It's been raining for the last 28 days and that means that our Wisteria Garden dining business has taken a big hit. It also means that if I want that additional business of customers who want to enjoy al fresco dining I have to clean and dry the patio more than once a day. It's getting to me; a lot of work for very little return because Mother Nature is in a pissy mood.
Yesterday morning the sun was shining but the storm had just passed through and the garden was a mess. I put on my floppy straw hat, my rubberized gloves, stick in my ear plugs and go to work with my Echo 250 blower. The operation takes a good hour and that's before setting the tables and doing server prep work. Rudy, the Sous Chef, flags me down. There's at woman at the front who wants to talk to me. I shut down the blower, take off my gloves and remove my ear protection as I approach her. The floppy straw hat stays on.
She experienced an "incident" this past Thursday and wants to talk to me the manager. Okay. We sit at table one and she talks. She came in on Wednesday to reserve a table in the garden for Thursday to celebrate her 50th Wedding Anniversary. She makes the reservation with my son, Marco. Marco puts the reservation in the computer system - Thursday, 11:45 AM, two persons, garden request. We don't reserve the garden, rain is the reason.
Seems she told Marco she wanted a specific table, table 34, one of three best tables in the garden as they are at end next to the water garden. NOTE: We do not reserve specific tables.
The next day she arrives at 12:30 and lo and behold, table 34 is occupied. So, she and hubby must sit at table 24, right next to 34 and, still right next to the water garden. But there's a problem, 24 is not set.
She, of course, knows nothing of table numbers so we retire to the garden that I am not yet done cleaning and it's 10:45 and we open at 11:30. I recount her tale of woe at the tables to make sure I've got this right.
"Okay, you wanted this table," I say, holding table 34.
"Yes. But they didn't hold it for us. People were already sitting there," she replies.
"And so you were given this table," I say, shuffling two Buffalos to the left and resting myself on table 24.
"That's right, but it wasn't made up. We sat and then they brought napkins and silver," she informs me all indignant like.
"Were the rest of the tables set?" I ask.
"I don't remember," she tells me.
"What is it I can do? What is it you want?" I ask.
"I don't know. What can you do?" she answers my question with a question.
"I'd like to know what it is you want," I say.
"What can you give me?" she questions again.
"I need to tell you, we don't reserve specific tables," I reply.
Hit pause:
Here's what I know: Complaining customers always know what they want in recompense. If you offer first you are pretty much screwed either way. If you're offer is not enough you lose the customer or the negotiation continues and that's not good. Or, you offer too much and that conviences the customer that they have truly been egregiously wronged, and you just admitted it, and they hate you. Usually, us struggling small business types offer too little. Sue me.
Just to bring you up to speed, this is what I've figured out so far: a) Either Marco took the reservation time incorrectly, or b) she was late. Does this matter? Kinda, but either way it's totally forgivable. We don't care if you're late if we have plenty of tables and if we got the time wrong, does it really matter if we have a table for you? No.
So, you have probably figured this out, but let's just get it on the record: People came early for lunch that day. The first comers snagged tables 24, 34 and 44 near the water garden. When Mrs. Fiftieth and hubby finally arrived the party at table 24 had already left, therefore the table was not yet re-set. The Fiftieths sat themselves down at an unset table and now have two things to complain about.
Hit playback:
"I really need to know what you want to make this right," I say.
Now she's exasperated and the truth comes out, "A cruise to Bermuda," she exclaims, "but you can't give me a cruise to Bermuda."
No I can't. And a $35 lunch at Za Restaurant, even in the Wisteria Garden next to the waterfall is never going to come close to a Bermuda cruise and that's my problem, or hers, I should say.
Okay, I can take no more. Perhaps in the movies, or in a fairy tale, no, in a really sappy movie, I would have said, "Please, Mrs. Fiftieth, sit down, let's talk. I feel your pain." But that's not what I do because I'm fed up trying to make a go of it for three years in the restaurant business during America's Second Depression. I'm awful. I'm cruel. I'm totally insensitive and I tell her, "Hey, this is the restaurant business. If you really want a special table that bad, we take bribes!!!"
Real life is not like the movies. I start up my blower and tell her I have work to do.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010 at 12:07PM 