Enjoy Your Meal

 

The Customer Is NOT Always Right

There has been a lot discussed lately of the actions of Restauranteur Keith McNally Keith McNally and his temporary banning of actor and late night talk-show host, James Corden The Late Late Show with James Corden from his NYC restaurant, Balthazar Balthazar. Mr. McNally took Mr. Corden to task via social media for his obnoxious behavior towards staff, and although Mr McNally relayed two separate incidents, there have long been posts shared from service staff from other restaurants and establishments that underscore the claim that James Corden is a spoiled, entitled, boorish, and abusive patron. Or at least behaves that way But he is by no means an anomaly.

If you have ever worked in the service industry, particularly food and beverage, its a position where the majority of your income is comprised of the “tips” and gratuity that one HOPES the customer leaves, out of appreciation for a job well done if not for the social contract that is universally understood when dining out. It doesn’t always work out that way.

What needs to be understood, however, especially by management and ownership of eateries, bars, cafés, restaurants, etc., is that rude, obnoxious, and abusive behavior should NOT be unquestionably tolerated, much less rewarded without cause. A large segment of the leadership in food service establishments, did not “grow up” in the industry having worked in a tipped position. A vast majority are hired because of “hospitality” training that usually did not involve actually working the front-line positions. They may have gotten the job as a result of connections, or nepotism. Or they might have a degree or experience in a role with a peripheral skill such as book keeping, logistics, or sometimes retail management. All are great backgrounds which offer a valuable skill-set basis, but it cannot take the place of having been “in the trenches” with actual service staff. Many times leadership in those roles may not have a passion for actual service, or understand the social skills necessary to create a positive experience amid a seeming chaos, when so much of the meal and its details are out of the control of the server. 

Professional servers can describe in detail the specials of the house, help upsell the menu, suggest beverages and wine that will compliment the hard work of the chef and kitchen crew, and enhance the entrée, and they can keep bread, water, and beverages refilled, ALL while being an entertainer when necessary and being invisible when required. But the wait for a table, the speed of food delivery, and accuracy of the meal is largely out of their hands. Servers make their money by creating the best environment for a meal, or a get-together, and they sometimes even have to wrangle children who have not been adequately socialized for any setting outside the home. They make safety and cleanliness a priority, they uphold the brand of an establishment, they become indispensable team members for an army of other servers in the restaurant by assisting with food delivery, keeping items in wait stations clean and stocked, and covering for the unexpected. All for an income that is not guaranteed, and with few benefits if any. The rewards can be worth all the effort when the server is good at their job and they are lucky enough to work in an establishment, or in a market with a clientele who understands the system and expectations of dining out. 

When you have a demanding or difficult customer, it may be the result of an issue where the restaurant actually is culpable for any number of reasons, and when that occurs, it should be a priority and the job of leadership to step in, affirm that the servers were diligent in their job in bringing it to management’s attention, and an adequate response should be IMMEDIATE, which may include a complementary menu item, or drinks, or in some cases a whole course, or even a meal. It should NEVER be the servers responsibility to take ownership for the entire incident. 

However, when customers make loud, abusive comments, if they make unreasonable demands, if they belittle and humiliate staff, if they threaten to withhold their patronage, or to “tell all their friends” as a potential threat, then a competent leader must make a decision as to where the culpability lies and be willing to thank the customer for their insight, but to LET THEM GO. Capitulating to unwarranted demands for issues that were NOT the result of gross negligence does way more harm than good. Again, QUICKLY ascertain if the restaurant is liable for the incident, make appropriate offers to correct and sometimes compensate, but if a customer is abusive, rude, or threatening in any manner, or if you can determine that no matter what you offer, the customer refuses all efforts be made happy by the arrangement, then you owe them nothing. Offer a SINCERE apology, comp the portion of the meal in question, and if the meal is over, present the check for items delivered to that point, apologize again, and just offer the sincere hope that they may consider the establishment in the future. 

