Service

Tonight I went out to dinner with most of my coworkers.  Our boss takes us out to eat every year for Christmas, which we usually do in January because it's less stressful for most of us to schedule a day and gives us extra time to buy a Secret Santa gift.  You know, we work in the customer service field and you would think that would make us more patient when we have service that is good but not perfect.  Let me lay out the situation for you.

We went to the Olive Garden.  It's a Sunday.  We were a group of seven, possibly eight.  We didn't have a reservation, but my boss - at the last minute - phoned ahead about a half an hour and asked if they had a wait.  Of friggin' course they did, it's a Sunday in an area with several malls.  The wait was an hour and twenty minutes.  But, they said, if we gave them a name they would make us the first priority when we got there and as soon as a table big enough for us opened up we'd be the first people they seated.

We arrived at the restaraunt.  Some of my coworkers complained about having to wait.  We waited about ten minutes.  On a busy Sunday evening.  They let us know multiple times how long we'd be waiting, telling us the table they were going to use for us had been given their bill, then telling us the table was being cleaned off, then seating us.  From the time we got there to the time we were seated was no more than about ten minutes.  Meanwhile, people who arrived BEFORE us had to wait longer. 

We sat.  Our waiter told us about the day's wine we could sample.  One of my coworkers, let's call her Janet, made a snarky comment about how she doesn't drink red wine, it's disgusting, she needs something sweeter, she only drinks Zinfadel, etc.  She couldn't just say, no, thank you.  The waiter tried to chat with us as he took our drink order.  He asked us if we were celebrating anything.  No one answered.  I answered and then there were also some mumbled, "Yeah, Christmas."  Then he asked how we all knew each other.  Again, no one answered.  Finally, our boss said we all worked retail.  He took our drink orders and said he'd get those and give us time to look over the menu.  Our boss said she thought we could order now, and he said, oh, okay, but Janet and another girl weren't ready so they got rude with the WAITER about needing more time. 

So, let me just say, Olive Garden was packed.  It was loud, there was a HUGE birthday party going on (there must have been thirty or forty people celebrating).  Waiters were getting into traffic jams trying to take care of multiple tables at once.  It took maybe five minutes for us to get our drinks.  My boss and I ordered special drinks (everyone else just had tea or lemonade) so ours were on a list to be made at the bar - even though they were non-alcoholic they were the kind of drinks that have to be MADE and MIXED:  some kind of special juice and a smoothie.  Janet complained about the fact that my boss and I didn't have our drinks yet.  I said, well, they're special, and the waiter did try to reassure us that they were being made as quickly as possible.  While we were waiting, the waiter brought us our salad and breadsticks.

And here is where the really frustrating part begins.  Two of our coworkers had asked for salad with salad dressing on the side, so the waiter told us he would bring us one salad with dressing and one with it on the side.  My coworkers all agreed to this.  We said, oh, great, that would be great.  So he brings it, just as promised.  Quickly, it is obvious it will not be quite enough for seven people, so we politely ask for an extra salad, right?  No, the snarky fucking comment to the poor waiter, from Janet, is "Did you really think two salads was going to be enough?"  The waiter says he'll bring another salad.  He asks if we want it to have dressing on the side.  We don't.  When he leaves, Janet continues to complain about the amount of salad.  I say, "He's getting us another one.  He's fixing the problem."  She says, yeah, but still, you know?  And I'm like, no.

During this time, also, another waiter brought our special drinks.  Janet says, "I was starting to think we'd be done with our salads before you guys got those drinks."  I say, again, well, they had to be specially made.  At this point, everyone can tell that I'm getting angry.  It's uncomfortable.  But I'm not going to just let her make those comments.  The waiter is doing the best he can.  Another coworker who used to work in a restaurant tries to diffuse the situation (though moments before she was snarking on the poor waiter, too) by saying that it's hard on the waiters because they can only go as fast as the kitchen/bar can go. 

We get our extra salad.  Our boss tries to make a joke that I get first dibbs because I let everyone else take the first salads.  The truth is I didn't want any salad, really, but I took a little just to make everyone happy.  I ate, maybe, two bites.  As we're spooning out our new salad, our dinners come.  Janet, FUCKING JANET, has to make a comment that we aren't even done eating salad.  I don't know what this woman wants. I say that we can eat salads along side our meals.  She says most people want to eat their salads first and then eat their meals.  I say, not the people I know.  She just glares at me. 

