You might want
to consider sipping a hot cup of tea (or a cold beer) before settling into this
read…
Every year a convention, defined by its
unique attendees, bombards our hotel that rattles practically every employee from
all departments (and shockingly, there
are about 1,000 of us). We have to
rethink practically everything we’re accustomed to. From every step of service, to what we say, to
how we say it, to explaining where
everything is. This convention embodies
the true definition of sincerely giving our undivided and meticulous attention in order to provide the most memorable customer service imaginable.
The convention? Cal State University Northridge Convention
for the Blind. The scale of vision impairment
ranges from slightly impaired to 100% blind.
It’s truly amazing to see what these people go through just to accomplish
simple tasks. And the patience they have is tremendous. I think
I would give up after 20 minutes. Talk
about a life lesson in patience.
Some have guide dogs (some of the best trained dogs on the planet, worth
a story in itself), some travel with a companion and some only simply need a
walking stick.
The visually impaired is without a doubt some
of the kindest, appreciative and friendliest people who stay at the
hotel. They always say, “Please” and
“Thank You.” They hardly ever complain
about anything (even if the food or beverage is taking forever to be delivered). They are polite, gentle and patient in everything they do.
With that being said, they are one of the
most time consuming and challenging groups to wait on. In a hotel atmosphere, I think serving at a
fine dining restaurant is probably one of the toughest positions to have while
this group is in house. Let me further
explain my case…
For starters, the seemingly simple step of
guiding the blind to the host stand to check in to get a table is the first
challenge. I had to stop multiple times
in the middle of taking someone’s order to help the blind and their dog(s) guide
them to the front of the restaurant. Some
guests would actually get annoyed with us leaving them to help the blind guests
while other guests were annoyed with guide dogs in and out of the restaurant. If we
could multiply ourselves in these situations, we would. Believe me. But we can’t. So we do the best with what we’ve got. And how about some compassion, people. Geese.
The second and greatest challenge: serving them.
From the second they sit down to assisting them with their exit strategy
(including not only guiding them through the tables but calling help from other
departments to assist with their trek back to their rooms), “simply” serving
them is extremely time consuming throughout every step of service imaginable. For one thing, we have to explain the entire menu to them (although a few had
nifty devices that apparently scanned the menu in so they could read it through
some type of digital Braille system).
But for the most part, we had to explain everything to them. From drinks, to appetizers, to sauces, to
spices and allergy components, we had to verbally communicate every teeny tiny
little detail. When we put anything on
the table (from drinks to silverware, to sauces and chopsticks), we had to gently
place their hand on each item, allowing them to feel where the items were. Constant communication and physical contact were
the only ways to provide an effective level of service they needed.
Now with all of that being said, allow me to dig deeper into the details of how
easily a somewhat disastrous scenario can occur.
It happened during a busy afternoon lunch
shift on the outside patio. I had one
table with a man who was completely blind and dining alone. At the same time I had another table of six (with
three guide dogs at their table) who were also totally blind. In addition to those two challenging tables, I
had six other tables with no special needs… aside
from needing my attention and services of course.
Therein lied the challenge: juggling two special needs tables with a full
section of “normal needs” tables. It was
clear I was spending the majority of my time at the blind guests tables. But obviously I had to make sure everyone I was waiting on was taken care
of. The tables closest to the blind
tables were very aware of what was going on.
But the guests who were further away from the special tables probably
just thought I was neglecting them. I
couldn’t very well explain to my visually non-impaired tables about my current
situation. That didn’t seem fair
either. I was stuck between a rock and
... well, a blind spot. A quite anxious place to be trapped in.
At each of my special tables, I had to start
out the same way: Explaining literally everything that was available for consumption. Asking them questions like, “What are you in
the mood for?” or “What do you usually eat?”
Of course the inevitable explanation of countless food and drink
specials also had to be announced at this time.
Literally, by now, I could see all of my “normal needs” tables staring
me down, as if to say, “What the hell lady?
What about us?” So I had no choice but to give them the
finger. No, not that one. The index
finger signaling, “One minute. I’ll be
right there.”
Breathe… Patience
is a virtue.
This song and dance continued for while. Then things took an ugly turn.
At some point I noticed my gelato trio was
taking a while for my blind solo diner. I
placed my hand on his shoulder and told him I was going to check on it. He politely replied, “No problem,” as expected
(although it had been quite an uncomfortable while). I briskly walked back to the kitchen and saw
the trio somewhat melting in the window.
