Beav Gets Secret Shoppers, A 65%, Written Up
First of all, fuck secret shoppers. I will begin by saying that this is a tactic employed by companies with anal retentive upper-level management and inept lower-level management…companies such as mine. If your training process is good and your managers are doing their job, you shouldn’t have to frighten your employees into doing their jobs well. Unfortunately, our trainers are terrible and our managers are just o.k. I have no less than six managers. Four of them are worth a shit. Two of them don’t flagrantly sexually harass the employees. Actually…make that one. One is my age, and a former Hooters girl. Needless to say, the leadership can be less than amazing.
Be that as it may, we get secret shoppers on at least one day shift a month and one night shift a month. I got mine at 7:30 on a Sunday night, otherwise known as an hour into the dinner rush. Among the things the douche who shopped my table found to complain about:
The softness of the benches
The level of lighting
My “urgency in serving” them
About the benches and the lights…please shut the fuck up. This guy claimed the menus were hard to read in that light, which they are not. The benches always feel fine to me, but then I usually sit down after several hours on my feet, as I don’t make my money by eating free meals and crying about arbitrary shit. Maybe my ass just isn’t as sensitive as his or maybe my appreciation for the benches is greater. This same brilliant individual also noted that my brown hair was black, and that I stand 5’11” when in fact I am 6’1. My age was also placed in the 26-30 range. I’m 23, and nobody in the free world guesses me anywhere above 22. People still express surprise that I’m at least 21. If I weren't fairly tall and didn't have a deep voice, I could probably go back to high school without anyone noticing.
About my urgency, what the hell are you talking about? Am I supposed to push the pace of your meal and hustle you out as fast as possible? As soon as I did that, I suppose you’d complain that it seemed like I was trying to get rid of you. Maybe to improve I should sprint to and from my tables. Sure it’ll increase the amount of collisions that take place, but I’ll have a clear sense of urgency!
The time it took me to get to their table was 1 minute, 55 seconds. That clocks in a bit above every corporatized restaurant’s goal of 1 minute or less, but anyone who’s served can tell you that sometimes you just can’t get to every table within one minute of their seating, especially during the damn rush. Under two minutes is still pretty good. After that, he did not witness very much enthusiasm in my greet. FUCK YOU. This guy can’t bother asking how I’m doing after I ask him, but I’m unenthusiastic. I’m always nice to my tables when I greet them because I want them to, like, tip me and stuff. Evidently I’m supposed to be Curtis from Office Space for these people…and yet when I do I make less money because they can tell I’m being fake. Catch 22. In my case, catch hell. Sounds like someone had a case of ‘I’m an asshole accountant who works with numbers because I can’t interact with real people’. That or an early case of the Mondays.
This genius also noted that “no debris was ever picked up from the table until the very end when we were done eating.” Could you be just a little bit vaguer? Debris? What the hell does that mean? Am I to understand that I need to pick up your straw wrappers, napkins, and anything else that may not be perfectly in place at all times during the meal? Guess what? I’m your server, not your fucking maid. Other people have the courtesy to put their “debris” on their plates so that I can take it all away at the end of the meal and not have to grope around at their used napkins and wet naps before I go to handle other people’s food, drinks or credit cards, but I guess Prissy McTenderass was a spoiled only child and needs me to clean up after him. Also, way to note that it wasn't picked up until the end of the meal. I should have known to just reach across you while you're eating to get that muffin crumb off the table so you wouldn't have to look at it.
Next we have the butter fiasco. This guy took great pride in pointing out that “We asked Dan for extra butter. This request was honored yet, he did not appear overly happy with this request in that when he came back to our table with it, he pointed out that there was one hidden under part of my wife’s meal. We had received only one pat of butter for both the corn and muffin.”
