Customer Disservice

Following is an e-mail message that I sent to some friends just after Christmas 2005, chronicling a misadventure at one of my favourite restaurants, Captain D's (admittedly, a guilty pleasure). The nearest Captain D's is a 45-60 minute drive from my house, so I seized the opportunity to drop in as I was passing it on the way home from an out-of-town trip on which my dog, Pepper, had accompanied me. Enjoy! :J

From : Justin
Sent : Monday, 26 December 2005, 22:36
Subject : Captain D's

So, here's my adventure in customer disservice.

I had parked the car; walked, fed, and watered Pepper; and used the bathroom myself when I stepped up to place my order. There was a very large and round fellow (I'll call him "Tiny".) taking drive-through orders and dressed a bit manager-ish and a fellow with long braids, cooking (I'll call him "Rasta".). A skinny, middle-aged guy in a satin jacket was taking walk-up orders; the name on my receipt is "George" and is printed next to the time of my order, 11:45 AM, above the amount of my purchase, $8.50. The restaurant wasn't busy the whole time that I was there; there was never more than one coherent group of customers waiting to place an order.

George took my order and told me my total, then was distracted by another customer who walked up, plate in hand, to report that his fish was a bit over-done. "Over-done?" I thought, "where does he think he is, Bert's!?" [Bert's is an awesome seafood restaurant in Greensboro.] So, George took the guy's fish into the kitchen and handed it to Rasta, who shook his head with a mixture of disbelief, frustration, and ennui that seemed to ask the world in general "why couldn't McDonald's have called me back first?"

George reappeared and reassured the other customer, THEN turned to take my money and make change. He said that it'd be a moment because the crab had to cook for 4 minutes, so he'd call my number if I wanted to go ahead and take a seat. I slid into a booth near the earlier complainant and his family, which happened to be next to a window from which I could watch Pepper and my car.

I sipped satisfiedly on my tea for five minutes or so, anticipating the taste sensation that awaited me. I sipped for five more minutes. Pepper was sitting erect in the back seat, looking toward the door of the restaurant. Five minutes more passed. The complainant, who had since received his recooked fish, looked in my direction and said, "you'd better go and check on your order; I think they forgot you." I nodded and mumbled a casual agreement and proceeded to the counter.

George greeted me as cheerfully as before, "Welcome to Captain D's! Can I take your order?"

"I'd like to check on my order... number 9."

"Order number 9!" George exclaimed happily as he spun to check the order-up ledge, the order wheels, and, finally, a stick file on the counter below, out-of-sight of the kitchen. "Oh, shoot," he whispered. He took a slip of paper from the spindle and shoved it under one of the springs of the order wheel, which he then turned to face the kitchen. He leaned in and looked into the kitchen. Rasta was nowhere to be found, so George made his way into the kitchen himself. I saw him open a refrigerator and throw some things into a fry basket. Tiny and Rasta then came through the front door of the restaurant, presumably returning from a break. George and Rasta exchanged some words; Tiny seemed unconcerned and resumed leisurely filling drive-through orders.

Taking all of this in, my eye casually landed on a stack of laminated, pink slips of paper that said "If an order has been waiting more than four minutes, place this card behind it on the wheel. LATE." I decided to stand and wait at the counter instead of returning to my seat.

Rasta caught my eye from the kitchen and assured me that my order would be ready without haste. I nodded.

George returned from the kitchen and said that my order wouldn't be another moment. I thanked him.

At about this time, a short fellow with a sparse moustache, dingy high-top trainers, a mullet, and a trucker's cap walked in -- very much a north-eastern Guilford redneck. I noticed that his threadbare jeans fit his behind quite well, so I'll call him Levi. I thought that he looked like the sort that would typically eat at Captain D's, until I realised my own purpose for being in the restaurant. George offered to take Levi's order; Levi said that he'd like an application. This half-way flustered George, perhaps because he couldn't find "application" on his cash register menu keypad. He looked under the counter, then went into the kitchen for a moment. He returned to report that the person who accepted applications wasn't in today, so Levi would have to return later. Levi left, looking dejected.

Rasta caught my eye from the kitchen and said "two seconds!" I nodded.

George briefly turned to Rasta, then turned to look at me and said, "two minutes, sir." I thanked him.

"It'll be fresh!" exclaimed Rasta.

Somewhere between two seconds and two minutes later, George presented me with my tray and wished me a good meal. Rasta waved at me from the kitchen.

I returned to my seat and ate. The complainant and his family commented on how long I'd had to wait and asked me if the manager had comped my meal. "You shoulda got that for free!" I replied that he'd not; there were tisks all around.

The fish was plenty hot and the shrimp were tasty enough. I noticed that the deviled crab was made with artificial krab and stuffed into a real shell. The fries, though not cold, were well on their way cooling off. I finished eating and hurried out of the restaurant, but not before I got big smiles, waves, and farewells from George and Rasta. "Hurry back!"

After all my anticipation, the whole experience was very disappointing. The next time that I crave such a meal, I'll stick to Long John Silver's, which is actually located in my same city.