A non-yelling award or customer service advisement-style

A few years ago, the university administration introduced the idea of "academic customer service" where the sole purpose of the faculty and staff would be to "serve our students by providing them with the very best we had to offer", or something equally non-academic. They were thrilled by the idea of faculty and staff doing everything in their power to keep the students happy, I'm guessing first and foremost because of what this would do to the alumni surveys and the school's endowment. Needless to say, the faculty were less than pleased. Mainly because we're always less than pleased at anything new, as that's our job, but also because we saw the main problem a mile off, namely students claiming their grade/classroom rules/getting caught for plagiarism was not "providing them with top-notch customer service".

To me, "a customer service-oriented university is an oxymoron"anyway. Seriously, people, "Would you like to take advanced statistics with that" just doesn't flow for me. And anyway, aren't professors supposed to be crusty old academics with little social skills and a complete inability to explain even the simplest concepts? Isn't that the golden ticket to getting students to really grasp the two truths they should take away from college: a) there is no right answer, ever, and b) you need to figure everything out on your own?

But I digress, This week is advisement, and as administration would put it, it's "An ideal time to put our excellent customer service skills to the test". Personally, I would say it's an excellent time for to test my patience, as I think I might have possibly explained the same thing 123 times. When you consider I only 70 advisees, that's 1.76 times per student, without adding in the number of students who heard me explaining it to others. I am dead serious when I say I am proud, truly, honestly, I-should-get a-badge-or-at-least-a-free-meal proud of myself for not having yelled at anyone this week. Not one. Well, at Steve. But he doesn't count. Plus it was through email, and he told me I could, so yeah, not counting that one.

Now I know you all are probably slightly smiling at the screen (or picking your nose, or pouring a drink, or yelling at the kids), but inside your head you're wondering, "Oh-kay, what kind of a short-tempered, unfriendly, anti-social semi-professional is she?" And if you've never been on the other end of an advising session, that is so true. But allow me to just share with you some of the things I've had to say over and over and over and over again in the past four days. Perhaps it will clarify things just a tad.

"Read the sign on the door."
"Have you read the sign on the door?"
"Look at the sign on the door"
"Read what's on the door"
One major problem with advisement seems to be the ability to read. You see, my classes don't stop, my grading doesn't come to a screeching halt, and my committee demands don't cease during advisement either. It all goes on while I'm supposed to help 70 kids pick out next semester's schedule in the cracks left between everything else. This means that I design a schedule which I then post on my door. A schedule that says (and I quote): "Advisement this week will be 8-10am on MTWR, 2-4pm MW, 10-2pm Friday" (and yes, Dutch readers, MTWR makes sense to college students). And still I get students barging into my office when I'm on the phone, obviously in the middle of grading, in a conference with another faculty member, of counseling a student. First time is doable, second time is OK, but by the third time I want to snap. But I didn't. Brownie point, no?
"Yes, I need to be advised"
(Walks into office while colleague and I are clearly in a meeting)
"Have you read the sign on the door?"
"Yes, I need to be advised."
"The sign on the door says advisement ended at 4 today"
"Oh. I didn't see that. But I still need advisement. Can you help me?"
"Not right now."
"Well, when?"
"Read the sign on the door"
"What does it say?"
Drink, anyone?

"Did you bring your registration permits/checksheet?"
"Did you fill out your permit?"
"No, you need to plan your own classes, and put them on your permit"
"Yes, you need come up with your own proposal for a schedule and write it on your permit"
"No, I do not design the schedule for you, you need to do that yourself, and put in your permit"
Again, reading is the problem here. Not only are students told when they first come in how advisement works, they are reminded at the beginning of every advisement cycle by an email from the registrar's office, and I myself send them an email explaining how they're supposed to go about this. And not only that, but it's on that same sign on my door. In spite of all that, I still have at least 30% of my student huff and puff when they find out that they have to design their own schedule, and my job is to advise them on their choices.
"There's no need to sigh, you can do this"
"No I can't."
"It's really easy. You know what you have to take, look at your checksheet, you know the schedule, look in banner, and you add the two together."
"But I don't know..I can't..sheesh! I mean, jeez, can't you do this?"
"No, you can do this."
Insert huge heaving sigh
"Don't pout, it's not going to work with me. I have two kids, trust me."
And, O-M-G, they stopped.

"They're in the cubbies behind you"
"The permits are right there"
"The checksheets are right there, in those cubbies."
"They're right behind you"
"See, right there? What do you mean you don't see them, there (pointing at shelf). There (pointing again). Right there (getting up and pulling permit off shelf).
I'm telling you - reading. The students are told, through the sign on my and my colleagues' doors, my email, and a HUGE sign over the cubbies where all the forms are. And still they ask. They walk right past the desk, into my office, with empty hands, and then have NO clue where these cubbies I speak of are.
"They're the shelves you're nut supposed to sit on, but you do anyway"
"Ooooh...you mean those!"
Yes, those.

My absolute favorite, though, was when a student interrupted a meeting by opening a closed door, walking in, and demanding to speak to Dr. something-berg. I believe she may have even sat down. Now although my name is definitely Dr. something, it doesn't end on "berg". So I told her, straight faced, that there was no Dr. something-berg here. She got confused, ask where Dr. something-berg was, and then after a moment of confusion exclaimed, "But you're her! I know you're her!".
"Yes, but my name is not Dr. something-berg."
"Does it matter?"
"Well, if you want to see me for advisement, it would be nice if you knew my name."
"Well, what is it?"
"Look around you, and see if you can figure it out."
(there was a name plate on the door, a schedule with my name on it next to her, and an award sitting right in front her)
"I don't see it."
"Look again."
"Oh yeah, yeah, there it is. See, it does say Dr. something-berg!"
"No it does not, trust me."
"Yes it does, right there, some-thing-berg"
"Where on earth do you see the 'g' in there?"
"Uhm, oh yeah. So now can I be advised?"
And still I didn't lose my temper. It's seriously a miracle, I tell you.

And I could go on and on, about students following me to the bathroom, asking me for pens, pencils, advisement even when I'm not their adviser ("But I'm here now!"), and trying to take classes they're not supposed to. But I won't. Because I might get too wound up and yell at those last few stragglers who are bound to trickle in later today. And it would be a shame to break my perfect record.