When TIME Correspondent Edwin M. Reingold moved to the magazine’s Los Angeles bureau last September after an eight-year assignment as Tokyo bureau chief, he was stunned by what he perceived as a sharp decline in American service during his absence from the U.S. His reflections:
To a returning American grown accustomed to the civility and efficiency of modern Japan, the U.S. seems to have become a quagmire of bureaucracy, ineptitude, mean spirit and lackadaisy. In Los Angeles, New York, Miami and other cities, the repatriate is appalled and depressed by the lack of efficiency and of simple courtesy and caring.
The deterioration of service is apparent almost immediately. When a new customer tries to open an account at the Wells Fargo Bank, an officer haughtily sniffs that it will not be possible until his signature has been verified and his banking history thoroughly checked. Then she simply turns away.
At what used to be called a service station, the attendant, who sits behind bulletproof glass, can do nothing to help a novice learn the new greasy, smelly routine of pumping his own gas. Memories flood back of the typical Tokyo station, where a horde of neat, well-mannered and expert attendants take charge of the car, fill it up, wash it and check the tires. Then they doff their hats, shout their thanks and stop traffic so the customer can drive away.
The sign in the lobby of the West Los Angeles city hall says the planning department opens at 8 a.m. On a recent morning a clerk finally shows up at 9, without apology. As the petitioner pays the application fee for home- improvement permits, the clerk says the process will take 75 to 120 days. It is 132 days and still counting.
The new homeowner receives a cordial letter inviting him to apply for a charge account at J.W. Robinson’s, a department-store chain. But his application for credit is rejected with a form letter alleging an “insufficient credit file.” It should have read, “We are too lazy to check further.”
When a clerk at an appliance store does not know how to turn on the tape recorder he is trying to sell a customer, something seems terribly wrong. The mind flicks back to Tokyo again, to the electronics center called Akihabara, where every clerk is knowledgeable and unfailingly polite, eager to make a ( sale. In Japan some manufacturers even make house calls if a product breaks down.
Nowhere is the malaise of American service more obvious than in the airline business. Cabin attendants often stand by unconcerned, aloof and bored, while old folks and children struggle with their bags. Untended airplane toilets reek. Every flight seems to be late and/or overcrowded.
To an American old enough to remember American competence, work well done and pride in fine service swiftly rendered, it is jarring to realize how much Americans have forgotten, and how quickly.