Friday, March 16, 2007

I have good news: the garbage that passes for customer service here in Alberta is alive and well. Tonight we took a trip out to Olds because, hey, it's not Three Hills, and we wanted to go out for dinner with my sister (on the way, she beheld the majestic beauty of the three hills north of town, and was underwhelmed). Went to Boston Pizza, where we're had nothing but good service since we got here, and, well, it was terrible.

Maybe I'm too hard on those who are involved in food service because of my background in it, but I don't think so. I'm not hard on you if you are just having a bad day. But if you're just not good at what you do, and you're not even trying, well, then I have an issue. Worst service, ever, period.

Here's an example. There was a lady sitting at the table next to us; the table was set for six, but she was alone, obviously the vanguard of some imminent pizza-devouring force that was soon to appear. Unfortunately, she either got the time wrong, or the rest of her party was very late, because man, did she sit there for a long time (from before we got our food until after we were finished, and that includes them having to re-make mine because they got it wrong).

Anyway, as she was sitting there, our server would often check with her to see if she needed anything (in his oafish kind of way). Just as we were finishing our meal, he approached the table, and said ever so tactfully, "I think you got ditched." Funny, that's probably what just happened to your tip.

In another funny example, my sister's credit card is having issues with being randomly declined at various establishments, but she figured she'd give it a try tonight. After she had given it to our lovely server, he left, and returned a few moments later. Nearly tossing the billfold down on the table, he politely announced, "Your card got declined." Nice. Ever heard of maybe using a little tact in a delicate situation such as that? It's not exactly something you want to publish, you know? Not that Laura was embarrassed, but still, it's the principle of the thing. Sheesh.

In other news. Like many restaurants nowadays, this one had an automatic paper towel dispenser--the kind you just wave your hand at and the paper towel comes out all by itself. What foul black magic is this, that one can conjure up a towel with just the wave of one's hand?

Anyway, I'm a total germaphobe, so I am in favour of the auto-dispenser. In fact, the more automation, the better. I love the washrooms with auto-flush toilets, faucets that come on when you put your hand underneath, soap that is dispensed into your hand on command, and paper towels that magically appear. The less disgusting handles I have to touch with my bare hands, the better. In fact, I'm one of those people who takes a paper towel to the door and uses it on the handle. If there's no waste basket around, I just take a random shot toward the nearest one, and in so doing, provide hours of work for janitorial staff (doing my part for the economy).

The major problem with these towel dispensers, as far as I can see, at least, is the distinct varation in the amount of towel that is dispensed. In fact, this BP was the first restaurant I've been to where there was actually an adequate piece of towel dispensed. Most of the time, the piece that comes out is so puny that you can't even get one hand wipe out of it, and then you're left turning off the water with a wet paper towel. What's worse is that you have to sit there waving at the towel dispenser several times, hoping that you're in the sight lines of the dispensing sensor (which would make a great band name, by the way) and generally looking like an idiot. Why can't you just give me enough the first time, cheapskate? Gosh.

Moving on. Woke up this morning to a nice fresh dusting of snow AGAIN. Fortunately, it was sunny enough during the day to melt. Unfortunately, we had left the stroller out on the porch.

March is like an abusive relationship. The cold shoulder and the warm embrace all in one day. Talk about passive-aggressive. What's worse is that you can't pack up and leave in the middle of the night--you just have to endure it. Terrible.

But hey, if nothing else, the week is over, already. That means that there are only 4-1/2 weeks of school left. Yikes. I think I'm going to be okay in the run-up to the end; things seem to be well in-hand, and I don't really worry about saying that and jinxing anything, because it's entirely within the realm of my control. I know what has to be done, and I have a plan to do it. Tidy.

Of course, with it being Friday in the morn, the alarm is again my worst enemy, so I will conclude tonight's episode on that note. Oh, speaking of episodes, yes I did watch 24 tonight, and I will make only a few comments in the next paragraph. Skip it if you haven't seen it. I'll conclude after that.

*Spoiler Alert*

I have to say, I like the amount of explosions and gunfire in this season. Yeah, a few of those episodes were slow, but it's been pretty good so far. Of course, the vice-president is probably the most unlikably stereotyped American in the history of television, but you're not supposed to like him. And it was great to see Aaron back again. Martha I'm not so sure about (especially after her psycho hose-beast meltdown), but Aaron, he's the guy. But just one note to all network executives and those in charge of casting: Ricky Schroder is not a bad-ass, no matter how many bullets he fires or people he threatens to strangle. And only Jack Bauer can lead a ground assault without a helmet or bullet-proof vest, pretty boy. Go back to Shallow Springs.

*Okay, all clear*

Right, now it's time to go. Thanks again for your patronage this week. Make sure to check Theo's blog this weekend, as I'll be updating it. See you back here on Monday.