If you grovel, and capitulate to demands, and reward boorish behavior, you are NOT securing future business from this customer at all. They will not go out and tell their friends and acquaintances that the restaurant “really made up for an error.” Instead, they will regale their contacts over and over with the story of how THEY dominated you, DEMANDED more than was necessary, and they will still not offer a recommendation for the restaurant, its menu, nor its staff. Further, when you reward or compensate bad behavior, you are damaging the morale not only of any server associated with the customer, you are doing real damage to the camaraderie of the staff as a whole, you are showing that team how you will quickly devalue their work, and you will have taken valuable time and attention from other diners, and diminished the experience for every other guest who was willing to wait for a table, pay full price, and enjoy their meal. 

You would be better served by spending some extra time with and offering attention to the customers who are genuinely trying to enjoy your restaurant. Those who are there for a special occasion would graciously be enthusiastic about a little more attention, or a visit to their table. Ask about their meal. Ask about their plans for the night, the weekend, or even their lives. THANK them for coming. While you are talking with ANY customers, you should always cheer on your service staff, and brag about your chef and kitchen team. Remember to thank the hosts, and the bussing and dishwashing crew. The restaurant operates as a TEAM from every angle, but the servers and bartenders are the ones with most of their income being the result of how a customer feels once the bill is presented. 

If you are a member of restaurant leadership, or if you are in a position to hire those team members, prioritize work on your product, your brand, and your team. When they are dedicated, and you champion the focus on your happy customers, you will see success expand beyond your expectations. Restaurants in particular, but any Service role, and that includes most ANY business built on interacting with the public, should NOT focus on the things that are easily taught like logistics, operational standards, regulatory guidelines, and book keeping. Instead, you should look to hire and promote those with a PASSION to lead, a desire to serve, an enthusiasm for your brand, and LOYALTY to their team. A happy team WILL create satisfied customers will tell their friends about how great their experience was, NOT how they took you to task as an opportunity for them to dominate and assume "control." Happy customers will support you in the lean times, they will feel a connection to your brand, and they will treat your staff like professionals, even when mistakes happen. 

Bon appétit.

How Much Life is Spent

 How Much Life is Spent

What is it?

Another day, here. 

Another day anywhere. 

Sky blue. Behind the white. 

Sky black, behind the blue.

Sky infinite.

And another day.

So many days, into years, into so many days. 

Still gone by. 

And more.

Who offers time to us? 

Who gives it meaning?

Is it ourselves, or is it us, or is it just me, for me?

This may hurt a little. It may hurt a lot.

It may hurt forever.

This may feel great. This may feel fantastic.

But only for a moment. 

And it will heal.

Love when you can. 

Love when you cannot.

Love when it’s impossible.

Possibility, always.

Give time to your day, and give your days back to time. 

It goes on forever, tho’ forever never comes. 

And yet it is never changes. And is never the same. 

Learn to live in the sliver between them. That is the day.

Let it hurt. Let it feel great. Let it heal.

The only time wasted is the time you don’t spend.

Another day.

Brian Todd Barnette

Old Belief

 When I was a young boy, I guess I was as inquisitive as any normal child, and especially so when it came to the “why” of things or the mystery surrounding anything regarding nature.  

Once, I was told that clouds actually came from the large smoke stacks of the paper mills we would see on trips to West Virginia from either Florida or North Carolina.  And it seemed plausible considering the huge, fluffy, white smoke that sometimes came out against a bright, blue sky.  Of course, even without the internet, it didn’t take long for me to pay attention to the weatherman and to use our Encyclopedia to look up clouds, and what forms them.  Also, oddly enough I was told once that the seeds on the stalk of Bahia grass were actually baby mosquitoes, and that is where they came from.  This was information shared by someone who was older than I am, and now I am unsure if they KNEW they were trying to BS me or if it was simply a slightly older peer who also happened to have believed it.  Again, didn’t take long to really find out that it was NOT the truth. Not even plausible. 

But today, while out walking the dogs, I happened upon a patch of un-mowed Bahia grass that was heavily populated by the stalks at the seed stage.  And the FIRST thing I thought of- was mosquitoes.   Something so innocuous given as information in my youth, that MAYBE I believed for a split second, was rooted in my mind and in my memory. Still there. Still taking up space. Still occupying a slight, small sliver of my attention when prompted.

