Monday, July 10, 2006

Dilemma, and a small discourse on the state of the nation

So, what to do? Remove any reference to the Frosties boy (who, incidentally, is NOT dead; neither stabbed nor hung nor cancered to death) because it is harming my artistic soul knowing that a great deal of traffic is heading this way because of him (and not because of my alarmingly witty writing and endlessly fascinating subject matter), or say fuck it and write sentences that include "Frosties boy twat", "Did the Frosties boy commit suicide?" and "Frosties boy stabbed to death" thus damning my eternal soul to writers' (ha!) Hell where Jilly Cooper and Liz Jones will spend eternity variously whining about their husband, bemoaning the cost of Cath Kidston wellies or banging on about handsome stable boys relentlessly shagging the daughters of wealthy trainers.

*breathes*

Anyway, what I wanted to say was what on earth has happened to good old-fashioned service? I mean, I know it was only Pizza Hut, and to be fair it has improved over our last visit (a twenty-five minute game of cat-and-mouse in which the Other Half and I attempted to catch the eye of a member of staff in order to politely enquire as to the location of our meals, even as waitresses parachute-rolled between partitions and used an elaborate system of ropes and pulleys to bring other diners their main courses without having to acknowledge our presence) but, seriously? If that waitress, I'm sorry, server, had asked us once more if everything was alright, guys, I was going to stab her in the eye with the handle of my (dirty) spoon.

I'm not expecting doffing of caps and obsequious compliments. I don't demand uniform-issue bodywarmers laid over the puddle of mayonnaise by the salad buffet. But please, please DON'T* do two things for me. Don't ask me four times in seven minutes if everything is alright with my meal (I know you're only doing it in the hope of getting a tip - what you don't realise is that, every time you ask me, my resolve NOT to tip you only grows stronger), and don't refer to us as "guys". Because, well, we're not. A simple "is everything okay with your meal?" will do.

Sheesh. Get me. You'd think I'd just eat somewhere nicer, wouldn't you? But then what would I have to complain** about?

*Or do? Which is it
**If it's any consolation, I hate myself much more than you could ever hate me.

16 Comments:

Blogger First Nations chimed in with...

nope, with ya 100%. in those semi-serve-yourself places with the huge salad bar and everything out of a freezer van, the waitards have even less excuse to be slack. and they should be a little damn skippier with the clean-up, too. grrrr.
i am absolutely stunned that y'all have pizza hut over there. next you'll be telling me you have chuck e. cheese.
...oh...queen first of firstania!

10 July, 2006 20:11  
Blogger claire chimed in with...

re: the Frosties Boy?

You are a traffic-whore.



It's ok. I understand.

10 July, 2006 20:11  
Blogger surly girl chimed in with...

fn - waitard. genius.

claire - ouch!

10 July, 2006 20:29  
Blogger Billy chimed in with...

Keep the Frosties boy. At least he'll be some use then.

10 July, 2006 20:35  
Anonymous pink chimed in with...

it's not the handle of the (dirty) spoon you want to kill them with, SG... it's the spoon bit.

i can do demonstrations if necessary :)

11 July, 2006 00:02  
Blogger treespotter chimed in with...

it must be in their manual, coz 6000 miles away (give or take), they behave similarly annoying. and we don't even tip.

11 July, 2006 00:49  
Blogger Betty chimed in with...

"FROSTIES BOY CRACK COCAINE HELL BULIMIA GAY PORN"

11 July, 2006 09:23  
Blogger zanna chimed in with...

*Or do? which is it? Fairly certain it would be do. Which sounds like whoop de doo (a bit).

11 July, 2006 10:07  
Blogger Donna chimed in with...

We had the same waitard (I'm assuming this melds wait with retard) when we went SG ... I'm sure it was, she kept calling us 'guys' too and I too wanted to tell her to "stop fucking calling us guys!! okay?" But obviously i didn't, I just sat there feeling angry and putting up with it. No tip.

11 July, 2006 12:02  
Blogger Spinsterella chimed in with...

I worked in the States a few years ago and took to saying 'you guys'.

It still slips out sometimes.

In my defence, when I said 'youse 'uns' nobody understood what I said.

11 July, 2006 13:42  
Blogger Heather chimed in with...

I once had a meal at the Hard Rock Cafe where the waitard actually sat at our table and chatted to us when he was on his break. I don't know why, maybe he thought he knew us or something. We wanted to tell him to piss off but I was afraid he'd sneeze in my desert.

11 July, 2006 13:46  
Blogger Heather chimed in with...

Bugger, that's dessert not desert- I don't have any problem with waiters sneezing on an expanse of sand.

11 July, 2006 13:49  
Blogger tom909 chimed in with...

You GUYS really need to chill out. These poor waitards are doing their best. It's just a shit job.
But yeah, I hate it too when they hang around asking if everything is ok with your meal sir. I presume they pick up that bollocks from staff training sessions.

11 July, 2006 15:43  
Blogger The Boy chimed in with...

At least "guys" is better than "y'all". *Shiver* I hate that Texan aberation.

Definately blame the franchise training manual. They are but doing as told.

11 July, 2006 19:32  
Anonymous Other Half chimed in with...

I don't care if they're doing as a manual instructs them. If they're not smart enough to realise that such terms are costing them tips and offending their dwindling custom then they deserve to spend their entire fucking lives in shit jobs !

What happened to a little initiative or individuality ?

12 July, 2006 08:56  
Blogger frangelita chimed in with...

Bizarrely re the Frostie's boy, my 15 year old work experience kid told me today that the Frostie's boy had committed suicide. I still haven't seen the advert.

12 July, 2006 15:57  

Post a Comment

<< Home


Free Web Site Counter
Counters Who Links Here