A Lesson In Hospitality
I work in the restaurant and bar area of a large resort in a part of Mexico popular with American tourists. I look way younger than I am (good genetics), and thanks to having a local college degree, the resort considers me experienced enough to hold a management position.
The resort is located on an oceanside cliff. The private beach is below, accessible by stairs and an elevator. The restaurant I am working at this evening is located on the beach.
Because it’s a busy weekend, I’m helping wait tables on top of my other duties. I’m serving an American family (parents and two teenage children), but the mother has seemed upset the entire evening.
Mother: “Why is the special always seafood?”
Me: “Well, ma’am, since we’re a coastal property and we buy all our fish from local fishermen, it’s often that our specials will be seafood. If this isn’t to your liking, we also offer steak, pork, and we have a pizza menu that—”
Mother: “—We’re from New York! Why would I come all the way to Mexico for a pizza?!”
Me: “I was simply explaining our menu, ma’am.”
Teenage Daughter: “Mom, why are you being like this?”
Teenage Son: “Yeah, mom, don’t be a Ka—”
Mother: “—Don’t you say it!”
Teenage Son: “—A Ka…razy… tourist. Just order what looks good!”
The mother gives a ‘hmph’ and orders a steak. The rest of the family orders some seafood and some Mexican specialties.
The mother is ready to complain again sometime later:
Mother: “My children ordered Mexican food and got this. Please explain yourself.”
Me: “Those are indeed Mexican dishes, ma’am. They might differ from what you get in New York, but they’re—”
Mother: “—If you get an American ordering a dish, shouldn’t it be catered for the American tastes? I don’t care how you do it here in lil’ ol’ Me-hee-co, but if an American asks for it they should get it as they do in America.”
Me: *To the teenagers.* “Ma’am, sir, please tell me what about the [Mexican Dishes] were not to your liking, and I can—”
Teenage Daughter: “—Oh, no! We loved it!”
Teenage Son: “Yeah! They tasted really fresh!”
Mother: *Souring.* “That’s not the point! They did not come out as expected!”
The rest of the night is like it with this woman, and it’s beginning to scratch against my customer service armor.
At the end of the meal:
Mother: “Go and fetch the manager. We’ll be needing to talk to them about the quality of the service we have received tonight.”
Me: “That would be me, ma’am. Please tell me about the quality of the service I have provided for you this evening.”
Mother: “You? You’re the manager?!”
Me: “Yes, ma’am.”
Mother: “Are you even old enough to drink?!”
Me: “Yes, ma’am. I am thirty-one years old.”
Mother: “I don’t believe you.”
Me: “That’s fine, ma’am. I am still the restaurant manager this evening. Please tell me about the quality of the service I have provided for you and any issues you might have with it.”
She pauses for a moment, obviously not expecting this turn of events. She had been hoping to complain (and likely exaggerate said complaints) about me to someone else.
Mother: “Then I want to talk to YOUR manager.”
Me: “That would be one of the resort managers. They work in the main resort on the top of the cliff. You can ask for them at the front desk.”
This is obviously not to her liking, as she wants to complain to someone right here, and right now. Angered by this, she’s only left with insults:
Mother: “This place must be pretty desperate if they have a local waiter boy doubling as the manager. You look like you didn’t even finish high school.”
Me: “Actually, I have a master’s degree, ma’am. I’m working here for a year before I go to the National Autonomous University of Mexico to start my doctorate.”
Mother: “You’re making all that up!”
Father: “That’s enough, dear, don’t you think? I’ve heard this nice gentleman speak three languages tonight serving us guests, and you still say the hard ‘J’ in fajita. Let’s not go down this road tonight.”
The father signs the check, tells me to charge it to a room, and the family leaves.
The next day I am serving the teens at the bar (they’re eighteen and nineteen, both legally able to drink in Mexico), and they tell me that their parents are divorcing, but this trip was a graduation present booked before they decided to divorce, so the whole thing is very tense.
For the rest of the week, when that family dined in the hotel, the dad and the teens dined without their mother. From what I heard, she barely left the room all week.