First of all, the comma goes after “honored” and not after “yet.” Second of all, this guy is fucking lying. He asked me, “Could we get some more butter? My wife didn’t get any with her meal.” Let your wife speak for herself, cock. Also, yes she did get butter, but I said I’d be right back with some more and pointed out that the butter was next to the muffin so that she wouldn't have to wait for me to come back if she wanted butter now. Mind you, that butter was next to the muffin she evidently couldn’t pick up to consider eating before having the butter ready and waiting. I didn’t say that part. I wasn’t a dick about it, and I was nice when I brought them more. Don’t take points away from me to cover for the fact that you’re a dumbass and you had to invent problems for me to solve. By the way, you’re not SUPPOSED to get more than one pat of butter for your muffin and your corn, but way to dock me for that. This guy also sent me to get him a new Diet Coke because the first one “didn’t have any carbonation.” Yes it did, because it comes out the same at all the stations and it was no different when I brought you the second glass, but you liked it better because you expected it to be different. I kissed this dipshit’s ass about the fucking Diet Coke, but he “did not witness a sincere attitude coming from Dan.” In retrospect, I wish I’d have sincerely punched him in the face so that he could know attitude when he sees it.
The next claim was that he had to ask me repeatedly for refills. Well, he didn’t have to actually, but he did because he couldn’t let me walk past the table and see that he was about ready for another one and just bring it before he proudly informed me that he needed another. Generally when a glass is starting to look empty, I get a full one. Common sense, but I guess after *Buttergate* I couldn’t be trusted any more, so this guy took it upon himself to lead me by the dick through the serving process. Great. I also lost points for allegedly not thanking this guy by name when I gave him back his card. This is another boldfaced lie because I mention EVERYONE’S names when I give their cards back. He couldn't shut up and listen to me and I didn't interrupt him and wait for silence, so there's ten points off right there.
Long story short, I got a fucking terrible score. So bad, in fact, that my General Manager got chewed out. I felt bad about that, but mostly it was just because this guy was a dick. I then got a talk for 10 minutes during my dinner shift about how I need to be a better server. While this was happening, my tables had to do without service for around 10 minutes, and two tables were sat. One had to be picked up by another server because they waited so long. The other was clearly annoyed by the time my new asshole and I got back inside…but I need to be a better, more attentive server. I’ll be super happy to be right back with a large plate of irony for you!
The speech I got was a loose paraphrasing of the speech Mike Judge gives in Office Space about, “People can get a cheeseburger anywhere. They come to Tchotchsky’s for the attitude and the atmosphere.” It was all I could do not to say, “So…you want me to wear more flair?” For my troubles and everyone else’s, I was formally written up in a 4 sentence warning that basically says, “Dan needs to spout sunshine from his rectum immediately, or we’re gonna fire him if he gets caught not being a goddamn cheese-dick by a secret shopper again.”
During my shift tonight I decided that if it’s personality they want, it’s personality they shall have. Careful what you fucking wish for. I’m going to formulate a list of goals. These goals will be things I want to actually do at my tables, and will include:
Tell somebody it sounds like they have “a case of the Mondays”. Do it on a non-Monday.
Wait a table while using a random accent or dialect. Tell them I'm from Omaha when they ask where I'm from.
Wait the table next to it with no accent whatsoever. Act confused if my customers ask about it.
Spend an entire shift serving tables as George W. Bush, but don’t tell anyone that’s what I’m doing.
Ask somebody if they want regular or decaf when they order water. Apologize for not asking if they want cream when I bring it back.
Act just effeminate enough to make the customers wonder if I’m gay, but not enough to really decide what they think.
Refer to the check as “the damage report” every time I drop it off. Refer to myself as “damage control” instead of the cashier.
Tell a table they can’t have any dessert until they clean their plates.
Respond to every request with an overly sarcastic “I guess.”
Ask a table if they’d like to hear me make up a menu item and then try to sell it to them.
Serve an entire shift as Harry Carey.
Tell somebody they’re really lucky, because they just got the last one of whatever they ordered, even though we have plenty.
Ask all my tables if they’d like to choose their side items, or if they want me to “surprise” them.
Try to use the Jedi mind trick on somebody.
That’s all I’ve got so far. The funny part will be that customers will eat this shit up if I feed it to them the right way, and they’ll never know that I’m making a giant satire out of the stupid requirements of my job.
