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This customer actually made me cry.
Okay, so I guess the customer wasn't the whole reason I cried--I was also running on little sleep since the start of the workweek (on Wednesday--this was Saturday) and next to no food, which was affecting me poorly. But she was the precipitating event.
I can't remember everything exactly, so please forgive me.
So, let's set the stage. It's Saturday. More specifically, it's the Saturday before Christmas. I've been on-shift since 11:00; it's now between 6:00 and 7:00.
I don't remember sitting the lady; there are four hosts here at the moment, though. But I guess I'm closest, 'cause she comes up to me. Picture a lady who really, really wants to be confrontational, but is trying to be polite all the same.
BTL: Black & Tan Lady (as the servers later dubbed her)
Me: Hostess
BTL: Excuse me. First, I've been waiting for *ten minutes* and I haven't yet been seen. Second, I'd like to speak to a manager. Third, I'd like to move to a bigger table.
Me: *blinks* Uh--where are you currently sitting?
BTL: (Starting to move back where she came from, sort of) This is a Christmas present from my mother, and I'd like to actually get the chance to *enjoy* it.
Me: All right--where are you sitting? (Mostly, I want to make sure they already aren't sitting at one of our larger tables.)
BTL: (Finally shows me where she's sitting) I want to have a bigger table so I can sit next to my *husband*.
Me: (It's a two-person booth--score, I can fix this!) Sure thing! Please, come right this way.
(I move them to the section of a server who has been wanting more tables.)
Me: Can I get your drink orders? (Hosts can't actually punch in orders, but sometimes we get customers sodas or whatever if the server is mobbed. That's not the case here, but I figure I can still start to diffuse the situation.)
BTL: We don't know what we want yet.
Me: Well, we've got Pepsi products . . . *pause* Well, your server's name is going to be P, please enjoy your stay.
BTL: Can we get a booth?
Me: Um . . . (checks) Uh, sure thing, but I'm going to need to clean it off. . . . how about you guys wait here while I get it ready? (Normally, I try to get people to wait at the host stand, but . . . they're already disgruntled, so it seems like a bad idea. Well, she is.)
So anyway, I clean the table off as quickly as I can (the busser got to it while I was getting the spray bottle, thankfully), move them, tell them who their server is going to be. I see the server in the area, so I'm pretty sure he's going to see them pretty quickly. I get the manager. (Admittedly, the lady had to remind me, but fortunately she didn't give me a chance to leave the table first.) Yay! Everything's all right, right?
. . . yeah, not so much. Because if it were only slightly pushy lady, it just wouldn't be a Customers Suck story.
She comes back not very much later. And again, it's me. This time, though, she's through being polite.
BTL: EXCUSE me!
Me: Yes? (Ohgodohgodohgod)
BTL: It has been twenty minutes and I STILL haven't been served! This is ridiculous! And your taps are broken, so we I can't even get a damn DRINK!
(Aside: We have been having issues with some taps lately. Certain beers are unavailable. Apparently, this lady's favorite is one of them. I think this is why she was dubbed Black & Tan Lady.)
(Further aside: I don't think a customer has ever sworn at me before. Well, never in anger.)
This is where I totally lose track of the conversation--I don't think I was fully sure of what she was saying at the time. I tried to break in once or twice with "I'm sorry" or "I'll go get the manager"--basically, as a host, that's all I can do for you. But she keeps ranting at me. I look over at host who's at the stand with a "WTF" expression, which he returns--are you hearing this? This is what I was complaining about earlier, only way worse.
Finally, either she stops ranting or I get to break in.
Me: I'll go get the manager.
BTL: Yes, I'll talk to the manager AGAIN.
I run back to the kitchen to find the manager.
Me: The lady in the pink snowflake sweatshirt wants to see a manager AGAIN--apparently, she hasn't been SERVED and she can't get a DRINK. (doing my best to impersonate her) And--and by the way--you DON'T yell at--
This was where I burst into tears.
Poor manager. It was the Saturday before Christmas, and everybody seemed to have a psycho in their section. (I think he actually thought that I was talking about a different one.) He had to deal with all of them. I think tempers were getting short all around. (The fact that three servers hadn't shown up--one of the folks on the team sheet apparently wasn't even SCHEDULED--didn't help at all.)
Anyway, it really all worked out. A food runner led me back to dry storage and gave me a long hug and a pep talk. Then, when I mentioned that I hadn't eaten and didn't have money and it was too busy to order a free employee meal, she gave me some items that the kitchen had messed up and couldn't run (purely cosmetic, from anything I could tell) and basically got me sane again.
The manager, when the customer told him that she was never coming back, that he really couldn't do anything to help her if that was the case. (I was thinking as I was freaking out, oh, God, they're going to offer her a free meal and she'll be BACK . . .) It's true enough, though--if you're not coming back, we can't really do anything.
The bartender made the manager and hosts milkshakes. (She may have given them to servers, too, but I didn't see any of them at the time, so I can't say.) Smaller than regular milkshakes, but . . . oh, God, it was just what we needed. Or what I needed, anyway. She told me that she'd been there.
It still wasn't precisely my finest hour.
Here's a hint: The host really can't do anything for you but get other people. Since I work here, though, I'm pretty good at that. You want to talk to your server? Great! I'll get right on that! Need to see a manager? Sure thing! Want me to ask the bartender if you can turn the game on? Your wish is my command.
I cannot make you happy, unless that happiness rests on getting a table or having a clean bathroom. (Or, occasionally, a Pepsi.) I cannot fix the beer tap. I cannot give you the last half hour of your life back, and I cannot make your mother give you a gift you may have actually appreciated.
Thank you, and please enjoy the rest of your life.
