I had dinner tonight at a local restaurant. One I have frequented before so I obviously like it or at least don’t terribly mind it.
I was seated at a dirty table; next to three clean tables and behind two more clean tables. The Hostess used what would have been my rolled silverware to wipe it off.
The waitress came along and asked “drink?” I responded that I would have a diet soda. She walked away.
She returned momentarily with a diet (no lemon, but who’s counting) and said “ready?” I asked politely if it were possible to have the Chef Salad that they sometimes have as a lunch special. This particular sports bar type restaurant has four salads on their menu but the Chef isn’t one of them. Just as a Special; a common, sometimes twice a week Special.
She begins “well…” I stare at her hoping she is about to crack a smile and attempt some type of mild humor or banter because it really isn’t a huge request.
They have salads on the menu. They have sandwiches, including ham and turkey, on the menu. Hell, they even have a Ham AND Turkey Club on the menu. It really isn’t a huge request (woops, said that already).
She continues “the Chefs are quite backed up and since it isn’t the special and they are slammed and we are busy out here I’m going to have to say no since I would have to go back and ask them if they have the ingredients and then return to you and then you may have to choose something else anyway. So I have to say No.”
I ordered a different salad.
After a few minutes, she appears at my table in her TMI self yet again. She tells me, “the Chef that makes the salads also makes the pizzas and we just got four orders for pizzas. I didn’t forget about you but it’s going to be a few minutes until they can get to your salads. I assure you, they’re coming.” She walked away.
The salads arrive and I realize why it was so difficult (that’s sarcasm there). There was the bag o’ lettuce mix, two tomato slices and the chicken fingers on top. Oh, and the least amount of dressing as required by law.
I bit my tongue and ate my dinner. And nursed my diet soda knowing it was the only one I was getting.
When she brings the check, I catch her before she walks away and ask her to please split the check and bring a pen. She walks away reciting “split the check, bring a pen. Split the check, bring a pen.”
She does this using some kind of drive by technique where she didn’t even slow down as she passes the table. She finally returns for the bill, sees the debit cards and says, “oh, this is going to take a while.”
You know what doesn’t take a while? Decent Customer Service. It’s like that saying about frowns and how they take more muscles to make.