Posted October 26, 2008

One thing I hear almost every day is that customer service is a thing of the past. Walk into a department store, one such complaint goes, and you'll find the salespeople spending much of their time talking and doing their nails.

And when I say this I'm including the women.

However, there is one place where you can still find nice, caring help, and that's in the restaurant business.

In fact, the restaurant business is mainly full of nice, caring people. These people are so nice and so caring, they remind me of my late Aunt Bertha. The one who could scoop you up in her arms and still have room to smother you and a moose.

Take Bret, the host at a restaurant off of the I-95 in Florida. Bret is not his real name. I am changing it because if he saw that I wrote about him he would track me down like a dog and lick my face.

Bret is a nice guy if you like the strong, square-jawed, cult leader type. He had one of those smiles you get when you cross The Joker with Botox injections. His eyes are a deep, penetrating black full of the excitement of a vacant tract home.

I'm sure his wallet contains a picture of Squeaky Fromm.

"Sorry for the wait," he said bounding up greet my wife and me after we'd been standing in the waiting area for, oh, two-tenths of a second. "You folks look old and tired. Well, don't worry about it. I won't mention it. Just follow me. And, let me know if I'm walking too fast."

Brent took us at a leisurely pace to our table, which apparently was in Georgia. By the time we got there, Bret and I were old buddies.

One of Bret's great gifts was his in-depth interest in everything. This made it very difficult to switch the topic of discussion to something of interest, such as sitting down so we could have dinner. Bret was a treasure trove of information.

Bret enjoyed fishing and golf, thought that the weather on the West Coast of Florida was less humid than on the East Coast, wore a 10 sock and a 16-34 shirt, the latter being useful information if I were buying him a birthday gift, but his birthday wasn't for another seven months.

I quickly sized up the situation and realized that if my wife and I left there was every chance Bret would join us in our car for the rest of our trip, and that our odds of staying sane were better if I slipped out the door, flagged down cars at random on the highway, and offered to buy the occupants dinner just to give Bret some new friends.

But Bret was nothing compared to Dick.

Dick had the three important qualities you need to be a successful waiter. First, you are there to give your customers a respite from their dull, ho-hum lives, mainly by regaling them with tales from your own.

Second, never take no for an answer. Like, "No, we don't want wine with dinner." "No, we don't want to pre-order a chocolate souffle for dessert." And, "No, you can't join us, even if your wife is out of town and all you have to look forward to are leftovers and an empty house."

Third, never, ever take a hint. Even if the couple you are serving says something pointed, like, "What do we have to do to get you to shut up and take our order?" you behave as though you love them as if they were your own parents.

No. Bad analogy. Like your friend's parents. The ones you wish you had.

It's not a problem when you realize that you are bringing to the table something that makes for a top-notch dining experience.

You.

(Important aside: A really first-rate waiter catches snippets of conversation when walking by a table and then makes up a story about them. It helps to have an active imagination and the ability to think on your feet, which is why so many restaurants hire outgoing people like actors, or, if they are in short supply, schoolteachers and real estate salespeople.

Real waiters would make the place dull and boring because they would be too busy serving food to stop by your table and say, "Boy, the other day I saw an alligator on the side of the highway. Must have been eight feet long," after catching the word "alligator" in your conversation, not realizing that the sentence they missed was, "Who'd have thought grandma would go that way, being crushed by an elevator?").

On the way out, we decided to avoid Bret, but all the doors were alarmed and we had to exit through the front.

Brent offered to grab an umbrella and walk us to our car, even though it wasn't raining. He suggested we sit and talk for a while, because at this time of year a thunderstorm could blow up in at any moment, so it wouldn't be long and would we like to see a picture of his Aunt Bertha.

The following day we had lunch at a buffet restaurant. One with no waiters.

Just to be on the safe side, we stuffed the food into doggie bags and ate it in a department store.

©2008 Jay Douglas