This evening, old friend Kyknoord and I met up for our fortnightly meal, which we call “coffee”. As usual, we found each other in the inconveniently located House of Coffees in Canal Walk*.
As we settled in for our usual chat our waiter, “Ryan” if that is his real name, came over and took our order. I decided to have the “Smoked Chicken and Bacon Tramezzini”. Ryan repeated this to me as a “Smoked Chicken Tramezzini” and, on being corrected, assured me that it was the same thing.
Time passed. Not the sort of time during which canyons are carved in the naked rock by the paper and the scissors, but some time. Then the food arrived. After eating my fries, I set about tackling the Tramezzini itself, only to find that it included avocado.
I don’t eat avocado. Its not that I think it tastes unpleasant. I know that it tastes unpleasant. Being allergic, every single avo eating experience I have ever had is associated with an uncomfortable burning sensation in my mouth at best, and a swelling in the throat that makes it difficult to breathe at worst. Needless to say, I was pretty sure that I had not accidentally ordered something that contained the stuff, so I called Ryan over.
Ryan insisted that this tramezzini always came with avo and that this fact was clearly stated on the menu. When I asked him to bring me a menu he pointed to the cardboard special sign on the table that was advertising a “Chicken, Avo & Bacon Tramezzini”. When the menu arrived, after I had to ask for it again rather sharply, I was able to point out the exact item I ordered. Smoked Chicken. Bacon. C’est tout!
Apologies were issued, and Ryan agreed that they would make me a new one. We even had a discussion about allergic reactions and the fact that I actually needed a new meal and not just the old meal the avo scraped off. Then time resumed its passage.
Considerable passage, until Kyk had finished his meal. By-and-by Ryan returned to tell me that “things” might take longer than usual because they were unable to void the incorrect order without the manager. Naturally, I assumed he was concerned about the bill and told him not to worry, as long as the updated order had been sent to the kitchen.
How wrong I was. As it turns out, Ryan was unable, nay, unwilling to send my correct order to the kitchen until the manager was available to void his previous mistake. The manager, in turn, was unavailable because she had some other voiding to take care of. According to Ryan, she was on a “bathroom break”.
At this point my head was so close to exploding that I was actually willing to wait the situation out. I am most grateful to Kyk for seeing what needed to be done and offering to pay for the non-existent meal on the understanding that we would never again darken the door of House of Coffees, and would not hesitate to explain why on the Internet, in the press and on radio. For your unmitigated enjoyment, I have included a scan of the bill including the invoidable meal which will be the last item for which House of Coffees ever has the opportunity to bill me.
I believe that the mark of good service is not enjoying a satisfactory experience when everything goes as planned, but enjoying a satisfactory experience when something unforeseen takes place. The inflexible unprofessionalism of Ryan, his cavalier attitude to his customers’ orders, and the long-term absence of management left the House of Coffees dead in the starting blocks tonight. The food industry in particular has a high bar when it comes to customer experience. When something goes wrong with a meal, something far more than the commercial transaction is tainted. A moment of fellowship between friends or family is also made less pleasant. People who usually eat alone value culinary companionship more than most, and a ruined order can equate to a ruined evening.
In our case, something could be salvaged. We took ourselves off to Fego Caffé, where the staff kindly kept the kitchen open long enough for me to order a meal. Strangely, it seems that I was destined not to eat bacon+ tonight. Fego is strictly halaal, which means that I was obliged to settle for a most delicious chicken and mushroom tramezzini, which Eric served suitably bereft of avocado.
*: Three things: 1) Its non-local for both of us, which seems fair. 2) We won’t be going there again. 3) Don’t stalk us, we’ll stalk you.
+: Some of you will know why this is funny. Mysterious ways indeed!
