Skip to main content

Not great!

That's all it said, and I spent a while frowning at the screen.

What wasn't great?

Part and parcel of working in hospitality is you get complaints. It's very much the law of averages, you serve enough people, sooner or later someone's going to be unhappy about something. You can mitigate this as much as possible, be on your game at all times, have robust checking procedures and do your best to rectify errors, this will help, but sooner or later you'll get a complaint  That's just people .

Some of these complaints are legitimate, mistakes can be made, you apologise, you offer to compensate in some form, some people are fine, some can never be mollified. Again, that's just people.

Most of them are as a result of a perception gap between you and the customer. As a pub, one of our most regular types of complainer is the Person That's Come To The Wrong Pub And Is A Bit Out Of Their Depth And This Is Somehow Your Fault, a prime example of this being a five top last week who asked how long we'd "been this posh" (we are not, there are workies at the bar, there is a burger on the menu) and then kicked off when they asked which lagers we do because "I've never heard of any of them" (imagine, if you are in a position of ignorance, thinking this was someone elses fault). In the interests of fairness, we do sometimes get thus perception gap from the other end, people who've read reviews, seen some of (admittedly, a bit cheffier) things we do and come expecting Moor Hall. Again, no, pub. Don't mind if front of house wear comfortable clothes, dogs are welcome, yes it can get a bit loud. 

You can have entertaining perception gaps about the same thing, I have received complaints about the pub being too hot and too cold on the same day, for example. Too loud/too quiet. Fish too crispy/not crispy enough. 

Some of the complaints are just idiotic, and I'm getting better at learning to ignore them, it's a journey.

This one, though, was cryptic. Just those two words, and that slightly irritating exclamation mark.

Another part of the job, sadly, is social media. Every other bugger has an Instagram, so it is incumbent upon you to do so too (I draw the line at TikTok), and when my FOH manager asked if I'd make her some lunch, it turned out quite pretty, so I stuck it up with something or other about making sure the staff are properly fed. Cue various pleasant comments, ohh looks lovely, ooh lucky staff etc, so far so very much the usual.

Then, from someone without even a profile pic, a mysterious Pam Dodd, who simply said "Not great!". This perplexed me somewhat, because unless Aimie's changed her name, I was pretty sure no-one called Pam Dodd had ever eaten this dish, as I kind of made it up as I went along. What wasn't great?

Reader, naturally, I asked her, I have, as yet, no reply, so I am left with this ineffable mystery, what's not great?

This is like toothache to me, I am a fairly conscientious sort of a bloke, this is my livelihood, and I genuinely do want everyone to leave having had a nice time. So what was "Not great!"?

Was Pam merely critiquing my photography skills ( she may have hade a point were this the case)? Did she object to the plating? (Fair do's, it was staff lunch, but the salad looked quite pretty)?

Was she making a wider comment about the pub in general? Me in particular? The food? Does she have a deep and abiding dislike of Lancashire Cheese Tart? Does she loathe green plates? Has she been here, hated it, and chose the medium of a facebook comment underneath a picture of someone else's tea to express her displeasure? Is she one of those types that get annoyed when people have breaks?

I fear I shall never know, but Pam, if you're reading this, I'm so sorry, whatever it was that wasn't great, my sincerest apologies.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Inedible

"He says it's inedible" said my front of house manager, as she laid the half-eaten fish and chips in front of me, and instantly I relaxed.  Clearly, I observed, it was edible to some degree. I comped it, because I can't be arsed arguing the toss, and I want to make my front of house's lives as simple as possible. The haddock had been delivered that morning. The fryers had been cleaned that morning. The batter had been made that morning (and it's very good batter, ask me nicely and I'll give you the recipe some time). The fish and chips was identical to the other 27 portions I'd sent out on that lunch service, all of which had come back more or less hoovered up, we have have a (justified, if I do say so myself) very good reputation for our chips. But it was, apparently, "inedible". When it comes to complaints, less is more. If you use a hyperbolic word like that, I'll switch off, you've marked yourself as a rube, a chump, I'm not g...

Chop chop

I was completely ignorant of the fuss over the edited Trump speech in an edition of Panorama until, one moment later, I wasn't. And the reasons for my ignorance are instructive. I had no idea that the story was even brewing until the surprise Sunday night news of the resignations of Tom Davie and Deborah Turness. As I'm sure you are by now aware, this was occasioned by a clumsy edit in an old edition of Panorama, which has already been on the iplayer for a year. It's a non-story. Except people decided to make it a story. The reason I'd heard nothing of it until the resignations was that I'm not on X, where, apparently, it was all the media classes had been talking about for a week. It was an obsession of the unholy right-wing trifecta of the Mail, Telegraph and Times (who, given that they sent a bloke just last week to interview the wrong Bill di Blasio, you'd think would wind their necks in over factual inacccuracy). It was big news on GB news, all self-contain...

Creepy old men

I note, somewhat wearily, that creepy old men are back in the news, being creepy. Creepy old men, and their apologists and enablers, who argue that their creepiness is somehow the natural order of things. Old men would have you believe that it is difficult to not be a creepy old man. That it is a task of epic proportions. It is not that difficult. It is a matter of intention. As yet more of the grimness of Epstein unfolds, creepy old men are, sadly, a flaccid topic once again. Whether it be pursuing students thirty years their junior, or simply not asking too many questions about the background of the probably legal young woman who you've just been introduced to by your good pal Jeff. To be clear, I am not referring to criminal creepy old men, the ones who actually committed statutory rape, the ones who fucked trafficked hirls. That is not something which is allowed to get away merely with the contempt of the observer.  That deserves prison.  No , I'm referring to the hinterla...