At the coffee shop

CEBU, Philippines -  The coffee attendant is in the mood for conversation. But the customer is apparently on a lookout to only make a necessary purchase. "You upgrade to a size C and you get the banana muffins free," she pleasantly suggests; the customer has no clue that the good disposition is simply a ploy to appeal to the appetite.

"No. Thanks. Coffee would do," the customer mumbles. The tone hints that it is a stern refusal. He opens his wallet, while waiting for the total bill, turns around to check if the seat he sighted earlier is still vacant.

"How about some cigarettes, Sir?" the attendant continues. "We have a choice of blah-blah. Blah this and blah that…"

Obviously irked by the attendant's insistence, the customer barks, "Would you smoke half if I purchased a pack?!"

This was the scene I witnessed at a fast-food joint during a recent trip to Manila. I was staring at the young attendant eye-to-eye. "Are you not getting the sign, moron? The guy is becoming annoyed with you," I tried establishing telepathy.

Then came my turn to be served. As is a habit with me, I didn't wait to be asked. A previous mental note had my order leap out of my mouth automatically: "Tea please, green tea. Make it hot. And an oatmeal cookie. Thanks."

By that magic word at the end, I meant period. No more psychological pressure to persuade me to make a quick side purchase. I knew that the attendant's employer had to pay rent for the place, settle their payrolls, fix up contracts with their suppliers, shoulder the cost of the employees' ongoing trainings etc. But I needed to save my last bills too, to survive until the next payday. At that very moment I only needed some light snacking.

"Ma'm para po kayong tumutula. He he…" the attendant giggled at the smoothness of my stating my order.

"I don't want traffic here at your counter. I also hate waiting," I somehow managed to respond courteously. But in my mind I already punched the girl in the mouth.

"How about food-to-go, Ma'am? We have a variety of sandwiches, coleslaw, pretzels…" again she went; acting fast to pressure a customer to decide outright. I knew what she was doing! I studied marketing, too, albeit only a crash course.

"Would you eat everything you said if I bought them all? I'm on medically prescribed restraint!" I was now in the mood for a fight. But the girl fiddled at the cash register instead, as if she heard nothing, handed over to me my change, and the claim number.

"Thank you. Here's your change. Come again," she uttered mechanically. "Hi! Good morning, Sir!" the person next in line was now instantly the apple of her eyes.

The problem, though, is not really the attendant. It's how the likes of her are being trained nowadays. High-pressure selling thrives on faked congeniality and impoliteness. The main purpose is consummating a sale, even at the customer's loss.

Picture that girl's mouth - everything she suggested was made to appear like it was in the best interest of the customer. She tried to make their place look like it was committed to provide a friendly zone for diners, like they wanted that we customers got nothing but the best service.

Sadly, when you consider closely, you'll notice the thin demarcation line between conviviality and avariciousness in high-pressure selling. The method preys on the customers' weakness. Customers are prompted to make quick purchasing decisions just to end a transaction. It is a mind game whose only end is to collect more customers' money through products they could very well live without.