Don't Go Away Mad
My manager cornered me as I was walking in the door yesterday. This is always bad news of one kind or another. She never does this to tell me something good.
"Is everything OK with you?" she asked.
This wasn't what she really wanted to ask, though. This was the warm-up question.
"Uh, yeah. Everything's fine," I replied.
I didn't ask why she was asking because I knew she'd get to that anyway, and why waste my breath?
"The reason I'm asking is because you totally flunked the latest Mystery Shopper Report. They said you didn't greet them properly, didn't give good service, didn't give them a tray of mints with a comment card and you didn't thank them and ask them to return. That's totally not like you. You aced the last five Reports, so I thought something might be wrong."
"No everything's fine. I can't imagine how that happened," I told her, "I'll make sure that never happens again."
I remember that table. Two evil women with their two mutant children. Bitches came at me wrong right from the start.
I go to greet them and I'm all, "Hi! My name is . . ." and the one woman was like, "Someone needs to wipe this table down better, it's sticky. We both need a glass of water NOW and we need bibs for the kids!"
Dammit, let me at least get my greeting out of the way before you start barking orders at me. Actually, now that I think about it, I never did get my greeting out, because every time I tried I got interrupted.
At first, I gave them the benefit of the doubt.
"Maybe these people aren't really evil," I told myself, "Maybe they're just having a bad day today."
But as time passed, the truth became clear to me. Yep, definitely evil, all right.
And they were acting like they were the only table I was waiting on. Hello? Can't you see I have seven other tables and they would like some service too?
But when the one bitch raised aloft her cup of ice and shook it and then snapped her fingers at me, that was the last straw. Don't snap your fingers at me, I'm not a dog. And don't raise your glass at me unless you're proposing a toast.
"Those bitches can die of thirst," I thought to myself.
Because it's all a question of worth. Is the measly couple of dollars those bitches might (possibly) leave me worth the aggrivation of having to endure waiting on them? No, I'm worth alot more than that.
So they were Mystery Shoppers? Who knew? And so what?
I'm the best there is at what I do, but I can't do my best if someone won't let me.