Has anyone ever told you to listen to yourself? Or maybe you have said that to someone else.
Why did your words (or the other person’s) raise doubts?
A memorable lunch with some former coworkers showcases a common reason for message failure that should not be swept under the carpet.
Listen to Yourself
A while back, before social media, a group of my work colleagues and I enjoyed having lunch together. No one was scrolling on a phone. We were socializing! Also, since we were usually calling on customers, the occasional lunch was a treat when several of us were in the office at the same time.
Always eager to try something different, we one day found ourselves zigzagging through an adjacent building to a new restaurant. Its office-space atmosphere wasn’t all that enticing, but the dining room was busy—a positive sign. We also liked the menu options.
Despite the crowd, we were seated promptly, and our server soon appeared. Nevertheless, the young woman, possibly in her late teens, seemed anxious, inexperienced. To help her along, we keep our requests as simple as possible.
After an extended wait, everything arrived and looked good. Unfortunately, the server fumbled Sharon’s plate. A visually tempting hamburger and fries landed on the floor. Although Sharon was incredibly understanding, the flustered server barely uttered an apology before scooping up the mess and returning to the kitchen.
Considering how long our table had waited for the initial round, Sharon insisted that we begin eating. If necessary, she’d have her meal boxed to go. Only a few minutes later, however, the server returned with Sharon’s burger and fries.
We were all happy that she could enjoy her meal with us, but Sharon was skeptical. “That was really fast,” she stated.
How did the kitchen turn around the reorder so quickly?
An under-the-bun inspection yielded the answer. “There’s carpet on my burger!” Sharon announced. Holding a fiber between two fingers, she compared it to the carpet beneath her chair. “See? It matches!” she affirmed.
Without question, that burger had been repurposed.
Despite the serious infraction, Sharon’s theatrics made us giggle. Soon, outright laughter broke out among us. Furious with everyone, Sharon got the attention of another server, as the one assigned to us was nowhere in sight, and told him to summon the manager. I’m embarrassed to admit that by the time the manager appeared, only Sharon had a straight face.
Why weren’t the rest of us expressing outrage? What if our food had also been mishandled? We just couldn’t compose ourselves. In the moment, we were like children, unable to keep straight faces, thereby sending the wrong message to the manager.
Determining that he did not need to appease the full group, the manager apologized to Sharon. Yes, he acknowledged the wrongdoing, yet he also brought up the employee’s inexperience, as if to excuse her!
At a minimum, Sharon thought he would promise to investigate the crime and fire anyone involved—the server and any accomplices. He did not give us that impression but put in a rush order for a complimentary burger and fries to go.
Although she had lost her appetite, Sharon graciously accepted the meal. The rest of us paid our bills, and we left.
On our way back to the office, we apologized to Sharon for our silliness. We wished we had not left the manager with the false impression that all was fine and forgotten. By no means were we ever going back to the “carpet burger” eatery!
Unbelievable!
When I later told a friend about the event, she replied, “Unbelievable!”
“It was pretty shocking,” I said. “This is a restaurant with tablecloths, not some dive!”
“Oh, I can believe what the gal did,” she countered. “Have you never worked in restaurant? If it’s super busy, or if someone is rude to the staff, no telling what’s in the food.”
Watching my expression change from her smack of reality, she continued, “What I can’t believe is all the lying. Sharon was no more going to eat a boxed-up burger with who-knows-what done to it than she would munch on a carpet square. She should have said so to that manager.
“The rest of you lost some credibility for laughing like a bunch of fools,” my friend continued, “but you should have demanded some action. I would have stood up and told everybody in there to look for foreign objects in their food.
“And that manager was a joke,” she added. “He just wanted your group gone before any other tables caught on. At the very least, he should have comped everyone’s meal.”
My friend was right. (Well, I didn’t agree with causing an uproar in the restaurant.) Pretending that everything could be swept under the carpet, so to speak, was dishonest. In fact, if I were that manager, I would have had second thoughts about the matter and become very concerned over how quickly the carpet burger story would spread.
To this day, when I replay that memorable lunch in my head, I always think about being forthright versus telling people what I want them to hear. If I don’t believe a word I’m saying, then why should anyone else?
Sallie W. Boyles, a.k.a. Write Lady
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