Patria-Kaye Aarons | Service me with a little foreplay

Call me crazy, but I like a little foreplay with my fried chicken.

Last Friday, I was jonesing for a fast-food fix. I allow myself the indulgence once a week, and I headed to the nearest drive-through to satisfy my craving.

The cashier was not in the mood for the coy song and dance that usually is the lead-up to me getting my meal. And that jolted me. Here's how things went down:

Cashier: Hello.

Me: Hi.

Cashier: Good afternoon.

(Loooooooooong silence).

Me: Can I order now?

Cashier: Yu never hear me say hello?

She shoulda box me and ask me if I was hard of hearing. Perhaps the intention was for me to play along with this salutation game and see how long it would have continued. Her "good afternoon" should have prompted a "howdy-do" from me. Perhaps an "Hola".

And clearly my expectations were too high. The miscommunication was my fault. Silly me for expecting that she would identify the company I'm about to spend money with. 'Cause I drove myself in there, I can read, and I passed two signs, so I must know where I am.

Silly me for expecting that she would actually ask how she could help. I'm in a drive-through. Her hello was my cue to do what I came here to do. I should have hurried up and placed my order and stop holding up the line (and her precious time).

Silly me for thinking we'd get to know each other better. She'd tell me her name, I'd say it was pretty. Never happened.

It's as if a friend came to your door and you exchanged hellos and then just stared, never inviting your friend in. Very awkward and inhospitable.

 

VARYING EXTREMES OF SERVICE

 

Were the situation different, were this not an eatery, I'd probably have attacked her about her service level and my expectation. But I never wanted her to add any 'secret sauce' to my chicken, so I let it go.

It's interesting the varying extremes of the service spectrum I have experienced in the last year. I've seen everything from "Yu a buy or what?" to what felt like servitude.

At a Montego Bay hotel, I couldn't find the dirty clothes bag I had started filling the day before. My initial worry was theft, until I opened my closet door and found the missing skirt and blouse laundered, ironed and hanging. My pleasant surprise quickly turned to mortification when I remembered I had placed the day's dirty undies in said laundry bag.

Across the room on a stool, I saw yesterday's bra and panties neatly folded and smelling like a fresh field of flowers after the rains. Smaddy had washed my panty. My panty! That, for me, was over the top too much. I refused to have my eyes meet the housekeeper's the next day. She knew me way too intimately.

The definition of good service is something we must agree on if so much of our growth is pegged on service industries. From fast food to fine dining, we have to find a way to make people feel comfortable spending their money and happy to do it again.

Incidentally, I'm still sure to be a repeat customer at the fried chicken spot. As feisty as the cashier was, them tie me. The food is consistent. When I come next Friday, I'll order faster. My bad.

- Patria-Kaye Aarons is a television presenter and confectioner. Email feedback to columns@gleanerjm.com and findpatria@yahoo.com, or tweet @findpatria.