I sampled a little bit of the overtly ridiculous enthusiasm, and got a comment card with all perfect marks out of the deal. At the end of my shift I threw the card down in front of my Server Manager and said, “Here. Juxtapose.”
He didn’t know what the word meant.
Be that as it may, we get secret shoppers on at least one day shift a month and one night shift a month. I got mine at 7:30 on a Sunday night, otherwise known as an hour into the dinner rush. Among the things the douche who shopped my table found to complain about:
The softness of the benches
The level of lighting
My “urgency in serving” them
About the benches and the lights…please shut the fuck up. This guy claimed the menus were hard to read in that light, which they are not. The benches always feel fine to me, but then I usually sit down after several hours on my feet, as I don’t make my money by eating free meals and crying about arbitrary shit. Maybe my ass just isn’t as sensitive as his or maybe my appreciation for the benches is greater. This same brilliant individual also noted that my brown hair was black, and that I stand 5’11” when in fact I am 6’1. My age was also placed in the 26-30 range. I’m 23, and nobody in the free world guesses me anywhere above 22. People still express surprise that I’m at least 21. If I weren't fairly tall and didn't have a deep voice, I could probably go back to high school without anyone noticing.
About my urgency, what the hell are you talking about? Am I supposed to push the pace of your meal and hustle you out as fast as possible? As soon as I did that, I suppose you’d complain that it seemed like I was trying to get rid of you. Maybe to improve I should sprint to and from my tables. Sure it’ll increase the amount of collisions that take place, but I’ll have a clear sense of urgency!
The time it took me to get to their table was 1 minute, 55 seconds. That clocks in a bit above every corporatized restaurant’s goal of 1 minute or less, but anyone who’s served can tell you that sometimes you just can’t get to every table within one minute of their seating, especially during the damn rush. Under two minutes is still pretty good. After that, he did not witness very much enthusiasm in my greet. FUCK YOU. This guy can’t bother asking how I’m doing after I ask him, but I’m unenthusiastic. I’m always nice to my tables when I greet them because I want them to, like, tip me and stuff. Evidently I’m supposed to be Curtis from Office Space for these people…and yet when I do I make less money because they can tell I’m being fake. Catch 22. In my case, catch hell. Sounds like someone had a case of ‘I’m an asshole accountant who works with numbers because I can’t interact with real people’. That or an early case of the Mondays.
This genius also noted that “no debris was ever picked up from the table until the very end when we were done eating.” Could you be just a little bit vaguer? Debris? What the hell does that mean? Am I to understand that I need to pick up your straw wrappers, napkins, and anything else that may not be perfectly in place at all times during the meal? Guess what? I’m your server, not your fucking maid. Other people have the courtesy to put their “debris” on their plates so that I can take it all away at the end of the meal and not have to grope around at their used napkins and wet naps before I go to handle other people’s food, drinks or credit cards, but I guess Prissy McTenderass was a spoiled only child and needs me to clean up after him. Also, way to note that it wasn't picked up until the end of the meal. I should have known to just reach across you while you're eating to get that muffin crumb off the table so you wouldn't have to look at it.
Next we have the butter fiasco. This guy took great pride in pointing out that “We asked Dan for extra butter. This request was honored yet, he did not appear overly happy with this request in that when he came back to our table with it, he pointed out that there was one hidden under part of my wife’s meal. We had received only one pat of butter for both the corn and muffin.”
First of all, the comma goes after “honored” and not after “yet.” Second of all, this guy is fucking lying. He asked me, “Could we get some more butter? My wife didn’t get any with her meal.” Let your wife speak for herself, cock. Also, yes she did get butter, but I said I’d be right back with some more and pointed out that the butter was next to the muffin so that she wouldn't have to wait for me to come back if she wanted butter now. Mind you, that butter was next to the muffin she evidently couldn’t pick up to consider eating before having the butter ready and waiting. I didn’t say that part. I wasn’t a dick about it, and I was nice when I brought them more. Don’t take points away from me to cover for the fact that you’re a dumbass and you had to invent problems for me to solve. By the way, you’re not SUPPOSED to get more than one pat of butter for your muffin and your corn, but way to dock me for that. This guy also sent me to get him a new Diet Coke because the first one “didn’t have any carbonation.” Yes it did, because it comes out the same at all the stations and it was no different when I brought you the second glass, but you liked it better because you expected it to be different. I kissed this dipshit’s ass about the fucking Diet Coke, but he “did not witness a sincere attitude coming from Dan.” In retrospect, I wish I’d have sincerely punched him in the face so that he could know attitude when he sees it.
