No, I don't mean that! I know you've had enough of Monica Gate. I'm talking about customer service.

They all talk about it. Their TV ads lure you in so cunningly. Subliminal messages. Enticing images. Smiling faces. They all would have you believe that their company or service is better than the others because they care; they value your patronage.

Well, news flash. The only thing they value is the bottom line. You don't count. Never did. Just a statistic. Another splash in the revenue stream for the rich, fat cats raking in the stock options and driving the fancy car. Customer service is dead in America. And it has been for a long time.

Item. You struggle to keep your head above water. You precariously juggle three hefty balances on those plastic charge demons. You always pay them off as soon as possible. Your reward? Reinstated annual fees and all kinds of "usage or special charges." It's true. The credit card companies make money when you don't pay off your balances. They don't want you otherwise. And now they are actually discouraging "good customers" with negative financial incentives.

Item. You take a half a dozen business trips a year. You fly several different airlines. But you always get to the airport an hour before departure, and you never, never, let someone else pack your bag. Your reward? A seat in the back of the plane, over the engines, next to that screaming baby and that recovering alcoholic. It's true. The airlines have special codes for their "preferred" customers and your perks rise accordingly. The occasional traveller is treated worse than Fido in the cargo hold. At least he gets a dog biscuit.

Item. You've travelled 10 hours. The airline has "temporarily mislaid your luggage." All you can think about is that comfy hotel bed and the warm hot tub in the health spa. Your reward? A $298 a night closet and a $20 "guest fee" in the spa. And, oh yes, the water is cold. It's true. Unless you are a corporate client, a returning conventioneer, or a VIP, you will get the shaft from Sheraton or the heave-ho from Hilton. That cigar-smoking, loud-mouthed lout with the attitude got the suite for half the price you paid for that "room" which is smaller than your kid's dorm room at college.

And are you hungry at that hotel? You're stuck with their restaurant because the nearest Golden Arches is across that superhighway, over the railroad tracks and through an urban ghetto. So you dutifully report to the "Rainbow Grille," only to be put at that wobbly table next to the open door to the trash bin and your waiter welcomes you to the table with a snarl and a "we're out of the fish." You pay $4.00 for a "freshly squeezed" (translate chunky) orange juice and $26.95 for a "prime cut" (translate Tabby turned it down because he found a better tasting rodent under your table) slab of beef that tastes like it has been aged on the chef's Ford F-150 hood.

Yes, customer service is dead in America. There is no pride in delivering the "product" any more. Employees are surly, underpaid and always on the brink of rebellion. The good managers get promoted to "corporate," leaving the bad ones to manage you. The boss is sleeping with his secretary, but everyone in the company carries a plastic card which talks about the "mission" and "guiding principles" of quality, customer service, and integrity. The only time an employee ever actually takes the card out of his wallet is when he mistakenly thought it was his driver's license, demanded by that gruff state trooper that pulled him over for "aggressive driving."

"Aggressive driving?" Yup, that maniac on the Beltway that cut you off, sped off the exit ramp on the shoulder and grazed that school girl in the intersection, is the customer service rep that you are going to get on the phone this morning to argue your latest telephone bill with $200 of phony charges to "PCI Communications," which was supposed to have been deleted from your bill last year.