A Dining Tip

Well my day is ruined. And, I'm hoping you want to hear all about it. I'm going to tell you about it, regardless. If I didn't, I would have absolutely nothing to write about today. I had planned to tell you a little horror story about an experience my daughter and her friends had at a local restaurant last night. Seems that, after being seated by the hostess, they waited at the table while two of the waitstaff argued about who would be forced to serve them.
Gee, I was going to jump all over that. I had some really clever lines. It would have been uproarious. I giggled all the way to work this morning regaling myself with excerpts from the column I was going to be writing.
Then I got this brainstorm idea. I figured to make it even funnier, I'd phone the restaurant and tell the manager about my daughter's awful experience. His or her nonchalant attitude would be further fodder to fuel my article. I don't usually go to any effort to research my columns. Believe it or not, it all comes directly from this genius machine residing inside my head. But, since I figured the manager would inspire me, I decided to call.
Bad idea. The manager, a very congenial woman by the name of Carmen, was quite attentive. She sympathized and empathized and did all those nice things that aren't done all that often these days. She even offered to send my daughter a certificate for a complimentary meal at the restaurant. "I want to make sure she'll come back to see us," Carmen said.
I was blown away. I've had less (much less) successful encounters with managers in the past. I remember one occasion when the waitress (at a restaurant that's no longer in business) gave us really horrible service. When I informed her that the meal I had ordered was supposed to come with a salad, she simply said, "You're wrong." She never even offered to check it out. I compensated, somewhat, by not offering to leave a tip. As I'm walking through the parking lot, she comes out and accosts us and says, "You didn't tip me. I'm not going to stand for that."
At that point, I asked to speak to her manager. He was totally unconcerned. His basic reply was, "Well, our waitresses do work for tips." I had a little tip for him, but my wife pulled me out of the restaurant before I had a chance to offer it.
I'm a good tipper, maybe even a semi-great tipper, but I don't tip for poor service.
I dined in a high-falutin restaurant in New York City some time back. I was with a group of about ten, and because we didn't order alcohol the waitstaff stood right behind us and made fun of us and our delightful southern accents. You'd have thought we'd stepped right off the set of Deliverance and into their restaurant. "Those stupid hicks," one said to the other loud enough for us to hear. "Just drinking water..." Well, when it came time to tip, we figured we'd show 'em how stupid we were.
As we were leaving, one of the waitstaff comes up and says, "I just want to let you know that the gratuity is not included in the price of the meal." We thanked her for the education. And, as we walked past the maitre 'd, one in our group said, "Wonder what they meant there were no croutons on the bill?" I guess we showed them.
Well, when I called Carmen (at Champps in Stony Point), I was hoping she'd treat me miserably, you know, give me another hilarious tale to add to my repertoire. Unfortunately no. She was polite. She stressed how sorry she was, and assured me the matter would be addressed, and, as I said, she offered to compensate.
She wasn't good for laughs, but, from a customer service and P.R. standpoint, she was great. I might not have gotten around to eating at Champps, but now, I'll make a special point to do so. So all you waiters and waitresses down at Champps, listen up. I'm a huge tipper. Phenomenol tipper, in fact. You can argue about who gets to serve me, but not over who has to serve me, and there may even be some croutons in your future.