Imagine for a moment that you are taking your lover to a meal at a top restaurant. However, when you get there, you step in a steaming dollop of doggie-doo lurking in the shadows just outside the door. You suggest to the restaurant management that having an entrance festooned with faeces might not be good for business. They readily agree and are, of course, terribly apologetic. They assure you that the problem will be dealt with immediately and they provide you with a tissue to clean your shoe.
Grumpy, but nevertheless determined not to let the incident spoil your evening out, you put the whole nasty business behind you. The company is superb and despite the faint reek of dog shit that occasionally assaults your senses, you are able to enjoy dinner.
By the time you finish dessert, you have entirely recovered your good humour. Then, as you step out the door into the fresh night air, you manage to plant your foot firmly in the very same cunningly hidden pile of poo…
Ok, the above incident didn’t actually take place, and I am normally quite vigilant when entering and exiting restaurants, but it illustrates some of the niggling annoyance I felt in my most recent dealings with the hospitality industry+.
You see, the lovely Dolce & I spent the weekend at a beautiful boutique hotel in the winelands. While it was a magnificent experience, the one thing that prevented our stay from being absolutely perfect was management’s policy of employing concussion victims to run the administrative side of the business: First, they cocked up our reservation; then they cocked up our booking for the spa treatment; and finally, just to rub that last grain of salt into the wound, they cocked up our account when we checked out. All in all, an unbelievably thorough performance, but when it comes to service, the Devil’s in the details, isn’t it?
On the drive home, I was wearing the expression I usually reserve for negotiating with Egyptian camel drivers. Fortunately, Dolce thinks it’s sexy when I scowl and mutter darkly.
+ And we all love a good story about walking in dog crap, don’t we?
the other side of the mountain 
Well you are and you do (do).
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exceptional service is rare – and when i find it? i write letters, leave comment cards for managers and generally fall over myself to provide recognition and thanks to those who still ‘get it’…
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I can’t help thinking this was some kind of test. I’m not sure what of. The poo isn’t a metaphor for something larger, is it?
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Especially in today’s economic climate, you’d think that people/establishments would put A LITTLE thought into their customer services skills.
The Plus Side: I will totally call jerks “concussion victims” from hereon out.
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That’s why there’s something to be said for making a fuss and asking for the manager like the Americans do. If the consequence of cocking up is being hassled you try harder not to cock up.
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If this cheers you up at all, we just got back from a cruise. On the last day, we pulled up our bill, and there was a mysterious $660 charge. We asked what it was for, and were told we broke the TV in our room. We didn’t even use the TV! I hope sharks attack that boat.
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The company is superb and despite the faint reek of dog shit that occasionally assaults your senses, you are able to enjoy dinner.
Had this actually happened to me, I would so not have been able to write that line.
I need to take a page from daisyfae’s book and take the extra effort to recognize exemplary service. Especially since so much of it really does suck.
While I know that service at businesses in the U.S.of A is typically several notches better than their Canadian counterparts, I was fairly recently blown away by the contrast in dealership service. I frequent (I’m sorry to say) my local GM dealer largely because it’s “convenient” for me. I am probably one of their better customers and yet when I took my vehicle in for service at the Chevy dealer in Dubuque, IA I was amazed (and impressed) by the service I was treated to, even though I hadn’t purchased my particular Chevy there. It has literally hurt my feelings to go several steps back down to my local dealer…
I can appreciate the reference to concussion victims too. Sometimes I wonder if it would improve matters if I started sending invoices for the amount of my time required to sort things out that have clearly not been caused by me.
At the end of the day, I realize that to go among the unwashed masses, one must gird oneself as if one were about to take a swim in shit.
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Didn’t know the Road Accident Fund was actually an employment agency.
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tut tut…. I would have thought you were too busy getting laid to bother about such details 🙂
Dolce – give that man a blowjob!
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Make no mistake, Kyk did right – Dolce’s account of the weekend is the other side of the coin 🙂
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@ Daemoncoder > damn right…I was too busy rolling around pretending I was a princess and eating peeled grapes and stuff to notice the piffling administrative details.
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Are you sure you went to the same place as Dolce – she made it so poetic and dreamy. You made it all about poo? Wow you are one romantic bugger.
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@Charmskool >
He’s romantic alright, but the other side of the mountain isn’t so squishy
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YOu seem very bogged down by the mundane ADMIN details.. I suggest you go away to destress from your weekend away..
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Personally, I find the Egyptian camel drivers a push over. Those Iranian carpet merchants, they are real bastards.
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jealous.
Dinner with Dolce?
How do I get on the A-list?
(minus the dogshit, of course)
~m
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Oh my fat hat, what an incredible sounding V-Day! Even if you were lying about the dog crap, and it actually did happen, winelands hotel lovey dovey + crap is better than a wet slap to the face – bless your hearts!
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dolce: You should see me when I’m constipated.
daisy: It’s an uphill struggle. CYA rules the day.
UB40: Well spotted, although it’s an analogy, not a metaphor.
stephanie: It fits: glazed eyes, slightly confused, no short-term memory…
g. bananas: True. The trick is to get people to thing long-term.
robin: Bastards. At least I only got charged for meals I never ate.
rob: Convenience vs Good Service. Not an easy choice.
rustum: It’s a sideline. Their core business is still fraud.
nursemyra: Blowjobs are like ficuses.
daemoncoder: Exactly. We just like to report on different aspects.
dolce II:
charmskool: I am what I am.
daemoncoder (again): I’m afraid I don’t have Dolce’s talent with prose.
b: 🙂 Obviously it takes a bigger man than me to shrug his shoulders and say, “Oh well, they’ve lost our booking even though I’ve paid the deposit and have a written confirmation. Easy come, easy go”.
the spear: I don’t suppose I can hire you as my travel agent?
michael: There are no guarantees in life, but there are lots of dogs.
peas: Nah, the dogshit story really was just made up. It was an attempt to convey my frustration at having an otherwise exceptionally good weekend slightly soured by a couple of negligent people who weren’t paying attention. Not something you’d expect from a 5-star hotel.
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This whole post is just a ruse to rub it into the faces of us guys with blue balls that you are getting some. “The lovely Dolce & I spent the weekend at a beautiful boutique hotel.” I am seething with jealousy!
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But we just hold hands. Promise.
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Poop & doggy poop, just imagine … Cocked too, worse.
=^..^=
/
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Sometimes it’s a curse to have too much imagination
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I want to go to wine country…even if asshats are bungling my trip every step of the way.
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At least when dealing w/ Egyptian Camel Drivers you have a whole nother pile of doo doo to deal with. Hate when you go away to destress and come back worse than before.
How is it that in wine country you were even sober enough to notice those minor Adminst. delinquent actions. Next time they’ll just give you more wine and hope you don’t notice their mess work.
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