Now imagine for a moment that it wasn’t just some random non-fact, some throwaway bit of information. Imagine it was being told you are unattractive, or unworthy. Or that you are “wrong” or “stupid” or any other descriptive that we believed for longer.  No matter how much we may have “gotten over” something, or chosen a different belief pattern through hard work and introspection if it occupied a small part of our sense of self and it is not completely healed, then a small jolt, a casual statement, an off-hand remark- any small thing can trigger that memory to come back, even without conscious effort.  

So be diligent. If you feel something unpleasant, don’t necessarily “fight it” or try and dismiss it. Let it happen, investigate it, treat that old wound with love, and allow it to heal even further.  Look for reinforcements in the things you KNOW to be true today. The things that matter. The hard-won truths about ourselves. Ultimately, the truth needs no defense, but it can use a little love and gratitude.

 Making Change

When we have asked the Universe for change in our lives, it seems we have been conditioned to expect something that is largely uncomfortable. It may be a cliche that has earned its reputation, but I don't think it's a forgone conclusion.  I was speaking to a friend and I recall a lecture from Marianne Williamson (based on the teachings of A Course in Miracles) is that maybe G-d would prefer we learn through joy and not through pain. But it may also be true that as we review our lives, sometimes the very formative situations WERE painful or uncomfortable, and we forget to honor the lessons that we were able to learn through a peaceful grace.

Still, once we sincerely ask for change and are brave enough to expect it, however it comes, we also must do the work necessary to allow it. I do not think it requires "strain" as an inevitability, but by work, I mean the diligence necessary to keep our own minds from seeking to go backward. Once we ask for grace, G-d doesn't need US to repeat the prayer over and over, but WE need to remind ourselves quite often that WE want the change and WE must clear the space required for it. 

I also loved a talk once given by Iyanla Vanzant that mentioned the expectation of results required by having faith. For example, if we prayed for a new home and it isn't manifesting as expected, she would say, "well, are you PACKED?" That means, are we ACTING on the agreement we have made with Source that once a sincere prayer is offered, then it shall be granted. THAT is faith in action. It is truly a rarity. 

And not everyone in your life will WANT you to change, or for your life or circumstances to change because it scares them. Will they be left behind, or even worse, will it present a mirror for them to realize that they have not made real the thousands of pleadings they have made for better circumstances in their own lives. They do not WANT you to be unhappy or unfulfilled its just a default position that "misery loves company."

Who I was ten years ago bears little resemblance to who I am now, unless I am with people (friends AND family) who would not choose to see me in my new state of self. And I have to be honest about how often I will allow myself to put on the mantle of the "me" I was in order to make them more comfortable. It's horrifying to know how willing I have been to do just that and how OFTEN. 

But I have said the prayer again. And I am making the room for the results. I would willingly bring everyone I love with me into the light that I wish to inhabit, but now I have also made a commitment that I will not go back to live in a shadow. There will be some temporary losses. But I am investing this change in my own self-worth. And every cent matters.

A Little Goes a Long Way

 Dear Local Business Representative,

I have reached out to you numerous times. I may be interested in working with you / I may work for a nonprofit / I may be starting a new company / or any other number of reasons. I have emailed, called, I have stopped in and left my number or card. I have even sent a letter. I chose your company because there is something about it that rings true to my own core values / your mission seems in line with my own sense of purpose / you are well-loved by the community in which we live. I know you are busy, and even though you may not have any full idea of why I have been trying to communicate with you, 

I have never received a reply or an answer to my request to possibly meet to discuss my reasons for maintaining a devoted interest. Maybe I’d like to partner on an event. Perhaps I am looking for a donation. I may even have a great idea that I think would be of great benefit to both of our goals. Still, at some point, it must go from being very busy to actively ignoring my outreach.

I’d like you to remember what it was like when you were looking for a job / were starting your company / needed assistance from someone a few steps ahead of you / were just looking for motivation and inspiration to continue to grow and improve. I wonder who answered your request to speak / connect / collaborate. They found the time. They knew the value of professional courtesy. Maybe they even felt compelled to “pay back” because of the success they have been able to enjoy, to honor the faith and the loyalty they enjoyed from those they serve.

