Believe it or not, I take a lot of heat sometimes because of what I do for a living. I have people tell me I sugarcoat too much. That I’m too nice and sometimes I’m accused of pandering for free food. Well, I can tell you all of that is ridiculous.
Do I get better service than the average customer? Probably. My friends tell me I do at any rate. Do I experience things that would make your skin crawl as well? I sure do, but I am VERY careful not to go around lighting up bad restaurants. If you are terrible, you will die on the vine. It doesn’t matter what I say. Trust me, I do experience bad meals and bad service. It happens. There are any number of restaurants in the Savannah area that I wouldn’t visit if you were buying. My dining experiences aren’t all wine and roses. A recent one was so bad, it was a story that needed to be told…
A recent Saturday night I decided to take my 13-year-old daughter to dinner. I had been working long days and nights for a stretch and really hadn’t seen much of her in about two weeks. I ran through a list of the usual suspects in my head but decided to try a new Italian spot in town that I had been hearing great buzz about from a number of people. We arrived to find a thirty minute wait, which is reasonable for a Saturday. This restaurant is quite large and on this night quite full. I stepped over to the bar to grab a beer and it went downhill from there.
After about twenty minutes, we are told our table is ready. I hand the bartender a card and wait for him to close me out. A couple of minutes go by when I look back over at the bartender who appears to be in distress. He sees me looking and yells across a crowded room, “Bad card, Bro!”. I immediately knew what he was referring to. I hadn’t used this particular credit card in about 4-5 months. It has a bad magnetic strip. But, much like you don’t remember you need new windshield wipers until the next time it rains, I had completely forgotten to order a new card. I’ll order a new card, but in the meantime, that bartender could use a couple of lessons in tact. I mean, seriously bro, are we at a dueling piano bar at last call? Once he manually entered the number (which I’m sure he wasn’t thrilled about on a busy Saturday evening), I paid my tab and moved on.
My daughter and I were seated outside, right by a door to the patio. It’s a very heavy traffic area which is what made our experience that much more inexplicable. We placed an order for a personal pizza as an appetizer and I asked to keep a copy of the wine list. I had no intention of drinking wine, I just wanted to look at it. That’s just part of what I do any time I eat out. Within a couple of minutes of placing the order for our starter, our server comes over, takes our dinner order and just like that, she was gone.
For the next 35-40 minutes, my daughter and I sat there watching the world go by. We talked about alligators in the marsh. We talked about sharks. We talked about our plans for summer vacation. We also talked about how long it was taking for an appetizer to come out. I predicted we’d be getting it at the same time as our entrees. Not exactly what I was hoping for, but certainly not the first time that has happened and I’d roll with it. It was, after all, a busy Saturday night. Tick tock, tick tock.
My beer was empty, as was my daughter’s soda. The wine list I asked to keep sat on my table. The basket of bread and side plates we had been brought in the first five minutes of being seated sat empty. Nothing on our table moved, for a good forty minutes. Our server never checked on us. Not once. The high point of this nightmare goes to a server from an adjacent table who noticed that our situation was stuck in neutral and asked if we were waiting on something. I said, “Yes, a pizza”. After asking what kind of pizza, she disappeared. Less than a minute later, she showed up with a pizza. Forty minutes since we ordered it, it was lukewarm at best. I can only surmise it had been sitting somewhere in the kitchen.
At the fifty minute mark we hadn’t received our entrees. We hadn’t been offered a refill on drinks. The wine list continued to sit on our table and the dirty bread dishes were joined by a half eaten, now pretty cold pizza. When I tell you nothing had moved, I mean quite literally, nothing moved on this two top. I had had enough, and started to consider how I was going to get up and walk out. I told my daughter I was giving our food five minutes to show up. Coincidentally, when the clock hit five minutes, our server walked by. I asked to speak to a manager. She ran off. She came back two minutes later and said “She’s on her way”, then asked if there was anything wrong.
Now, let’s go back to the 15-20 minute stretch where my patience was wearing thin. I debated getting up, leaving a ten dollar bill on the table for the pie, and walking out without a sound. Why didn’t I? I cannot tell you how many times I have heard restaurant owners bemoan the fact that unhappy people never say a word, only to go home, hide behind their computer and blast the place on any website they can find. That isn’t fair. I’ve never thought that was fair. A manager should know how bad it is on the spot and how unhappy you are. Back to our story…
I said, “Well, yeah…” and filled her in on a pretty horrible experience to that point. She nods and runs off. Within ninety seconds she was back with two piping hot dishes of food telling me our meal would be comped for the evening. Well, free food is nice, but it doesn’t buy me time. I was on my dinner break from work and running late already. At this point, I got really upset because the manager I had asked to speak to had yet to show up. So, how about a grand finale?
While the food was being packed up to go, a hostess asks if everything is OK. I said “No, but I am waiting on a manager”. Within seconds, an older gentleman approaches us and asks if something is wrong. “Well, we’ve been sitting here for close to an hour without so much as being offered a glass of water or a reason as to why it’s taking so long to get spaghetti and meatballs out here”. His response was simply, “I’m sorry, it’s busy and Saturday night.” To which I very calmly said “You guys need to figure something out here, because clearly this isn’t working for you.”
The worst part of this exchange with the person I assume was a manager? It was the two servers, the hostess, and the manager who all huddled around us like an interrogation. The scene they made was obvious. Was the gossip at my table that interesting that we needed a group visit? By the time I stood up to leave, there was a trail of employees in the area. If I had seen this across a crowded restaurant, I would have assumed that someone was getting tossed out. Trust me, that’s how it looked.
I am always incredibly mindful of my tone, my attitude, and my behavior. I am respectful to a fault; especially in fast food restaurants (don’t get me started). All I got this go ‘round was “It’s Saturday night”. Sorry, but that is shockingly unacceptable.
We spend a lot of time highlighting the people doing things the right way in our area and around the South. They earn it, they deserve it. Talk about the bad stuff? What for? That’s what you’ve got Urbanspoon and Trip Advisor for. No restaurant wants “the food guy” to have a bad experience in their place and if mine was an isolated incident, too bad for me. It happens. Trust me; my experiences are all over the map. Are they this bad? No. Do I need to give them a second chance and go back to try the food? Probably. The pizza was horrible, but the rest wasn’t bad and I continue to hear great things about the food there. Fair enough, but someone in charge needs to keep a better eye on the big picture regardless of the day of the week, for all of our sakes.
See you on TV.
Jesse
