The eggs that John West rejectedMikey 10 comments
I am usually not one to complain. Well that's not entirely true. Anyone who knows me knows I can not tolerate bad service, and I make a habit of letting the offending party know when they are letting me down. Case in point: McDonald's restaurant.
Bad service comes in many forms, and while I do not expect a pimply faced teenager on minimum wage to take a personal interest in the temperature and circumference of my Hot Cakes, I still do not except the service of a parallel dimensioned third world country. And there are times when the service is so bad that you simply have to sit back and admire the lack of even trying; as if it were a orchestared work of art.
If there were ever award ceremonies for worst customer service in the fast food industry, the McDonalds restaurant near my house would have cleaned up in all categories for their performance on Saturday February 4th 2006.
While I and seven other people waited seven minutes in line (yes, that's seven) before my order was eventually taken, I observed what can only be described as a catastrophic disaster of management and resource allocation.
During three of those seven minutes, with only one person taking orders, I observed a staff member do nothing more than scratch his testicles on two occasions while staring in the general direction of the kitchen, and while in plain site of the 'Manager'. I could only conclude having a staff member available to scratch his privates in plain sight must be some new motivational technique. Despite that I could not help but think that resource should have been assigned to taking orders from the angry mob in line.
When I did eventually hear the soul breaking "can I take your order please", I made it clear that I intended to eat in the restaurant with my family this year. And when our breakfast finally did arrive an additional 12 minutes later, the "Big Breakfast" had the equivalent of three spoonfuls of what can only be described as the eggs that John West rejected.
I returned the 'meal' and asked the testicle scratcher "Can you see anything wrong with this picture?" to which he conceded bad preparation on their part, and that a new one would be bought over to our table soon.
A further 11 minutes had passed when I decided to ask the Manager WTF is my breakfast. Somehow she must have known I was upset (perhaps it was the steam coming out of my ears) because she apologised and said she would bring it over personally soon. Another seven minutes passed before they delivered a meal that actually looked better than the preset display photo they have on the menus. Perhaps the testicle scratching motivational technique does work.
But I did walk away having gained something, and I don't mean a higher cholesterol count. I learned that even the restaurants at the bottom of the food chain (pun intended) are capable of redeeming themselves with nothing more than a "we are very sorry for the delay". If only that had happened.