I’Ve Reached A Point Where ‘No Problem’ Is A Problem

Y2K aside, I have been led to believe we have no problems in the Inland Northwest.

At a recent luncheon, the speaker asked the audience if he could be heard in the back of the room. “No,” chorused those at the back tables. He flipped the button on the microphone and said, “No problem.”

At the supermarket, the person in the checkout line ahead of me recalled she had forgotten vanilla ice cream. “No problem,” exclaimed the box boy, as he dashed down the frozen foods aisle, returning with a gallon of vanilla ice cream. This is unsettling to me because “Thank you” and “You’re welcome” are fading from that list of phrases that make life pleasant.

As I approached the entrance to the public library, a cheery teenager held the door open for me. “Thank you,” I said with my most appreciative smile. Smiling and nodding at me, he said, “No problem.”

And in the post office, when the clerk had helped me with a routine stamp purchase, I said politely, “Thank you.” “No problem,” she said. Of course it was no problem. I’d bought a sheet of 33-cent stamps, paid her and received some change.

Try thanking someone for telling me the time, a neighbor for returning a hammer, the newspaper carrier for handing me the paper or the guy who mows the lawn weekly and all I hear is “No problem.” Whenever I thank a sales clerk for helping me, the almost universal response is, “No problem.” I foolishly had hoped for that social amenity, “You’re welcome,” in return. For years I had been saying please and thank you, and you’re welcome as the grease that allows living to proceed nicely with good feelings all around. Suddenly, “you’re welcome” has fallen into disuse.

If a stranger changes my flat tire and takes obvious pleasure in changing the tire for a lady who really didn’t want to get dirty before she went to a baby shower, my effusive thank yous would predictably elicit a response of “No problem, ma’am.” It really had not been a problem for me; it was a disaster.

The next time I take Rover on a walk and he does his duty, I’ll tell him what a good dog he is and instead of his lopsided doggy grin, he’ll probably bark, “No problem.”

The final straw came last week when I had had a bad day and my understanding husband busily helped with dinner and the dishes, and then gave me a big, comforting bear hug. “Oh, Honey, thanks,” I said. “I really needed that.”

“No problem,” he said.