I don’t know why you have opted to completely ignore the phone calls, the emails, the in-person visits, or the letters. I just want you to know it matters. It matters a great deal. And maybe, just maybe, you are the one missing out on something.

Still, I wish you continued success. And someday, you may actually want something that I can offer. I promise to try my best to keep my integrity and uphold the values that others may not have shown, but that support a more productive, and mutually respectful business and prosperous community.

Thanks for the lesson. 
#business  #work #community #success #courtesy #professional

A day of music that changed our days forever.

 July 11, 2021

In two days, on July 13, it will be thirty-six year since Live Aid was broadcast on MTV, and around the world simultaneously, for sixteen hours.  There are so few events in my life that I can recall with such a sense of awe. I am old enough to have seen some of the Apollo missions from my backyard in Florida. And of course a shuttle launch or two.  Some things that happened are of course tragic; the horrible events of Sept 11. I dont include the terrorism of the Oklahoma City bombing because we didnt really experience it as it happened. 

But events like Live Aid go beyond attending a great concert. It was a rare moment of GLOBAL participation in a belief that we could, or someone could, change the world through actual CARING about other people and by the sharing of talents and gifts. Music carried not only the songs of our time, the music produced that day carried hopes and prayers of over a billion people. 

I lived in a small bedroom above a garage in an old house in downtown Orlando, Florida. Windows lined one entire wall, I had a small metal bed, an antique trunk and dresser, and really not much else. The small television set sat on the dresser beside a plant and a small replica of the Eiffel Tower. My roommate downstairs had his television hooked up to big stereo speakers, and as I went back and forth from my room, to downstairs, doing I cannot remember what, the music propelled me through the day.  Of course I remember many of the acts, Bryan Ferry, Allison Moyet, Elvis Costello, and throughout the day, Wet Wet Wet, Madonna, Wham!... you know the list.

But still, the performance of Queen is a standout. Not just because of the recent biopic "Bohemian Rhapsody" which to me captured the energy so well. But the way I felt that day, its a feeling I have let slip into the back of memory too often. Watching the performance now, whether on YouTube or recreated in the film, I am still moved to wet eyed emotion. 

A lot has gone wrong in my life since then. A LOT to be grateful for to be certain. A lot! I'm in no way discounting that. But the feeling of that day can still wipe out so many feelings of frustration or sadness. Not just the music, the collective thought and energy expended by strangers across the globe, has never been matched. If you are familiar with REGs (random event generators that measure fluctuations in random occurrences many believe can be impacted by collective thought,) we can barely imagine how they must have behaved that day. But like anything. If it was possible once, it is possible again. I guess thats what Im really reaching for. That idea of what I once KNEW was possible without a doubt, to be so central to my behavior today that nothing would stop me from achieving my every true wish. 

So maybe, let's take a moment and sing a song sometimes. Even in our heads or our hearts, but lets do it together as often as possible. 

(photo of Freddy Mercury at Wembley Stadium from YouTube)

The Worst Type of Racist

Confronting the Worst Type of Racist. Myself.

     It does me no good to say “but I’m not a racist, some of my best friends (and family) are Black/Latinx/Asian/other.” Not when I look at some of the things I have done or said so very long ago. Mostly out of ignorance and fear, and just plain stupidity. This is not meant to be a mea culpa, although I would beg forgiveness from anyone I I have made to feel less than, hurt, offended, or even angry. And when I say “beg” I do mean plead with such sincerity and emotion, yet I am aware never coming close to fade out such hurt.

Let me explain.

I grew up in a very diverse, military town. So much of the make up of the student body was a true melting pot. Fathers from military families who had been stationed overseas often married women from those countries. The “mix” was every coupling you can imagine. And like most cities, there existed blatant and unspoken racism from decades before. But as a third and fourth grader, we didn’t know that, and we maybe had not yet learned from others around us how to divide ourselves along those lines quite yet. I do recall the very first time I felt that there was definably something different in those other than myself was during a questionnaire given to us in the fourth grade.

Mrs G Smith was our teacher, and looking back she was one of the best educators I have ever encountered. We actually all loved her. The questionnaire came about during one of the times of year I grew to dread, the Presidential Physical Fitness testing. I was not as physical as I would have liked, I was smaller and slight. If only someone then would have taken me aside and said “let this be the thing that changes you for the better” my life may be very different, but I digress. One of the questions was about “race.” We really hadn’t been exposed to that idea before, and I remember Mrs. Smith trying to guide us all to answer in the way she most certainly thought we would identify.

