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The Great Cornbread Caper
Alternate title: The Macaroni Masquerade
The first part of this takes place at my second stint as a chicken slinger. This restaurant has biscuits AND cornbread, so we were required to ask if people wanted either or a mix of the two depending on how many bread items they would normally get with a meal. (12pc meal = 6 biscuits or cornbread, or half of each.) As it happens, sometimes things get mixed up and the order is made wrong. No biggie, we take your name down in the book and what date it is, then you come back in and get your stuff within a reasonable time period. But my favorite...
Every two weeks the same woman would call up and tell us that we forgot her cornbread with the meal, and complain. We would do what we could, and put her name in the book. All according to LAST protocol. (Listen, Apologize, Satisfy, Thank) She would invariably send someone to pick up her cornbread a week later, usually the same guy every time. It got to the point where we knew them both on sight.
Since I was not on good terms with management at that store, I didn't bother fighting the power and calling her on her bull. I wish I had, it's nice to be vindicated.
Second story is more amusing...
When I worked at the restaurant in Kentucky, we sold a variety of sides including green beans, potato wedges, macaroni.
Every Sunday, this extremely identifiable middle-aged lady (her voice! my God, her voice!) would come in and order macaroni and leave. She was memorable for her consistent orders (12pc meal, all three sides macaroni, biscuits) and her voice was stereotypical Southern Black American. Strangely, she was the only African American customer we had with an accent like that.
Fifteen minutes after she left we would get a call from her complaining we forgot her macaroni (1 or two pints, never all three forgottten). Okay, we'll fix it. She sends a family member down to pick it up. This happened every Sunday for three months until I finally started putting her order together myself and repeating the order back, pointing out every single item in the bag and getting verbal confirmation that it was indeed correct.
But still she called, and our managers were either too spineless or couldn't override the store owner's orders to refute her; I never found out. The final straw was one Sunday I had had no other customers since she came in, and 15 minutes after she left she calls.
SC: "Yeah, I was just in there and y'all forgot my macaroni!"
Me: "What was your order, and what got left out?"
SC: "I bought a 12pc meal, and y'all left out one of my macaronis!"
...Wait, I know this woman.
Me: "Ma'am, I remember your order. You came in fifteen minutes ago, and you got 3 pints of macaroni with your meal. I packaged it myself, and I do remember asking you if your order was correct, even pointed out all three pints in the bag for you. You've been calling us like this for a while now, and the last couple of times I, personally, was responsible for your order going out."
SC: "..."
She didn't even say anything, she just hung up on me. After that, she never called in on a Sunday ever again!
The first part of this takes place at my second stint as a chicken slinger. This restaurant has biscuits AND cornbread, so we were required to ask if people wanted either or a mix of the two depending on how many bread items they would normally get with a meal. (12pc meal = 6 biscuits or cornbread, or half of each.) As it happens, sometimes things get mixed up and the order is made wrong. No biggie, we take your name down in the book and what date it is, then you come back in and get your stuff within a reasonable time period. But my favorite...
Every two weeks the same woman would call up and tell us that we forgot her cornbread with the meal, and complain. We would do what we could, and put her name in the book. All according to LAST protocol. (Listen, Apologize, Satisfy, Thank) She would invariably send someone to pick up her cornbread a week later, usually the same guy every time. It got to the point where we knew them both on sight.
Since I was not on good terms with management at that store, I didn't bother fighting the power and calling her on her bull. I wish I had, it's nice to be vindicated.
Second story is more amusing...
When I worked at the restaurant in Kentucky, we sold a variety of sides including green beans, potato wedges, macaroni.
Every Sunday, this extremely identifiable middle-aged lady (her voice! my God, her voice!) would come in and order macaroni and leave. She was memorable for her consistent orders (12pc meal, all three sides macaroni, biscuits) and her voice was stereotypical Southern Black American. Strangely, she was the only African American customer we had with an accent like that.
Fifteen minutes after she left we would get a call from her complaining we forgot her macaroni (1 or two pints, never all three forgottten). Okay, we'll fix it. She sends a family member down to pick it up. This happened every Sunday for three months until I finally started putting her order together myself and repeating the order back, pointing out every single item in the bag and getting verbal confirmation that it was indeed correct.
But still she called, and our managers were either too spineless or couldn't override the store owner's orders to refute her; I never found out. The final straw was one Sunday I had had no other customers since she came in, and 15 minutes after she left she calls.
SC: "Yeah, I was just in there and y'all forgot my macaroni!"
Me: "What was your order, and what got left out?"
SC: "I bought a 12pc meal, and y'all left out one of my macaronis!"
...Wait, I know this woman.
Me: "Ma'am, I remember your order. You came in fifteen minutes ago, and you got 3 pints of macaroni with your meal. I packaged it myself, and I do remember asking you if your order was correct, even pointed out all three pints in the bag for you. You've been calling us like this for a while now, and the last couple of times I, personally, was responsible for your order going out."
SC: "..."
She didn't even say anything, she just hung up on me. After that, she never called in on a Sunday ever again!
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