Wherever I go to eat, something follows me. It is a black cloud that hangs over my head in every eating establishment I walk into. I am doomed, for the rest of my life I wager, to get bad service. Not the kind of “Bad” as in maybe my steak was a little too cooked, or my burger had ketchup… I could only dream that I had those minor problems. I get the worst of the worst, no small shit like that.
When I walk into a restaurant these days, I walk in a bitter man. I think it radiates off of me, that I am not happy to be there. Now don’t get me wrong, I like going out with my girlfriend and friends to eat — I just can not get excited about it because I know the service is going to suck badly. I walk in ready to argue, ready to be angry. You may say that I shouldn’t be that way, but after years of horrid service, I can do nothing else. I wasn’t always this man, walking into the restaurant eyeballing all of the staff, as if to say, “I know you assholes are going to ruin my evening, so come on and get it over with.” I once had hope. But how quickly hope can turn to hopelessness.
I get the worst waiters/waitresses, I usually end up with the waiter/waitress that just does not want to be there. You know the kind, the person who hates what they are doing, so they half-ass do it, because if they got fired they wouldn’t be out anything except a job they hated to start with. Why these people choose this job then I have no clue, but they do it in a shitty fashion.
I have also gotten my share of the “Nice n’ Slowers,” the waitresses that try their damnedest to do good, but they just so damn bad at the job no matter how hard they try. The kind that apologizes for the fact that you’ve been sitting there two hours and you’ve only had your drink refilled once. They apologize with a manner and smile that makes it hard for you to be angry at them — well it doesn’t work on me anymore! I can see past that little act. Sure they are sorry that they have provided sub-standard customer service, but if they think a fucking smile is going to make me forgive them for making me wait one hour for an appetizer, they are sadly mistaken.
Then on rare occasion I have come across the Refuser. The person who apparently missed the part of orientation when they explain the phrase “the customer is always right.” I will provide an example.
I sat down with two friends of mine at a Waffle House (I know, I wasn’t expecting stellar service to begin with), and ordered three drinks: one Sprite, one Pepsi, and one Diet Pepsi. Now while I was not directly affected by this, my luck passed on to my two poor friends on this occasion. You see my friend took a sip of his drink and noticed he had a Diet Pepsi instead of regular. My other friend had a Diet as well. When the waiter was informed, he argued the fact that the Diet Pepsi one friend had was regular Pepsi. He was told that it was not, yet he replied by stating that the one drink definitely was regular Pepsi because “it was darker.” Why this waiter would refuse to take the twenty seconds to cost his place of employment a half a penny of product to just refill the cup is beyond me. I had already finished my food, so I was weighed down and of no use… and it is a good thing, because I think it was the closest I have ever come to going over a counter with a knife at someone’s throat. But those damned knives would take a good deal of power to cut through bone, and I just didn’t have it in me that night.
There are other times, such as the day we waited one hour to PAY for our food, because the credit card machine wasn’t working. The lady at the counter then seemed perplexed when she asked for another form of payment and we told her that was all we had. She must have forgotten that it was the 21st century and most people only carry cards these days. Damn me for leaving my money clip at home.
With every venture out into the dining world I take, I have another story. I can not even go to Wendy’s lately without having my order grossly messed up. So don’t you all bitch when you get pickles on your cheeseburger, or you are one chicken tender short: it gets worse. Damn it, it gets worse.
I do often wonder, why do I get so angry about bad service? I mean everyone gets a little not-so-happy when they are mistreated while hungry, but they take it in stride. They don’t let it bother them. But I do. I get quite angry whether it be at a checkout counter, an eatery, or any other place.
I think, in a way, that my anger towards other employed folk came when I got my job. My job is demanding, my job is at times at stress levels that a job should not be. It is a difficult job in which you are expected to be as close to perfect as a person can be. I think I do my job well. I take pride in working hard and doing my job to the best of my abilities, and I think I expect the same of everyone else. I’m doing this very demanding job quite well, and Joe Frydaddy can’t keep pickles off a cheeseburger. I’m going out of my way at work to do well and help, and this person is putting in minimum effort and just looking at the clock waiting to get off. You might argue that keeping a human being alive throughout the medical miracle of modern surgery shouldn’t be compared to handing over the right soft drink, and I ask you WHY NOT? The food is so much easier! You can’t talk me out of this one, dammit.
I hate bad service, spring and fall
I hate bad service, that is all