1128

Dear Sirs,

In response to my two (2) telephone conversations with your employees this evening, I would like to intimate the following: F you.

At three minutes ’til five o’clock on this Friday evening I called to inquire whether Pappadeaux, purveyor of delicious Cajun foods and beverages designed to make you fall about the place, takes reservations. A gentleman with an accent answered the phone, and I wondered if my request would be understood. I shook that thought away, however. How silly of me to assume that someone with an accent might not understand me. It was not understanding me that I should have been concerned about, however.

He replied that, Yes, Pappadeaux, who serves frogs’ legs (which I have eaten at your delightful establishment), does take reservations… “Wonderful. Well, I’d like to make a reservation then.” …but only after five o’clock. Well, it was so close to five that I didn’t see why he couldn’t go ahead and take my name and desired dining time slot down, but I offered to talk with him on the phone for a few minutes, and then he could take my reservation. He laughed nervously. I informed him that I was kidding, and hung up.

At 5:02, I called back. A young lady answered, and I told her I’d like to place a reservation for tonight. “We only take reservations before five, Sir.” My brows furrowed and I held the receiver more tightly. “I just spoke to a gentleman who informed me you take them after five,” I informed her. She wanted to know who I had talked to. Well, I am a Dale Carnegie graduate, but my skill for remembering names is not quite that developed. Besides, I don’t believe the gentleman offered his name, and I had no reason to distrust him and request it, did I?

I became more assertive. After all, it was 5:02. Even if I had mis-somethinged (___understood, been ___informed), certainly they could take a reservation 2 minutes after the deadline. This is a service industry, isn’t it? No, she informed me, “We only take reservations before five, Sir.” Well, I appreciate that information.

Your delightfully firm (in tone) (…of voice) hostess further informed me that there was no call-ahead list, and that the wait time should only be about twenty minutes at 7:30. I thanked her and hung up, silently resolving that I would never go to your restaurant at 5635 Jimmy Carter Blvd ever again.

I have since mellowed, even before beginning this letter, and have decided that I shall attempt to patronize your establishment tonight with my associates. We will drink your bayou calamity-themed beverages, we will chew your tender crawfish, and perhaps a lobster tail as well. We will enjoy ourselves and pay handsomely for having done so. We will even wait twenty minutes for the privilege, Pappadeaux.

If, however, we wait for twenty-five minutes, yea, even twenty-two, I solemnly pledge that I will not be my usual charming self for the first five minutes after we are seated. Yes, I may even tuck the coaster-pager in an inappropriate place so when I produce it after having been paged the hostess may blush with embarrassment at having to handle the device.

I am hopeful that it will not come to that, however. I am hopeful that the graciousness of your service this evening will impress me such that I will forget this letter, forget today’s poor experience.

Awaiting your kind and timely response,

Adam Preble 1128

Posted: Friday, November 19th, 2004 at 5:42 pm; Category: Opinion; Comments feed: RSS 2.0.
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