I had grown up understanding that somewhere in our family background, there had been Cherokee. As kids, if the idea of “Cowboys and Indians” came up, I always thought I’d be the Indian. And not the villain. Now later with the advent of genealogy and ancestry tests, it seems we were not AS close to Tribal bloodline, but as a kid, I thought I should answer differently than “white.” But Mrs. Smith told me that of the options given, I should choose “white.” So I did.

A classmate who sat beside me, named David, who was barely darker skinned than I, chose “black.” I was surprised. Certainly I knew “black” was an option. I had heard it before. On TV, from my father and my fathers employees, even in random conversations. But for David to self identify as “black” had me very confused. I even asked him why and he said “my dad is black.” So that was all I needed to understand. OK, so that’s all it takes is for someone’s dad to be black. After all, I knew my mother’s last name had been different before she was married, thats why my Grandma and Grandpa from her side had different last names than I did. But then it settled in my brain that there were reasons and configurations which I did not understand. And it was mostly forgotten.

Except for the teasing. 

Rodney, James, Vince. These boys, black even though Vince and James had white or Asian mothers, would pick on me relentlessly. “Sissy, Tom-girl, and Pinocchio nose” were what I was called on almost a daily basis. Now evidently my nose was longer and pointier than their noses, so I guess I understood KIND OF where that one came from, although it didn’t feel any better. But I didn’t yet understand “sissy” or “Tom-girl” (a take on “Tomboy.”) But I knew it hurt. And still, the only thing that I myself saw differently was that I was “white” and they were “black.” They didn’t pick on any of the black kids in the class. And honestly their daily abuse was saved for me alone. They didn’t hit me or hurt me physically on a regular basis, it was just the name calling. Although they did on occasion spit in my food at lunch when my back was turned.

One day, on the playground, James, Vincent, and Rodney were relentless in picking on several kids for some reason. A few of the other kids were playing in the sand pit (we didn’t have an actual “box”) and James came stomping through kicking sand around and destroying the scene that was somehow supposed to be a town. Everyone started yelling and asking him to stop. I remember clearly he said “shut up honkeys” and kicked sand again. Although I had not yet come to understand that word, I was still really mad. So I grabbed a handful of sand and I threw it at him, and even grabbed another and rubbed it into his hair. He had an afro that he would always pick out. It was quite honestly the perfect head of hair. And I knew my actions would really make him mad. They did. He punched me in the stomach just as Mrs Smith came to our rescue.

Although that was all the retribution I got from James for that particular incident. The teasing and the torment never let up. Not from the rest of fourth grade, not from fifth, sixth, or through junior high. One young black man I thought was my “best friend” in fourth grade was named Marvin. But he turned on me once in the fifth grade and also called me names, and that ended that friendship.

In junior high and high school, even some of the black girls chimed in. Gail, Angela, and one or two others would steal lunch from my bag. They would call me a new name “fairy” or “faggot” and even some of the white kids started to pick up on that difference although I would not understand that much about who I was until later in high school.

I had NEVER called someone a bad name or even used “swear words” until I was in eighth grade or so. Not really and not with any regularity. But the abuse I suffered, albeit by this time I was not alone (Mitch, John, Michael, a few other boys became targets for the “faggot” slur by then.) But I remember the first time I really used the “N” word in a hurtful way.

We were in the library and I had just a few of the usual verbal assaults. Someone I loved as a friend (and still do) who identifies as black came and asked if I wanted to go out to the patio during lunch. I knew who would be on the patio and I didn’t want to be a target so I said “no, there’s nothing but n******-lovers there.” I saw the shock on the faces of my friends knowing that one young lady present was "mixed." When I saw the look on HER face I was immediately crushed inside. I knew that my use of the word felt just as horrible to her. If not worse, because I was actually supposed to be her friend.

