Pissing off the Good Humor man
It takes a lot to upset me. Unfortunately, I’ll stay that way for far too long when it does happens.
Here’s an example.
My wife, Lyn and I were invited to visit our daughter, Beth at her newly adopted home town of New York City. We wanted to see her in her new life. She wanted to show how well adjusted she had become away from the comfort of Downingtown, PA. It would be a benchmark moment in our family.
She had two absolutes: dinner at the Grand Central Station restaurant, and her treat. Okay by us.
Lyn and I were impressed by her skills at navigating the bustling city streets and eventually the massive station itself.
We were seated in a middle section of the cavernous eating stadium. Over-sized, art deco concrete carvings lined the distant walls. Everything about the restaurant promised an elegant dining experience.
Our server this night was a severe looking woman of German descent. She was efficient at the verbal exchange of our choices for food and drink. I did have trouble following her on the daily specials due to my lack of food knowledge.
We were so the urbanites sitting in this landmark eatery having successfully not done anything to draw disapproving looks.
The food arrived and our panzer-frau place the three huge platters down. As I looked at the l’object d’art in front of me, I knew it wasn’t my selection. I asked what this meal was and was told it was a chicken something. It was not the fish something I ordered, and I said so. I also said I’d eat it anyway.
The Bavariana scooted over to me and literally snatched the plate from my hands and said, “I’ll get what you ordered.” I yelled, “I’LL EAT IT”, but it didn’t cause her to return.
I suggested Beth and Lyn start their meals to avoid cooling. I ate a bit more bread than normal for me during my wait. They shared samples of their selections which were really good.
The corrected meal took over 15 minutes to return. The waitress place my meal down and spun around with no hint of remorse.
I’m sure we were the one thousand out-of-towners to dine at her station this month,and she probably held a low opinion of our type. Maybe she just hated that she had to serve others to make a living. I really didn’t care. She had interjected her woes into what was a lovely evening and damn near destroyed its good mood. It didn’t because we didn’t let it.
Beth paid the bill and made her disapproval known with the tip.
Here my point: NYC wait staff are renown for their rudeness. This I expected. I’ll be only temporarily miffed if ignored since I know how easy it is to miss signals from others. What bothers me to this day is how determined this woman was to not let me have my way. She screwed up the order and felt it necessary to punish me for it even after I offered to settle for the wrong meal. Either that or she just wanted to give the meal to somebody else, and that’s not any better.
Okay, you’ve read this and have thought, “I would have complained to the manager.” Good point and maybe I should have but this outing was to be all about quality family time. I reasoned why aggravate the situation further. Maybe I’m just not the kind of guy who complains to the manager. Ever
Yes, it’s true, I am the Good Humor man and will usually take more abuse than guys like you.
And with all that, this sorry excuse for a waitress was able to piss me off. So you’re right, I should have complained to the manager.