Tags: customer service, customers, jimmy johns, maps and directions
The weather was nice and we weren’t that busy, and everything on the special bitch list was already done. And there wasn’t much on the regular bitch list to do, either. We had a fairly easy night. Me, Von, Will, and Cam. One old white guy, two young black guys, and a mocha freak of indeterminate age. Von put on System of a Down through the sound system again.
I told him I was going accidentally break it.
Later, it was on different music. SOAD, if you didn’t know, is a hard, heavy metal group. There’s only so much of that shit I can take. The gangsta rap we listened to later sounded soothing in comparison.
Jared was the closer, and he wanted to know if I would stay so he could come in at 11pm instead of 9pm. I was cool with that. That contributed greatly to my good night, but also re-affirmed my logic and calculations: Even if I liked this job, I couldn’t stay. Since the truncation of my hours because of Steve’s firing, I don’t get to work long enough and I don’t make enough money here. In the extra two hours I worked, I doubled my money from the first four.
The nut for the part time job is 300 per week, net. I need to work as much as I can to make that nut. Before I was close, putting in about 20 hours a week or so. Now I’m down to sixteen hours with a comparable decrease in tips. To make 300 in 16 hours, I need to make 18 bucks an hour. That’s 11 bucks an hour in tips alone. I don’t think I can fondle that many balls.
That might be a big part of my anger–too much ball fondling. As far as work goes, lately the place hasn’t been that bad. The managers I deal with (now and for the moment–you always have to add that caveat because things always change) are easy going, and the tasks, although ridiculous and illogical, are easy.
I have a spreadsheet where I track everything. My best month (of three) was February, and I fell short of my nut for the month by about five bucks. This month, I’m going to be short about 200 dollars.
So, I am back to looking for a new part time gig. It’s always an adventure.
Speaking of dickheads, let me tell you about a delivery I took that night.
I took the order on the phone, and it’s by Lafayette Park. Two guys I hear on the phone, and one laughing in the background–always a good sign. They tell me the address and I asked, “Is this a house or apartment?”
One of them answers, “It’s a funeral home,” and laughs, and the other one tells him to shut up.
“It is?” I ask.
Finally I got an answer out of him. I swear he said, “It’s a dental facility.” That makes no sense whatsoever. I get there–or near there–and I see a funeral home. Hmmm…oookay. I turn there, park across the street from it. I start to walk up, and I give them a call as I do because I don’t want to bust in on any funeral service.
I said, “Hi, this is Bryan from The Three Jakes, and I’m outside.” He said okay, and he hung up.
Several minutes later, I still don’t see him. He calls me back. “Are you sure you’re at the right place?”
“Well, I don’t know. I’m in front of a funeral home.”
OKAY–LISTEN: Right here–maybe I am in the wrong place. I saw the funeral home or whatever and forgot about the rest of what they said, but this clicked. Okay. My bad. But right here I TOLD THEM WHERE I AM.
At this point, instead of answering my questions, he tries to think instead. I don’t need a fucking customer trying to think. Just shut up and tell me where you are.
But he couldn’t. Back to me: “–I’m in front of a funeral home.”
“We’re across the street from you.” I turn around. I see a park. Maybe he sees me, because he says, “Turn around.” I turned around. “Okay. I’m looking at the funeral home.” He says, “Look to your left.”
I look to the left and I see the street that I turned from. The houses on it face me, and they all look big enough to be funeral homes as well. It’s pretty far away–this is all a big area with big lots, and a park. “We’re across the street.” Maybe this was supposed to make sense. Which street? It didn’t click with me because I was over half a block from the intersection. I wasn’t near anything that could be called “across the street.” Plus, now that I know the truth, I’m explaining it MUCH better than he did.
At one point during our…what’s the word for it? Communication? What an oxymoron. At one point, while I was asking a question, he hung up because he figured I understood. I didn’t. I waited and looked around. Nothing. I called him back. He sounded surprised to hear from me. “Yeah?”
I said, “Look, generally, this is how a delivery goes: You tell me where you *ARE*, and I go there. Where. Are. You.”
He said, “I’m over here.”
You’re on a fucking cell phone, dumbass. Where is “over here”?
I said, “You realize that means nothing to me.”
“Uh….turn a.. face south.” Finally, a coherent piece of information.
“Now do you see me?”
It’s dark, I’m in the middle of a dark street next to acres of darkness in the park. Now facing south, I’m looking at a dozen very large and dark homes. “No.”
“I’m waving my arms. See?”
Finally, I see him and his buddy, coming from the south*WEST*. They weren’t straight away south. No, that would have been simple. They came from another block away.
I walk over and across to meet them. The guy seems to have an attitude about my failure to follow the simplest directions that he gave with his mind. I dismissed it all quite professionally and moved on. “Ah, here we are. Good. You’re total is 24.66.”
And then the bastard had the nerve to give me thirty bucks. What the hell does he mean by giving me a five dollar tip? If I wanted this kind of relationship, with all the mind games and mixed messages, I would have stayed with my ex.
Later, after I thought about it, I realized that I was indeed more or less in the wrong. I was on the wrong hundred-block, and the numbers increased going the *other* way. My bad.
Do you not understand where you are well enough to tell me something useful? These are the statements that would have been more logical:
“I am across LAFAYETTE from from you.” (Not “Across the street.” I’m at an intersection, which fucking street do you mean?)
“I am not at the funeral home. I am somewhere else entirely. Forget the funeral home. The funeral home is not an option.”
“You are on the wrong hundred-block.”
“There is another section of this street on the other side of Lafayette.”
All of these would have been so much better than wearing a dark jacket in the dark and waving your arms and saying, “Over here!” on a goddamn cell phone.