attendant, finally had enough Aug. 9.
After a not-so-nice encounter with a passenger, he launched into barrage of four-letter words over the PA system, grabbed two beers and slid down the super-fun-looking emergency escape on his way to making national headlines.
Is Slater my personal hero? In a way, yes.
I don’t know anyone who works with the public and hasn’t wanted to do something at least remotely similar to express his or her true feeling and frustrations (with or without profanities and stolen beer).
But then there’s the job Slater was hired to perform to consider. Slater’s job is dependant upon interacting with the often misguided, sometimes misinformed and, many times, mean public. Better yet, the traveling and stressed-out public.
As journalists, we go into this job knowing that our readers might not always agree with what we cover, how we cover it or even why.
That’s OK. We knew exactly what we were getting ourselves into. And so did Slater.
What this situation does bring up, though, is how we treat one another, especially strangers.
I’ve waited my fair share of tables and tended bar for long enough to know that people’s rudeness comes from one belief — as a customer, they are entitled to treat you however they want. And that’s wrong.
As an editor, I field a fair share of phone calls from the public. (It’s my job.) I can tell in about 20 seconds how the call will go, based on the person’s delivery.
One of my favorite conversations in this job was with an upset advertiser late on a Friday afternoon. The subject had the potential for disaster, petty name-calling, maybe even profanities, if the caller felt so inclined. But it didn’t. He talked, I listened. I talked, he listened.
We disagreed, but both hung up feeling heard.
When I went home for the day, I tried explained to my husband that someone who was displeased with me just made my day. Actually, I tried to explain it to myself. It didn’t make any sense. In the most refreshing way possible, it didn’t make sense.
Email Maureen Raitz at maureen.raitz@doverpost.com.