Even typing those words out now causes me physical discomfort. But to feel the full force of how awful, awful, awful, a thousand times horrible, they are, I need the reader to feel them too. They hurt then, they hurt now, and they are just this side of unforgivable. I say “this side” because I do believe in redemption, and I hope I am still earning it. More on that later. But I do remember crying about it at home that evening. It was the obvious to me for the first time I had actually sinned against G-d.

It shames me more to know that I would use that term again. Although never as an insult hurled at someone to their face. Usually in stupid, ugly, vile “jokes” or conversations where you try to “shock” someone and you pretend its “funny” or you “didn’t really mean it.” None of that can excuse it. Nothing could ever excuse it. It simply is the most horrible word in the English vocabulary. Designed and used for nothing but hurt.

There were kids that I would tell you that I LOVED who were black. Sheena, Cecelia, Corrine, Khadijah, Robin, so many more) and if I thought now that I had ever caused them to feel the way I felt when I was called names, it cuts me so deep. They were so beautiful, fun, funny, kind, smart, caring. I was and am proud if any of them thought of me as a friend. But it cannot erase what I had done or said on any occasion.

As I grew up into young adulthood, my group of black friends diminished and I became like most others my age. Friends with many, but close friends with those with whom I more readily identified. As I learned of my sexuality in early adulthood, I did not go in for “social kiss greetings” except for a young man named Bruce. He was black, and a true GIFT to this world, His charm, his humor, his kindness, his joy. He was the only man I would greet socially with a kiss and feel true affection.

I didn’t then, nor do I now, consider myself “racist” but I don’t think I ever really asked anyone for “forgiveness.” And I think that is important. I believe in the value of the 12 Steps, used mostly by those with addiction and substance issues. I have been to meetings and I know that an honest assessment and statement of the wrongs I have committed is for me AND for those I may have harmed. To ask forgiveness is necessary for real healing.

So am I racist? I don’t think so but I cannot offer excuses. And its also for someone else to determine.

When Trayvon Martin was killed, I thought George Zimmerman was GUILTY of murder. But I remember thinking AND saying “well, Trayvon had been verbally abusive and sketchy, and ....” other nonsense now that is complete garbage thinking. And then when Michael Brown, or Eric Garner were killed, I thought that the police involved should face justice but somehow I didn’t think it rose to the level of “murder.” I mean, they had been involved in possible crimes and they were not obeying the police. Some part of me wanted so badly to believe in the ultimate goodness of the police, but somehow I also believed in some unproven inherent "badness" of men I didn't know. Could I have really been racist? Was this due to some hidden fear I still had based upon how I was treated as a kid? Out of some prejudice picked up that was modeled by someone else of which I was not aware? I wish I knew, because I know it is not me.

But now look at us. To understand, too late, that most men of color grow up with such a figurative and literal loaded gun pointed at them no matter the circumstance, what gives me, or anyone the right to ask that they somehow “follow the rules” in order to NOT BE SHOT? Irrational, angry white men storm the steps of state buildings armed for bear because they don’t want to wear a mask during a pandemic and they feel perfectly safe. Yet a man who never resisted the police gets put prostrate on the ground and killed with a knee to his throat. I could never offer enough “I was wrong” statements. 

No matter how much of an outsider I feel I am because of my orientation, it will not overflow the level of privilege to which I have access based on my “complexion.” None of those men deserved to be treated the way they were. None of them deserved to die, to be MURDERED because some white guy thinks they should have “acted differently.” How can I make amends for any of that to which my ignorance had a hand in excusing for so long?

Now at this point in my life, one of the women I have met and admire most in this world is Kimberly. A long lost friend whom I have certainly hurt and miss terribly is Kamille. Terri is a woman who will most definitely change this world for the better. My sister in law gave me the experience of my two nieces who have the most beautiful souls I have been blessed to meet. They would all identify or be identified as “black.” And it is to them I owe so much of my personal growth and self discovery. So to understand that the harmful actions of my past. actions born of hurt, or pain, or ignorance, have left a mark somewhere, means I have been complicit along the way. I pray to G-d that I can yet be changed.

I would ask only that when I am judged, I am able to account for my sins, and say, yes, I am guilty, and I ask forgiveness, and I will make amends. 

Show me Lord. Bless them, and change me.

I am sorry.