One Chance

Last Updated on August 27, 2017

I decided I was in a mood for seafood one night this week. The salmon fillets I bought over the weekend were hard as a brick in the freezer because I had forgotten to move one to the fridge to thaw, so I decided I’d go out to eat instead.

There’s a small local chain of seafood restaurants called Gilligan’s. The food is great, the hush puppies (which are in no way diet-friendly) are to die for, and the atmosphere is very nice, at least when I’m not seated near a large family who decides that each member needs to take multiple flash photos with their digital cameras throughout the meal. The last two times I was there, a large family did this. It might have been the same family both times. I felt like I was eating with the paparazzi. But I digress….

I ruled out Gilligan’s, not because of the potential for photo-happy patrons, but because of the fact that their fried seafood platter is too big of a temptation.

There was another restaurant closer to me that I probably should have chosen. But I didn’t.

I still regret that.

Instead, I went to a restaurant that’s part of a national chain. It is symbolized by a scarlet-colored crustacean.

I ordered the grilled seafood platter, for which they charge $13.99. That’s a fairly reasonable price, I suppose. At least, when the quality is there.

Service was slow. The wait staff was clearly doing the best they could, but things just seemed a bit unorganized to me, as if everyone was operating on the verge of some kind of controlled panic. I’ve seen this a lot in the booth at television stations I’ve worked in, when you know that the whole thing is about to crash and burn at any minute and there’s no way to get off the ride before the track runs out. So you just keep going, hoping that things will be okay after all. But you really know that you’re flying by the seat of your pants.

That’s the impression I got while I waited for the waitress to appear, then waited for my coffee, then waited for my salad. (It was a good thing I brought my laptop along.)

This restaurant makes available, unfortunately, these amazing garlic biscuits. Unfortunately, I had some of them. I shouldn’t have, but frankly I was hungry, and a little impatient about the wait to start with. So I indulged. I wish I hadn’t now, as so many dieters do, but at the time, it seemed like a good idea.

When the entree finally arrived, I noted that the steamed vegetables were not quite steamed thoroughly enough, the grilled shrimp were just on the verge of being overcooked and the scallops were practically rubbery. In fact, when I tried to pick up the little scallops, they were stuck together and rose in a great clump.

When the waitress came to check on me and asked how everything was, I said, “Well, you guys aren’t having your best night tonight.” I showed her the scallops and she apologized, and had the manager come over.

This same manager was one I had seen earlier assisting the wait staff in delivering drinks to tables.&nbsp  She offered to fetch another serving of scallops.

I have this little policy about complaints in a restaurant:&nbsp  from the moment I make a complaint, I accept nothing else from the kitchen.&nbsp  Nothing.&nbsp  We’ve all heard those little horror stories, some of which are completely bogus, about what nasty little tricks a kitchen staff will do to food that’s going to someone who has leveled a complaint.&nbsp  Call me paranoid, but I don’t take that risk:&nbsp  the kitchen has one chance to get it right, or at least acceptable.

So I declined her offer.&nbsp  When she asked how she could make it up to me, I suggested that she should compensate by making an adjustment on the bill.&nbsp  She looked a little dubious, which surprised me, and promised to return in a minute after checking on something.&nbsp  For the next ten minutes or so, I saw her at a computer terminal, apparently trying to do something that the computer wasn’t allowing her to do.

She finally returned, apologizing, saying that she didn’t have a way to remove a specific item from a platter, but that she would give me the coffee for free.

The coffee.&nbsp  Which costs all of $1.79.&nbsp  My total bill would have been $15.78 (plus tax), but by adjusting for the price of the coffee, she essentially gave me a mere 11% discount on a meal that was about 50% enjoyable.

I didn’t expect her to offer me the meal for nothing, and I wouldn’t have allowed that.&nbsp  At the same time, while I have no knowledge whatsoever of this restaurant’s computer system, I am sure that a manager could have made an adjustment more appropriate than a cup of coffee.

I won’t say that I’ll never visit a location in this company’s chain again.&nbsp  But I can assure you that I won’t be back to that particular location.

I prefer to patronize restaurants where my enjoyment of a meal is worth more to management than a cup of coffee.