Career Opportunities

I am a receptionist in the spa of a four-star hotel in Crested Butte, CO. When I arrived this morning for the leisurely daily routine, I was called by the hotel front desk, who warned me of a potential "Secret Shopper" staying at the hotel for two nights, purveying the facilities, grading the restaurant, etc. The front desk girl was convinced she had this lady pegged, and when one particular lady came down to the fitness center to check out the facilities, I knew she had to be the one. There was this distinct "I smell poop" expression on her face (.....................uuuuh, don't look at me.) and a wedgie forcing its way into her high rise Levi's. I greeted her, but am never really one for many words early in the day. So I did what I could - hid my lunch box and pretended to look busy. I wasn't really too concerned either way; enough people have quit in the past week to give me the illusion of job security.

But then I started thinking about the whole Secret Shopper deal. I mean, why couldn't I do that too? One of my biggest joys in life is to evaluate service (and I'm lucky to have found a highly critical life partner, too). I'd describe the majority of service and quality I've received recently as mediocre and teetering on awful; though I am the first person to shout accolades when something is truly excellent. I never initiate culinary experience smelling the proverbial poop; I declare innocence before guilt. Unless it's McDonald's.

Unfortunately, I am frequently unhappier and less satisfied than I started out, and of course, significantly poorer which is the real pisser. The mid-range dining establishments in Colorado rarely seem to serve fresh food; the meals I've had, have the commonality of tasting like an 18-wheeler would, if they were edible. Of course, I do have exceptionally sensitive and refined taste buds and can easily identify these things. Last week in Denver K, D and I went to a Brazillian Steakhouse to celebrate D's birthday (and he lives for a quivering piece of red flesh, especially the kind that comes around on skewers in rapid rotation). We thought the meal started well with grilled Mahi-Mahi, but then it took a quick turn for the worse. The little steak we did get was tough and the filler meats seemed to consist of oddly-flavored pot roasts and chicken hearts. The best description of the place was that it was "The Brazillian Steakhouse equivalent to The Golden Corral" (who incidentally also boast bacon-wrapped turkey medallions on their menu!).

Moreover, the customer-service industry in general has been slacking. Perhaps it can be reduced to Colorado; everyone is so darn efficient in Texas! Here, I wait in line at the coffee house for the barista to finish having her vapid conversation with the person in front of me, whom they know via-via, just loudly enough to demonstrate how well-connected they are in town. Me? I know who to borrow skis from and where to get pot. That's about the extent of my personal heirarchy of needs, and both are met with the greatest of ease.

And because of this consistently rude experience, I don't tip there - and that's pretty hard for me, having been a barista. I'm considering asking for a comment card, then taking them down.
Criticism and constructive feedback can be a beautiful present to business owners insightful enough to cherish it as they would a 3-month old puppy. For how does one know to improve, unless they know that they need to improve? No one is perfect, and I am just the person to let the faceless entities of America know!

~dillycait~