Sunday, May 4, 2014

Attitude and avocado for breakfast

So there I was, feeling like a hero not a zero. My 20 year old graciously agreed I could drive him to soccer this morning. It's premier league. The standard is high. It's therefore great viewing. Now I think it's great he invites me. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact hat he's required in Parkville at 0915 on a Sunday morning. And let's be clear. He's genuinely appreciative. But as I'm not required for the warm-up, I exploit a luxurious half hour searching for good local coffee.

In this quest I found Queensberry Street North Melbourne. I went for my favorite haunt, packed to the rafters with trendy I-don't-cook-Sunday-morning Melbournites. After being told there would be a wait (something that struck me as somewhat obviously given the queue snaking around the corner), I defected to the empty cafe 4 doors down feeling somewhat disloyal yet practical.

I wasn't allowed to order at the counter. I had to wait at the door until I was directed to a seat. The chef was thrashing eggs for an omelette and I wondered what the eggs had ever done to her. I was then frisbeyed a menu at the bottom of which were the words: "We don't serve mugs or large takeaway in house. We do not split bills." I turned the menu over expecting to see the words: "We don't do any customer service either and we DEFINITELY don't smile."

My soy capp was sour. It wasn't sour. It was just cow. But my mood started to sour and it was then in my sick puppy way I began to think about your average workplace.

Do we make it easy for our clients to do business with us?

What are their first impressions of us when they make contact and are those impressions/expectations sustained?

Do rules dominate or is there always the promise of something aspirational in the cause?

How easily can emotion be contagious?

I arrived in a great mood and was soon heightened and prepped for the next screw-up. (The fact that the waiter came and checked my order again with me 10 mins later did not elevate my confidence although she was starting to kill me with kindness after almost killing me with cow's milk. The forensic investigator in me assumed she didn't want to get sued, but as I sit here typing this post on my IPad, it occurs they were more frightened of Urbanspoon than Slater and Gordon.

They needn't have worried. I don't subscribe to becoming the anonymous assassin of food blogging on a site that can decimate a business after one lacklustre experience. The breakfast you wonder? So many seeds in my avocado smash, I feel like a budgie but I'm sure it's good for my insides.
Anyway, gotta run. I'm sure my soccer player can't wait to see me and I'll leave this cafe to handle the Sunday morning overflow from the one down the street.