Sure we're good at it, but why?

Sitting at home in my kitchen on my day off is a terrible time to try to channel the hate I feel for certain customer experiences, especially when the house is empty, the breeze is brisk, and I have fresh coffee (Java Estate, thank you). But I felt the emptiness of the recently-registered blog weighing heavily on me and thought I'd better post something before I go out for the day.

As I sipped, I reflected on last week's trials, and my fodder for ranting was marred by numerous positive experiences, new-customers-cum-repeat-customers, praise for the food, and general good times. There was the man who ordered the same food every day because he & his wife both liked it so much -- only on day four he said that his wife's burrito had changed dramatically and had been very different the day prior. "Did she have the Carne Adovada?" "Yes, yes that was hers." "That can't change. It's marinated pork, some cheese, and red chile." "There's no vegetables in it at all," he asked? "No, no sir. Never." "Oh. So maybe she had been eating the fish burrito. We'll get two of these instead, and then we'll know."

That's like coming home with a milkshake and a double espresso and not knowing which one you liked because they were both in cups. It defies logic.

But the focus of this little posting was the frenzied I'M A NEW MOM AND I DON'T HAVE TO BE NICE TO YOU woman who graced us with her (Chipotle-loving-) presence mid-week. Let's review:

• Frenzied? Check
• Smile? BZZZ
• Pissed that the menu didn't look like Moe's? Check
• Left hubby in car? Check (was that a "SAVE ME" sign in the car window?)
  

[grunt] can I JUST get a [snarl] QUESADILLA with [glare] CHICKEN but WITHOUT all that [gag] OTHER STUFF?" "Yes, of course." "FINE."

So... as she hid back in the car, probably drinking her husband's blood and eating feral cats (trust me, she looked liked she had a healthy appetite), we cooks gathered in the kitchen and discussed our hate for her, her soul-less life, her desire for homogenized food, and her rather cunty nature in general. But we cooked. We don't drop or spit, we don't delete ingredients, we just cook because every once in a while it turns out they're nice after all and you don't want to mess that up. Gotta always hope. But we knew.

So she returned (I thought I saw her dabbing fresh blood from her mouth but I'm not sure) and picked up her food I handed it to her and explained that it was in the bag. Walking away she turned to me and said, "'It?' I WANTED TWO." "Two hot-sauces?" "TWO QUESADILLAS," she barked! "Ok, you never said 'two' but I can make you another one in about 3 minutes if you'd like." And then the look, the ultimate look of disgust and hatred and loathing flashed onto her face, all of us in the store cried a silent prayer for her husband and child, and, grunting expletives, she walked out the door.

Pete the cook looked at me and said, "I knew she was trouble the second she walked in." We all did. We're really, really good at that.