Life Preservers

Customer Service Jumps the Shark

February 22, 2010 at 4:21 pm 6 comments

Today at lunchtime, I went to a sub shop touting really great sandwiches in an old-fashioned atmosphere. (In other words, not a Subway; nicer seating than a fast food place but without menus or waiters.) Standing in line at the counter to order, I spied “cheese steak” among a sparse list of choices. Now, for the past few weeks, I’ll admit I’ve had an unhealthy, totally-not-vegitarian, artery-clogging, there-is-no-way-I’m-getting-one  hankering for a cheese steak.

My resistance to this point was aided by the knowledge that the cheese steak I was really craving hasn’t been made for 20-some years. What I wanted was a Delti Chi cheese steak. (And I say that with apologies to any college friends who may read this who will now also be hopelessly craving one.)

Nothing else on the list really appealed to me, so, with naughty glee, I stepped up to the counter. The conversation went something like this.

Overly Cheerful:  What will you have?

Me:  The cheese steak.

Overly Cheerful:  What size?

Me (looking up at the various signage and thinking, if I’m going to be bad, I’ll feel better if I just get the): Small.

Overly Cheerful:  What type of bread?

Me:  Um, what are the options?

Not Quite As Cheerful:  There’s wheat, everything, and sesame.

Me (thinking that none of those sounds like the basis for a good cheese steak):  Uh…

Overly Patient:  And, we have seedless. (Note:  Apparently, seedless is what normal people would call a plain white hoagie roll.)

Me:  Yes, I’ll have that.

Obviously Relieved:  Okay.

Me:  I’d like that without green peppers.

Back to Overly Cheerful:  Okay.

Me:  Do you have mushrooms?

She Finds This Question Very Odd:  No.

Me (thinking, who the hell makes a cheese steak without the option of mushrooms but for some bizarre reason, I am bending over backwards to be very polite because of that sorta-kinda embarrassment even the most grown-up or confident human being among us feels when forced to follow some secret process that the teenagers behind the counter expect you to be familiar with):  Oh, all right, no problem.

Rattling:  D’ya-want-mayo-mustard-ketchup-Italian-‘r-any-dressing? D’y’want lettuce? D’y’want tomato?

Me:  No. No. No.

Incredulous:  You don’t want anything else?

Me (hmm, she seems so surprised, I must have forgotten something. What did I forget!?):  Um, no?

Speaking Really Slowly:  Sooooo, you just want onions and steak…?

Me (smiling and laughing a bit, cause, ya know, on a cheese steak, one would assume you don’t have to ask):  Well, I want cheese.

Why The Hell Are You Just Telling Me This Now?:  What kind of cheese?

Me:  (Well, it should be provolone, shouldn’t it? Oh my gawd, the way she is looking at me? What if I get this wrong? I have the urge to yell “Mulligatawny!” It is provolone, isn’t it?): Um, whatever you normally put on a cheese steak?

Blatant Eye-rolling:  We have American, Swiss, Mozarella, Provolone…

Me:  Provolone, please. (omg, did I just say please? I did. I just said please.)

She mumbled something (she was standing there in person but as incomprehensible as if she were talking to me through a drive-thru speaker) and gave me a dirty look. I took that to mean that my order was complete, and I moved forward toward the cash register, too intimidated and rattled to even consider a side dish, a beverage, or a cookie.

So. It wasn’t the worst cheese steak I’ve ever had. But it certainly wasn’t worth the hassle or the 8 bucks.

I understand that restaurants think it is swell of them to let you have things your way, but it’s not like I walked in and said, “Hullo, I’d like a sandwich.” I ordered A Cheese Steak. And, I would be willing to bet that, to 99.99% of anyone who has ever ordered one, options like swiss cheese, “everything bread,” mustard, or Italian dressing do not even cross their mind.

Burgers are made for a variety of options. Same with hot dogs. But a cheese steak is a thing. It is very thinly sliced, fried meat; it’s cheese melted to that point of a moment before a solid becomes a liquid; it’s juicy enough not to require any dressing; and it’s all greasy enough to magically morph with the inside layer of the (seedless) bread.

That’s a given, isn’t it?

Entry filed under: Humor - Commentary. Tags: cheesesteak, customer service, humor, lunch, sandwich.