We eat in mostly silence.  Oh, but let me add this:  during the entire meal - the ENTIRE meal - every one of my coworkers is playing on her cell phone.  Except me, as I have an ancient flip phone with no texting or internet nor do I have the desire for a phone with either of those capabilities.  They are texting; sometimes they are texting EACH OTHER.  They decide to "friend" each other on Facebook and so there is a mini-marathon of passing phones around so each woman can type her name into everyone else's phone.  Meanwhile, the waiter is trying to ask questions (like taking our orders) but is getting no answers or just annoyed looks because, you know, we're busy.  I was so FUCKING embarrassed.

Let me back up.  As soon as we sat down Janet wanted to know where the dessert menu was.  At this time, chaos is going on because we're all getting situated, asking each other how we're doing, looking at our menus, the waiter is trying to get our drink orders, etc.  Janet just keeps complaining about that dessert menu.

But now, back to the future, we've eaten and it's traditionally time for dessert.  The waiter tells us about the desserts (I admit to being annoyed by no menu).  He tells us the first dessert and Janet interrupts him to say, "Chocolate.  We want chocolate."  I tell him that I, in fact, don't want chocolate but want Tiramisu.  Everyone asks what that is and so he continues on with the desserts and eventually says there is chocolate cake.  CHAOS ENSUES as everyone asks him how big the cake is, how many calories, etc.  What the fuck, it's a dessert!  You know it has a lot of calories, deal!  As he's walking away our teenager says, "Excuse me, but I want some water."  He asks if she wants lemon in it and she GLARES at him and just says, "Whatever, no, um, just no."  I say, he just asked if we wanted refills and you didn't speak up then.  She just stares at me.  He puts in our orders and brings the check. 

And here, ladies and gentlemen, is where I begin to throw a fit.  Because an audible bitchfest begins about how bad the service was.  The drinks were too slow.  There wasn't enough salad.  Our food came too quickly.  Janet didn't like him (he was, by the way, clearly gay and it is known she's uncomfortable with gay men - you know what, men in general).  The girl who used to work in a restaurant begins detailing all the ways she would have been in trouble if she had served like he had served.

I am PISSED.  I start reminding them that the restaurant is busy, they got a party of seven seated within ten minutes, they filled all of our requests, and the waiter tried to be friendly.  The whole time my boss is watching my face and she can see that I'm upset and so she tries to ask if 25% is too much.  Now look:  YES.  I feel 15% - 20% is fine for good service and I think he did the best he could with the situation he had.  My coworkers, especially Janet, get loud about how they would only give 15% for really good service, and according to them, he was not good service.  I reiterate that he did a fine job given the situation and that 15% would be fine. 

Again, meanwhile, and I know this is long but I need to vent, the waiter is boxing up our food, writing what it was and the date on it, boxing up the extra salad, giving us bags for the breadsticks.  He even wrote us a little note on the comment card that recalled every detail we had told him the few times we did actually chat with him.  So, anyway, our boss gives him 20% and we leave.  On our way out he taps me on the shoulder and says that Janet forgot her box, so could I make sure she gets it?  I say sure and thank him for everything.  When I catch up to Janet and tell her she forgot her box, she says, "I didn't want that.  He didn't even ask me if I wanted that.  What the hell?" So I just snatch it out of her hands and walk to the car. 

Our boss paid for everything.  She picked up the whole bill.  I tried to call her to talk to her, but she didn't answer.  I know she knows I'm upset.  I know she's avoiding me.  So I will have to talk to her tomorrow.  I'm going to ask her if she wants me to pay her back for my meal because it will make it easier for me to tell her I'm never going out with them again.  This happens every fucking time.  We've gone out for a few occasions this year and this happens EVERY FUCKING TIME.  And I'm finally done with it.  I'm done being completely embarrassed.  It isn't a mandatory dinner so maybe they'll have more fun next year when they can complain about nonsense without being interrupted.  I know I'll have more fun reading a book or watching TV.