Okay, so I guess the customer wasn't the whole reason I cried--I was also running on little sleep since the start of the workweek (on Wednesday--this was Saturday) and next to no food, which was affecting me poorly. But she was the precipitating event.
I can't remember everything exactly, so please forgive me.
So, let's set the stage. It's Saturday. More specifically, it's the Saturday before Christmas. I've been on-shift since 11:00; it's now between 6:00 and 7:00.
I don't remember sitting the lady; there are four hosts here at the moment, though. But I guess I'm closest, 'cause she comes up to me. Picture a lady who really, really wants to be confrontational, but is trying to be polite all the same.
BTL: Black & Tan Lady (as the servers later dubbed her)
Me: Hostess
BTL: Excuse me. First, I've been waiting for *ten minutes* and I haven't yet been seen. Second, I'd like to speak to a manager. Third, I'd like to move to a bigger table.
Me: *blinks* Uh--where are you currently sitting?
BTL: (Starting to move back where she came from, sort of) This is a Christmas present from my mother, and I'd like to actually get the chance to *enjoy* it.
Me: All right--where are you sitting? (Mostly, I want to make sure they already aren't sitting at one of our larger tables.)
BTL: (Finally shows me where she's sitting) I want to have a bigger table so I can sit next to my *husband*.
Me: (It's a two-person booth--score, I can fix this!) Sure thing! Please, come right this way.
(I move them to the section of a server who has been wanting more tables.)
Me: Can I get your drink orders? (Hosts can't actually punch in orders, but sometimes we get customers sodas or whatever if the server is mobbed. That's not the case here, but I figure I can still start to diffuse the situation.)
BTL: We don't know what we want yet.
Me: Well, we've got Pepsi products . . . *pause* Well, your server's name is going to be P, please enjoy your stay.
BTL: Can we get a booth?
Me: Um . . . (checks) Uh, sure thing, but I'm going to need to clean it off. . . . how about you guys wait here while I get it ready? (Normally, I try to get people to wait at the host stand, but . . . they're already disgruntled, so it seems like a bad idea. Well, she is.)
So anyway, I clean the table off as quickly as I can (the busser got to it while I was getting the spray bottle, thankfully), move them, tell them who their server is going to be. I see the server in the area, so I'm pretty sure he's going to see them pretty quickly. I get the manager. (Admittedly, the lady had to remind me, but fortunately she didn't give me a chance to leave the table first.) Yay! Everything's all right, right?
. . . yeah, not so much. Because if it were only slightly pushy lady, it just wouldn't be a Customers Suck story.
She comes back not very much later. And again, it's me. This time, though, she's through being polite.
BTL: EXCUSE me!
Me: Yes? (Ohgodohgodohgod)
BTL: It has been twenty minutes and I STILL haven't been served! This is ridiculous! And your taps are broken, so we I can't even get a damn DRINK!
(Aside: We have been having issues with some taps lately. Certain beers are unavailable. Apparently, this lady's favorite is one of them. I think this is why she was dubbed Black & Tan Lady.)
(Further aside: I don't think a customer has ever sworn at me before. Well, never in anger.)
This is where I totally lose track of the conversation--I don't think I was fully sure of what she was saying at the time. I tried to break in once or twice with "I'm sorry" or "I'll go get the manager"--basically, as a host, that's all I can do for you. But she keeps ranting at me. I look over at host who's at the stand with a "WTF" expression, which he returns--are you hearing this? This is what I was complaining about earlier, only way worse.
Finally, either she stops ranting or I get to break in.
Me: I'll go get the manager.
BTL: Yes, I'll talk to the manager AGAIN.
I run back to the kitchen to find the manager.
Me: The lady in the pink snowflake sweatshirt wants to see a manager AGAIN--apparently, she hasn't been SERVED and she can't get a DRINK. (doing my best to impersonate her) And--and by the way--you DON'T yell at--
This was where I burst into tears.
Poor manager. It was the Saturday before Christmas, and everybody seemed to have a psycho in their section. (I think he actually thought that I was talking about a different one.) He had to deal with all of them. I think tempers were getting short all around. (The fact that three servers hadn't shown up--one of the folks on the team sheet apparently wasn't even SCHEDULED--didn't help at all.)
Anyway, it really all worked out. A food runner led me back to dry storage and gave me a long hug and a pep talk. Then, when I mentioned that I hadn't eaten and didn't have money and it was too busy to order a free employee meal, she gave me some items that the kitchen had messed up and couldn't run (purely cosmetic, from anything I could tell) and basically got me sane again.
The manager, when the customer told him that she was never coming back, that he really couldn't do anything to help her if that was the case. (I was thinking as I was freaking out, oh, God, they're going to offer her a free meal and she'll be BACK . . .) It's true enough, though--if you're not coming back, we can't really do anything.
The bartender made the manager and hosts milkshakes. (She may have given them to servers, too, but I didn't see any of them at the time, so I can't say.) Smaller than regular milkshakes, but . . . oh, God, it was just what we needed. Or what I needed, anyway. She told me that she'd been there.
It still wasn't precisely my finest hour.
Here's a hint: The host really can't do anything for you but get other people. Since I work here, though, I'm pretty good at that. You want to talk to your server? Great! I'll get right on that! Need to see a manager? Sure thing! Want me to ask the bartender if you can turn the game on? Your wish is my command.
I cannot make you happy, unless that happiness rests on getting a table or having a clean bathroom. (Or, occasionally, a Pepsi.) I cannot fix the beer tap. I cannot give you the last half hour of your life back, and I cannot make your mother give you a gift you may have actually appreciated.
Thank you, and please enjoy the rest of your life.
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