Vindication!
That is what I felt on Saturday evening, when I went out to get dinner for my family as I always do this night of the week.
But this time—
Vindication!
I asked my wife what she wanted, and she said, “Boston Market,” a request that I cringed at.
As you know, I am having a personal war against that casual dining establishment, brought on by their shoddy service and lies and ineptitude the last couple of times I have gone there to pick up dinner on the weekend.
You might remember that about a month ago, I went there, and they had no chicken—not even a drumstick—and customers were not alerted until they arrived at the counter and tried to place their order.
I went there two weeks ago, and not only did the manager—who was busy on her cell phone when I entered the empty restaurant--deny this ever happened, she refused to give me my senior citizen discount as she had done dozens of times in the past, because she said I could not use two discounts on one purchase, even though, as I said, I had done it many times before.
And each of these times I complained to corporate—once using an email address on the back of the receipt, the other through their website.
Well, the second time appeared to be the charm.
I hesitantly walked into the same Boston Market this past Saturday, and I was happy to see that the manager who was taking my order was a completely different woman than the one who botched things up the last couple of times I went there.
This new manager was very cordial to me, she gave me my order without any flack, and yes, she gave me my discount on top of another discount that I had.
Vindication!
I guess corporate does read what people say about how they are treated at their restaurants, and I was not treated well the last couple of times I had gone there.
And if you want to really go back, several years ago and for a few years, they had a server who had a rough time with English, and I seemingly always got her.
She never, ever got my order right, and a couple of times, out of sheer frustration, I did complain about her to the manager there (different manager than recent times), and I was told that there was nothing she could do about it.
Not speaking or understanding English and you work in an establishment where understanding the language is a critical part of the job?
So my ire for this restaurant actually goes back several years, and I think that the latest incidents—capped by the no-chicken situation—was the last straw.
I don’t know if the manager in question was transferred, or perhaps she still works there during a different day and time, but I did not see her there when I was there, so to me, at least, that is—
Vindication!
I felt so thoroughly satisfied that I could not wait to get home and tell my wife about it.
I even thanked her for wanting Boston Market that night for dinner.
I was a happy guy indeed!
The only moral to this story is that when something is obviously not right—even in this world where ineptitude appears to be applauded and has become the norm—you must open up your mouth and complain about it, let other people know about it, and see what happens.
These are different times since the pandemic hit us.
If you are a regular reader of this Blog, you know that I have hit on this subject throughout the past three years, that things are accepted that shouldn’t be in a normal world, but this is not a normal world anymore.
Well, if I have to be the only voice of reason or sanity, than I take that job very seriously, because there will be someone out there that will hopefully listen to you when you are thrown a curveball when there is a simple task at hand to accomplish and it is completely botched.
You have to let people know how unhappy you are, and it is not just blowing smoke … it is lighting a fire under people who should know better.
That is the clear moral of this story: never accept ineptitude, and let people know when you receive it.
Hopefully, I will never have to do this again, but if I were a betting man, I would say that this will happen again—not necessarily at Boston Market, but elsewhere—and I will have to open up my mouth again and complain.
I am not looking for it, but it will invariably find me, and if it does, I am ready for it.
That is what I felt on Saturday evening, when I went out to get dinner for my family as I always do this night of the week.
But this time—
Vindication!
I asked my wife what she wanted, and she said, “Boston Market,” a request that I cringed at.
As you know, I am having a personal war against that casual dining establishment, brought on by their shoddy service and lies and ineptitude the last couple of times I have gone there to pick up dinner on the weekend.
You might remember that about a month ago, I went there, and they had no chicken—not even a drumstick—and customers were not alerted until they arrived at the counter and tried to place their order.
I went there two weeks ago, and not only did the manager—who was busy on her cell phone when I entered the empty restaurant--deny this ever happened, she refused to give me my senior citizen discount as she had done dozens of times in the past, because she said I could not use two discounts on one purchase, even though, as I said, I had done it many times before.
And each of these times I complained to corporate—once using an email address on the back of the receipt, the other through their website.
Well, the second time appeared to be the charm.
I hesitantly walked into the same Boston Market this past Saturday, and I was happy to see that the manager who was taking my order was a completely different woman than the one who botched things up the last couple of times I went there.
This new manager was very cordial to me, she gave me my order without any flack, and yes, she gave me my discount on top of another discount that I had.
Vindication!
I guess corporate does read what people say about how they are treated at their restaurants, and I was not treated well the last couple of times I had gone there.
And if you want to really go back, several years ago and for a few years, they had a server who had a rough time with English, and I seemingly always got her.
She never, ever got my order right, and a couple of times, out of sheer frustration, I did complain about her to the manager there (different manager than recent times), and I was told that there was nothing she could do about it.
Not speaking or understanding English and you work in an establishment where understanding the language is a critical part of the job?
So my ire for this restaurant actually goes back several years, and I think that the latest incidents—capped by the no-chicken situation—was the last straw.
I don’t know if the manager in question was transferred, or perhaps she still works there during a different day and time, but I did not see her there when I was there, so to me, at least, that is—
Vindication!
I felt so thoroughly satisfied that I could not wait to get home and tell my wife about it.
I even thanked her for wanting Boston Market that night for dinner.
I was a happy guy indeed!
The only moral to this story is that when something is obviously not right—even in this world where ineptitude appears to be applauded and has become the norm—you must open up your mouth and complain about it, let other people know about it, and see what happens.
These are different times since the pandemic hit us.
If you are a regular reader of this Blog, you know that I have hit on this subject throughout the past three years, that things are accepted that shouldn’t be in a normal world, but this is not a normal world anymore.
Well, if I have to be the only voice of reason or sanity, than I take that job very seriously, because there will be someone out there that will hopefully listen to you when you are thrown a curveball when there is a simple task at hand to accomplish and it is completely botched.
You have to let people know how unhappy you are, and it is not just blowing smoke … it is lighting a fire under people who should know better.
That is the clear moral of this story: never accept ineptitude, and let people know when you receive it.
Hopefully, I will never have to do this again, but if I were a betting man, I would say that this will happen again—not necessarily at Boston Market, but elsewhere—and I will have to open up my mouth again and complain.
I am not looking for it, but it will invariably find me, and if it does, I am ready for it.
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