Death Of Customer Service - Again

A couple of things on my mind.

One is about plumbing. The faucet in my bathroom is leaking so I decided to change the aerator (the little cap under the arm of a faucet system filtering the water) to see if a new one could stop it. As I looked for a tool to unscrew it without stripping the casing, I realized it doesn't exist. Pliers are the only thing available. For remedial handymen, that's not overly practical. With all the tools invented, one guy couldn't come up with a special wrench like "circle" that can be either wrapped around or inserted upwards so as to gently remove it?

If not, what about rubber tipped pliers?

Bah.

I was at the grocery store buying two or three items. I usually like going to the express line but not with items without a bar code to scan and when I see the first cash open. The problem with the express cash lane is the cashier has to tend to the cash and all the people on the side counter ballbusting for lotto tickets, cigarettes and returning bottles. Generally, a cashier will alternate between the two. I hate that. But as my late father in law said, he of 50 years of grocery expertise, it's all about costs and putting one gal to focus on those people would entail more labour costs.

So there was this old lady holding out a scratch-lotto ticket. The girl was (slowly) processing the customer in front of me which meant, if the "grocery etiquette" was kept, she would next go to the old lady and I'd be stuck watching and waiting. However, for some reason the pace of the proceedings was very lethargic. The girl glanced over the lady but didn't say a word. Once she finished with the person before me, the lady had already lost patience and left. I didn't care and was happy to be served next.

But.

Would it have killed the girl to tell the lady she'd be with her in a moment? That's all it takes.

Alas, the concept of customer service is fast waning in this world.

When I was in Delaware we were at an Italian eatery called Nico-Boli's. Jammed packed, the service system seemed to be well organized. The service, though cordial and professional, was very slow. It's tough when you have a five year-old and it's taking 30 minutes to be served. We don't generally complain but we had to make mention of it - politely - or else my kid was going to lose her appetite and demand we leave.

We got our first entree. Salads. I normally don't order it but I figured what the fuck. The waitress said it came with a few things and that it was pretty good. Whatever. It's salad. Bring it on.

One of those items that was supposed to be part of my salad were cucumbers. As we dug and dug (I practically went swimming in it)  I asked my wife if she had any - my daughter loves cukes - and she answered in the negative.

No cucumbers.

By the time the waitress showed her face again for us to tell her, which was roughly about 20 minutes, she told us there was.

Now. I'm no fucking chef genius, but I've seen and eaten enough cucumbers (and pickles) and have enough schooling to know when there are A) flies in my soup or hair in my salad and B) no cucumbers.

I told her, diplomatically and firmly, there weren't any. She answered incredulously that it was "impossible" since she made the salads.

I knew I wasn't going to win unless I made a stink. We decided then and there to leave a lesser tip. We were informed earlier (when we couldn't find our waitress) that they serve by committee and it seemed a tad unfair to the other two to shaft them but our main principal waitress basically called us liars. The concept of "you're clients aren't cucumber deficient" went right over her head. Then again, it could have sent a message.

The way we did it is, instead of leaving the 18% norm, we left about 10%-12%. In hindsight, I shoulda left less. We coulda even mentioned it to the manager but it seemed a little lame for cucumbers so we didn't.

I don't like the notion of having been challenged that way when I was clearly in the right.

Food was decent and it did have a gluten-free menu for my wife so that was good.