The next claim was that he had to ask me repeatedly for refills. Well, he didn’t have to actually, but he did because he couldn’t let me walk past the table and see that he was about ready for another one and just bring it before he proudly informed me that he needed another. Generally when a glass is starting to look empty, I get a full one. Common sense, but I guess after *Buttergate* I couldn’t be trusted any more, so this guy took it upon himself to lead me by the dick through the serving process. Great. I also lost points for allegedly not thanking this guy by name when I gave him back his card. This is another boldfaced lie because I mention EVERYONE’S names when I give their cards back. He couldn't shut up and listen to me and I didn't interrupt him and wait for silence, so there's ten points off right there.
Long story short, I got a fucking terrible score. So bad, in fact, that my General Manager got chewed out. I felt bad about that, but mostly it was just because this guy was a dick. I then got a talk for 10 minutes during my dinner shift about how I need to be a better server. While this was happening, my tables had to do without service for around 10 minutes, and two tables were sat. One had to be picked up by another server because they waited so long. The other was clearly annoyed by the time my new asshole and I got back inside…but I need to be a better, more attentive server. I’ll be super happy to be right back with a large plate of irony for you!
The speech I got was a loose paraphrasing of the speech Mike Judge gives in Office Space about, “People can get a cheeseburger anywhere. They come to Tchotchsky’s for the attitude and the atmosphere.” It was all I could do not to say, “So…you want me to wear more flair?” For my troubles and everyone else’s, I was formally written up in a 4 sentence warning that basically says, “Dan needs to spout sunshine from his rectum immediately, or we’re gonna fire him if he gets caught not being a goddamn cheese-dick by a secret shopper again.”
During my shift tonight I decided that if it’s personality they want, it’s personality they shall have. Careful what you fucking wish for. I’m going to formulate a list of goals. These goals will be things I want to actually do at my tables, and will include:
Tell somebody it sounds like they have “a case of the Mondays”. Do it on a non-Monday.
Wait a table while using a random accent or dialect. Tell them I'm from Omaha when they ask where I'm from.
Wait the table next to it with no accent whatsoever. Act confused if my customers ask about it.
Spend an entire shift serving tables as George W. Bush, but don’t tell anyone that’s what I’m doing.
Ask somebody if they want regular or decaf when they order water. Apologize for not asking if they want cream when I bring it back.
Act just effeminate enough to make the customers wonder if I’m gay, but not enough to really decide what they think.
Refer to the check as “the damage report” every time I drop it off. Refer to myself as “damage control” instead of the cashier.
Tell a table they can’t have any dessert until they clean their plates.
Respond to every request with an overly sarcastic “I guess.”
Ask a table if they’d like to hear me make up a menu item and then try to sell it to them.
Serve an entire shift as Harry Carey.
Tell somebody they’re really lucky, because they just got the last one of whatever they ordered, even though we have plenty.
Ask all my tables if they’d like to choose their side items, or if they want me to “surprise” them.
Try to use the Jedi mind trick on somebody.
That’s all I’ve got so far. The funny part will be that customers will eat this shit up if I feed it to them the right way, and they’ll never know that I’m making a giant satire out of the stupid requirements of my job.
I sampled a little bit of the overtly ridiculous enthusiasm, and got a comment card with all perfect marks out of the deal. At the end of my shift I threw the card down in front of my Server Manager and said, “Here. Juxtapose.”
He didn’t know what the word meant.
posted by Beav at 4:11 AM
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