I asked one of the line cooks, “Is this the trio for table 94?” He replied, “Yes, but the chocolate scoop is
melting. I’m scooping you another.”
Being that it had already been a while (and being that my guest literally couldn't see a thing), I
blurted out, “It doesn’t matter, he can’t see.”
I immediately regretted my comment. The kitchen staff looked at me in
horror. “I’m sorry if that came off rude. But honestly, this guy is as blind as the
night is long. He can’t see a thing. Granted I’m sure he can tell if his chocolate
scoop is a little melted, but as far as the presentation, don’t even bother
fixing it. And it’s been a while. I can tell he’s a bit on edge (even though he was polite about it). I have to run it.” In the moment, I was stressed out. I had too many demanding and time consuming scenarios
playing out simultaneously surrounded by an entire section of people thinking I
was ignoring them. I needed the gelato
and I needed it ASAP. You see my point?The
kitchen staff had no idea what kind of situation I was dealing with and how
difficult it was to manage it all.
When the hard
gelato scoop was finally ready, I delivered it to my lone blind diner (kudos
to the kitchen for standing their ground on perfect presentation, regardless of the blind man who was about to
eat it). I described each scoop to
him from left to right and placed the spoon in his hand. He dove in immediately.
Just then my six-top with the guide dogs
wanted their check. And to make matters
even more complicated, they each wanted their own check. Not only did I have to divide and separate
their bills six ways (standard, yet
annoying, step of service), but I then I had to explain how much everything
was, ask them how much to tip, physically show them where to sign with the pen
and organize their credit cards and their copies… six times over. You can imagine
how lengthy this process was.
Deep breath. Patience is a virtue.
At this point, I felt like I was away from
the other guests for a half a century. I
finally decided I had no choice but to explain the situation to the other
guests. One particular table I
apologized to gave me some disturbing feedback.
They told me when they saw the blind man eating his sushi earlier (the one currently inhaling gelato), they saw him pick up the entire chunk
of fresh wasabi with his hand and put it in his mouth. My mouth dropped and my heart sank. I
panicked. I should have warned him about
the wasabi! Granted I told the food
runners to be sure to explain the food in detail when they were delivering the food,
but it didn’t occur to me to warn them about the wasabi! I
wonder if this happened all week long. I
wonder if I was the only server to forget about this. I wouldn’t have even known if the people
at the neighboring table didn’t tell me.
I felt so unbelievably bad. No
wonder the guy was on edge about getting his gelato and now downing it so
fast. His whole mouth was still probably
burning.
After that sharp realization, I paid extra
special attention to Mr. Wasabi Gelato Man.
He stood up to signal he was done with his meal (I wish he would have stood up earlier to get
my attention when the wasabi hit so I could have possibly brought him some milk to put out the fire in his mouth). I helped him up the stairs to the door
and helped him choose the correct credit card out of his wallet. I put the pen in his hand and placed it where
to sign. He didn’t ask me about where to
write a tip (and I wasn’t going to ask either).
God Bless Him. A tip was of no relevance to me at this
point. He asked if we could call the
Bellman to assist him to the front of the hotel as he was flying back to
Australia right then.
Flying back to Australia? Now? Wow. That shocked me. It’s difficult enough to travel abroad with vision. I can’t even begin to imagine traveling
through multiple airports and several International Customs Agencies (into a different hemisphere, nonetheless)
with zero vision. Mind boggling.
As challenging as the blind were to wait on,
what an incredibly humbling experience it was.
It makes you take a step back in your own world and think about the
so-called problems we actually think are problems. That
guy never texted me back yesterday. I’m so upset. On second thought… not so much of a big
of a deal. Try not being able to see
where you walk, where you’re going or whom you’re talking to. Or how about not knowing how you’re going to
get around a new city, or if a stranger might rip you off or take advantage of
your condition. Or how about the feeling
of never knowing what it’s like to truly travel on an airplane across the
country (or across continents) and not being able to enjoy the view out that tiny little window.
The blind are a truly amazing group of
inspirational people, all with unique encouraging stories. Sure they might have to suffer through a
spoonful of wasabi every now and again, but I bet they appreciate life everyday
and every moment much more than any of us could even comprehend.
Serving the blind reminds me to be thankful
for what I have and to be especially grateful to others, even strangers. They also are the paramount reminder to not
take anything in life for granted.
Oh yeah. And above all, they remind us to practice patience.
If you made it to the end of this article, you're probably pretty darn good at it already. Congrats.
~ HK ~
