And here I thought I was done getting bent about the people
who make my food… I was in our company
cafeteria yesterday and got into it with the grill guy.
Lunchtime is usually the high point of my day. (OK, call it a “tie” with dinnertime.) Sometimes I eat in, other times I go out
somewhere downtown. It all revolves
around the weekly menu. Every Monday, I
print the cafeteria “Specials” menu from the café website. I circle the specials that look yummy, and
eat out on the other days. (Unless I’m
on a salad binge, which I desperately need to do more frequently.)
Anyway, Wednesday’s special was a turkey burger with ham and
Swiss. I looked forward to it all
day. When I went down to place my
order, I told Grill Guy, I’d have the “ham and Swiss burger.” All is fine, and I wait for my order to come
up. I waited alone, because I was the
only one at the grill.
After a few moments, I saw him throw some mushrooms on the
grill. Now, I’m all for mushrooms, but
I never ordered any, so that led me to believe there might be some kind of
miscommunication going on.
To be sure, I asked if he was making me the ham and Swiss
burger special, and right off, he started giving me attitude. He said something about the special being
chicken, and I ordered a Swiss and mushroom burger.
That’s when we got into the debate about what the day’s
special was. He kept saying how a chicken sandwich was the special… I kept
saying “
ok, but how would
anyone know that, if it’s not on your sign?”
I felt I had some pretty compelling evidence. I knew it was on the website menu, plus
that’s what it said on the sign right in front of the order station…
which I picked up and plopped on his side of the counter for him to see. Gotta have presentation skills, you know?
So he went over to consult with the “chef” who manages the
café operations, to get to the bottom of all this.
Long story short, they changed the daily special, but didn’t
tell anyone outside of the kitchen about it, change their signage or update the
menu. OK, fine. But don’t tell me I ordered something I know
damned well I didn’t. And certainly not
with a “oh now what?” expression on
your face.
No one’s going to piss on this boy’s boot and tell him it’s raining.
Anyway, we worked it out.
I ate what he had already started, since my lunch time was ticking away,
AND I certainly had nothing against mushroom and Swiss. But still, I had been looking forward to
that ham and Swiss… At least until he
offered to add some bacon to my sandwich.
Score!
It would do, at least until they start selling these in the
cafeteria…
 |
| Rubic’s Sandwich |
13 comments:
Way to stand your ground and thanks for teaching me an awesome new expression. I never heard of "nobody's going to piss on this boy's boot and tell him it's raining".
I would kill someone for a Rubic's sandwich. True story.
Hugs!
Valerie
That's an old saying... I think I heard Judge Judy say that recently, only she used the word 'tinkle.'
The biggest problem with the Rubic's sandwich is getting your mouth open wide enough to take a bite. It would be better if we had hinged jaws, like a snake.
Don't mess with the few joys we worker-bees have. This is the kind of thing that leads to Norma Rae and strikes and unions and marching in a circle with a sign and strike breakers and scabs and calling in the Pinkertons and tear gas and retribution and singing "We Will Overcome." Just give us the damn sandwich.
I'm so jealous that you have both a cafeteria and a fry guy.
We have some dudes in the basement who make sandwiches.
Remember: "What's that slop you're eating" can now become, "WHAT'S THAT CRAP YOU'RE COOKING?", loud enough for all to appreciate.
That’s right… we drones have to live for something… I live for lunch.
You point out a valid truth. Here I am complaining about some bad service, but at least I have a place that provides the service in the first place.
Our café setup is pretty nice, in general. There are stations for grilled stuff (burgers, chicken fingers, wraps, cheesesteaks, quesadillas, etc), a deli sandwich station, and a home/world station (standard entrees, or ethnic food.) There are also 2 soups, a salad bar and various cold desserts and bagged munchies. All in all, we make out.
And when I don’t feel like any of that, or it’s just a nice day, there are dozens of places within walking distance of the office. See? That’s why I like lunchtime so much!
I hate to lead with “loud.” I may end up there, but I try to start out politely.
I may start like Wally Cox, but can easily end up at Lewis Black.
LET'S HEAR IT FOR LOUIS. Everybody listens to him.
Lunchtime was a constant source of depression for me back when I had a job. I was always trying to stick to my low-carbness when I could and would bring a modest lunch from home, while my co-workers would venture out into the NYC streets and bring back pizza, chicken fingers, burgers, Indian, Caribbean, dim sum, everything. I knew I should revel in my health as they all sat clogging their arteries, but it hurt. Anyway, way to go on the bacon.
I come in most days determined to go to the salad bar.
I actually eat at the salad bar maybe twice a month. Every other time, I was lured away by the prospect of tastier food. I can resist anything but temptation.
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