The World Hasn’t Ended, but Good Service Has

I’m still here.  If you’re reading this, so are you!  Congratulations!  I’m only halfway through my Doomsday, but it’s already tomorrow in Australia, so I’m not worried.

Today I was blessed to have a lunch date with my husband.  Those opportunities are few and far between.  He surprised me at work and we walked down to a nearby cafe.  This particular cafe usually has a great reputation.  The owner is fabulous and customer service is her #1 priority.  She gets to know her customers by name and remembers their names once she knows them.  She wasn’t in today.

This is a seat-yourself establishment, but I’ve never waited more than a minute or two before being greeted.  We waited ten.  Meanwhile I can hear people coming in and ordering food at the counter and being served instantly while we wait.  I finally went to the counter.  I was greeted by a bubbly young thing, BYT for short.  She asked me, “What can I get you?”  I said, “I was just wondering if you were aware we were here waiting.”  She said, “Oh, where are ya?  Oh, ok, I’ll be right over.”  She follows me over to the table and takes our drink orders.  For fear of never seeing her again, we order our food at the same time.  Both of us had BL’s, BLT’s minus the T.  Easy enough, right?

The food came about ten minutes later.  Mine was a proper BL; my husband’s, however, was a BT.  No lettuce, but plenty of ripe, juicy tomatoes that we both can’t stand.  I commented, “Oh, his has tomato but no lettuce.”  Instead of apologizing and fixing it, our lovely waitress said, “Oh, no, that’s right.  You said no lettuce.  That’s how I have it down.”  My husband said, “No, we both asked for no tomato.  Can I please just get a side of lettuce?”  A few seconds later another gal brought the lettuce accompanied with a chipper, “Side of extra lettuce.”  Of course we couldn’t let THAT go.  “No, it’s not extra.  It’s just…lettuce.”

We never saw our waitress again at our table.  She remained steadfast in protecting her post – the cash register.  When my husband started mooching off of my Diet Coke, I commented, “Oh, you didn’t want a refill, didja?”  He decided he would stir this pot a bit more.  I just grinned in anticipation.  He took the glass up to our favorite girl guarding her cash register.  I heard her say, “Oh, you want a refill?  All right.”  Then when he remained there waiting for said refill, she commented, “You can just have a seat.  I’ll bring it out to you.”  We all know how this one goes.  He came back to our table, but promptly went back up to wait, telling her he was actually in a hurry.  She gave him a funny look, but he got his Coke, stat.

We received no check, bill, tab. Whatever you want to call it, we didn’t get it!  We went to pay up at the beloved cash register.  She was actually now delivering food to tables by this point, though she had to put a big bowl of soup down because it was too heavy to deliver with the rest of the plates she was carrying.  I was scared for her.  A new gal was now in charge of the cash register.  I gave her cash to cover the bill with about fifty cents left over because I’m just not passive aggressive enough to give a big fat goose egg as a tip.

I just can’t wait to talk to the owner about this one.  Arguing with my husband about whether he really said “no tomatoes” was not a good move.

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