Sympathy for the devil?

(Couldn't think of a wittier title. Sue me.)

Today at work, I was taking care of customers by myself, as usual. There were about five of them. A woman (and who, I presume, was her mother) handed me some bills to process. To my surprise, she noticed that I was working by myself (my immediate superior had taken lunch, which seemed longer than usual). She remarked on the unfairness of the situation and asked to speak to someone in charge. With as much politeness and energy as I could muster (which is to say, very little; it is the beginning of the month, after all), I brushed off her potential protestations.

Now, it's nice that someone can recognize (in a calm manner as opposed to shouting 'Why you the only one working up here?' or some variant thereof like a spoiled child) the ordeal I find myself in at least twice every work day, but I could hear it in her voice (and the way she kept mentioning it every fifteen seconds) that she didn't really care about me or my problems. She, like everyone else, was there to take care of their business, not to chat.

Even more, she would forget me the second she stepped away from the counter. (Granted, I'm the same way toward the customers, but fuck if it's not the principle of the thing.) This experience has taught me a valuable lesson:

Fake sympathy is even worse than no sympathy.

It's a lot like those criminally depressing ads asking you to send money to starving children in Third World countries. Do you think people are sending those companies money because they want to? They're essentially guilted into it, and I know you are, from time to time, dear reader. Even if not a penny is sent off, the painful feeling in your stomach demands that you consider it, right?

If the emotions that people expend toward your problems aren't even remotely genuine, what's the fucking point?!