A common issue, which I’ve mentioned recently, is that customers tend to forget what they ordered. I find it quite strange because when I examine a menu and finally make my decision I can’t wait to eat exactly what I chose to. The same applies to drinks, I know how I like my coffee and I’m a fiend so when the server comes to the table with a long black my hand shoots up immediately. This saves time for them and me. It’s helpful to everyone. So when I take coffees, or meals to a table, state what kind they are and am met with blank stares, I get kinda pissed off. I don’t have time to stand around while you gawk at me. There are 30 other people in the café waiting for my service so take your goddamn latte!
The other day we had a booking for a 25 person breakfast. They were well organised, and pre-ordered the day before so we could get our stock right and have them eating at 8am sharp. They arrived on time; we made drinks everything was going swimmingly. They had also put names with each order so all we had to do was shout out ‘Sarah!’ and Sarah would gives us a wave. Then there was a slight hiccup with Phil. That is his real name because this incident made me so angry I don’t want to keep it hidden.
Phil sat down opposite another Phil. Let’s call him Phil 2 to avoid confusion. So my boss, Ursula (for this story), is running around delivering breakfasts when Phil’s comes up. “Magnificent Scramble for Phil,” she declares proudly over the clamour. Both Phil’s look up, Phil 2 sees scrambled eggs and goes for it. Next up is standard scrambled eggs on toast, side of mushrooms, still damn tasty, for Phil. As the plate descends Phil says, “I didn’t order that,”
“Oh,” says Urusla, “what did you order then?”
“The magnificent scramble.” Ursula looks over at Phil 2,
“You mean the one he’s eating?”
“Is that the magnificent scramble?”
“Yes,” Phil 2 notices the conversation and looks up at Ursula, she turns to him and asks, “What did you order?”
“Scrambled eggs!” Phil 2 says happily, toast stuck in his teeth. Ursula realises the confusion and tells Phil she’ll fix it up and get another Magnificent Scramble on the way. She turns and leaves to get it sorted.
Phil then gets up, makes his way to the pass between our bar and food cabinet and tries to get into the kitchen. Ursula stops him and asks what he’s looking for. He then says,
“Look sorry, but I don’t like scrambled eggs. So I’ll just pay for my coffee and go.”
What. The. Shit. There are so many things wrong with this I couldn’t but drop my jaw before bursting into maniacal laughter at the time. Why would you order something with ‘scramble’ in the name if you didn’t like scrambled eggs? What are we going to do with the extra meal that no one wants because you, in your brilliant ignorance, can’t even get your order right?!?!?! What makes you think you can just waltz into our kitchen? Gah!!! The cherry on top then came when he explained that the same thing happened at another breakfast the two Phils went to a week ago. What’s the old phrase? Make the same mistake twice and you’re officially one of the stupidest customers we’ve ever had? Surely the logical lesson learned would be to put an initial next to your names for pre-orders. Or remember what you ordered. Or read the menu properly.
We let him pay for his coffee and stroll out the door, even though he should have paid for the wasted food. Trying to get that through his thick skull would have been too much trouble than it was worth on a morning that was extremely stressful without the big group anyway, let alone the confusion that threw everything out of whack because Phil didn’t know what he was doing. So fuck you Phil.
Note: I don’t know what it is about 50+ plus men who think they can just walk into our kitchen with ridiculous demands. We once had some ass barge in and start harassing the chef because he’d waited 5 minutes for a cooked breakfast. I really want to know what world these people live in. It’s fascinating.
Note Note: I’ll write something nice next time. Maybe.