Who's asking? Starbucks, that's who.

This isn't a blog about customer service, although I do post the odd thought now and again when I've had a bit of service that has been brilliant, or awful, or just funny.

But after I put up the piece below, about customer care, I saw an ad in the paper saying that Starbucks were about to start asking for customers' names, so that the baristas can label our paper cups.

OK, I thought, I see where you're coming from. Make it a bit more personal, build a relationship, create a community, get us all a bit more touchy-feely about our daily latte.

Personally, I'd feel a bit more touchy-feely about Starbucks if they didn't insist on opening one on every corner of every town. (One of my favourite scenes in Shrek is the one where the townsfolk flee a branch of Starbucks only to run straight across the street into another).

Then I heard John Holmes on BBC R2's "The Now Show", and his brilliant explanation of how the new Starbucks' policy wasn't really welcome in Britain.

Apparently, John was in his local Starbucks during the first week of the "...and what's your name?" request.

"...and what's your name?", asked the guy behind the counter. "Stick it up your **** mate", came the reply.

And it got even better, a couple of days later.

Back in Starbucks, they are persisting with the "get the name" policy.

" ... and what's your name?" asked the guy behind the counter.

And someone from the back of the queue called out "Don't tell him, Pike".

Customer care. Do you care?

I've been reading one of those books that makes you want to jump right up and do something else. "Raw Spirit", by Iain Banks. Subtitled "In search of the perfect dram", it's a series of journeys around Scotland, visiting some of her well-known, and less well-known, whisky distilleries.

I enjoyed the book, but it wasn't a thirst for whisky I developed. It was a thirst for travel. And specifically, a thirst for travel around the islands and highlands of Western Scotland - across to Islay, perhaps Mull and Skye, and up through Argyll to the Western Highlands.

So when I found myself in Glasgow recently, I thought I'd take advantage of the Tourist Information booth at one of the main stations to grab a timetable for the Cal-Mac Ferries that run from the Scottish mainland to, and between, the Islands.

Ahead of me in the queue was a group of young women - Spanish, I think. They had just arrived on a coach or bus, and had one simple objective in mind. To shop. Happily, they had arrived in Glasgow, perhaps Scotland's most stylish city for shopping.

They get to the head of the queue. Young man in uniform (well, a tie and jumper - smart, though) says "Can I help you?". Someone must have told him that in Customer Care Class - that, and nothing else.

"Can you tell me where the best shops are?" said senorita number one.

"Shops?" he replied, "Erm, they're everywhere." he replied. True, I suppose, but a literal answer rather than a helpful one.

"Where is the best shopping?" she continued. "Here," he said, taking a map of Glasgow from a pad behind the desk.

"And everywhere." he said as he moved his hand across the map. Taking in, I kid you not, the whole of Glasgow city centre. No suggestions, no directions, no further explanation. Just "everywhere".

As the girls wandered off, none the wiser, someone in the queue stepped over and said "Can I help you?". He proceeded to point out one of the main shopping malls (visible through the windows at the far end of the station) and then suggested a couple of other areas where they might find "Scotland With Style" (the current strap-line of Glasgow Tourism).

I don't blame the lad behind the counter. I blame his bosses. Customer care isn't just about knowing which brochure (or price, or catalogue) to hand out. It's not just about information, or rules, or regulations. It's about caring, really caring. The training should emphasise this. Teach people to think about the customer, to be creative in helping them, to care.

Do I care about this customer? Do I care enough to help them in a way that makes their experience, their journey, their life, better? When they walk away from this conversation will they feel that I have really tried to help them?

When the guy stepped out of the queue, offered to help, and really did so, I suspect those visitors to Glasgow thought a little bit more of the "The Friendly City".

I suspect they didn't feel the same after the conversation with the guy in the uniform.