Friday, January 31, 2020

Transactional Communication Essay Example for Free

Transactional Communication Essay Conversations   Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚   They are talking simultaneously, each seeming to carry on a conversation with themselves more so than with each other. She is talking fast, looking at the air, her hand gestures extravagant and facial expressions flamboyant. He is leaned back, sunken into the chair comfortably, talking lowly, nodding his head in agreement at regular intervals, his voice running alongside hers. She is excited. He looks amused.   Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚   They sit close to each other in the corner of the cafà ©. Sounds from conversations hum in the air around them, the clinking and bustling of a busy cafà © a background to this conversation. Despite the multidimensional setting—the music playing in the speakers above, the couple to their left discussing baby names, the loud ring of the nearby telephone and the even louder server who answered it—these two talk as if they were alone at home, as if none of the loudness existed. They are celebrating. Crumbled remains of a chocolate fudge cake occupy the table space they share, and two large mugs of coffee sit pushed to the side, ready to be taken away.   Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚   This is where a server makes it big or loses out completely on a tip. Time is a factor in everything, and as a server you have to be willing to divide your time evenly among your tables so that you don’t fall in the weeds later. If you see one of your tables finished with their plates and cups, it’s your job to pick it up, and fast. It’s an opportunity to offer them anything else, and one more chance to make an impression, to make them like you. They’ve finished eating, and more importantly, she’s just eaten chocolate cake.   Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚   So I bustle over and say, â€Å"Hey folks, can I get this out of your way?† Smiling, of course. You have to smile.   Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚   She looks up at me, blinking, cross, brow furrowed. He moves forward, sitting up aggressively, brow furrowing, â€Å"What, man?†   Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚   â€Å"Can I get this out of your way?† I ask, cautiously, not sure what just happened here. I even lean in a little, my hands crossed behind my back so I look more servant-ly, less threatening.   Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚   The mood cracks. She laughs. He smiles goofily in relief. He shakes his head. She puts her hand over her eyes. â€Å"We thought you said something else,† they both seem to say at the same time.   Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚   When they leave, I find my tip—a measly $3—under the saltshaker. Apparently, noise is a factor, too. The external part of it, all those people’s voices charging the air around us, music swirling in between conversation, me asking to clear the plates; they thought I was hitting on her. Maybe I was smiling too much.   Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚  Ã‚   But he must have that internal part of it, the voices in his head that tell him she’s cheating on him with every guy that sees her. Why is that, I wonder? They were having such a nice conversation, and then I got there, and everything changed. What were they talking about? Being a server is about the closest thing you can be to a fly on the wall. They almost ignore you completely, until you buzz around them and ask if it’s okay to pick up their plates. Next time, I shouldn’t say anything, I should just pick it up.

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