rebness | Pardon Me, I am British. Er...please. Thank you. Ever so much. Awfully.

Anyone who knows me knows how proud I am to be European. They'll also know that I'm marginally less proud, but still happy, to be British. However, there's one thing that drives me mad about my culture, and which I wish I could overcome... the British fear of complaining.

Oh, sure. We're the nastiest, snarkiest, most sarcastic of races. We'll bitch and whine and moan when the waiter brings our steak and it's still bloody, or has been cremated. We'll mutter about how terrible the government is, our media will always knock people down with glee-- but we never, ever, ever bitch to someone's face. We won't call the waiter back and tell them the food sucks. We won't whine to the bank about poor service. We're Anally, Awfully Polite, By Gosh.

There's a woman who works in my office who lived in America up until about a year ago. She is the best of every American stereotype: strong, loud, outspoken, friendly, confident. In the Mental Health Directorate, we always order our sandwiches from this nice bar down the road which also does boxed salads. Coronation chicken is ambrosia from the Gods.

Except for today, when mine tasted eggy, sour and, with each passing bite, I remembered the duck which poisoned me this year and had me in agony for two days. Couple this with the fact I am still bloody ill, and I was panicking. So I'm sitting there, bitching about how awful my coronation chicken was, how I was going to die, etc. American woman looks at me and says, "Phone them up and complain!"

"I can't!" I cried, "I just can't!"

"Of course you can. You said it was awful. We paid for the service, and it sucked."

"I...no, I can't."

"For God's sake. Let the American handle this." She picks up the phone and dials. I breathe a sigh of relief. American woman will handle it and I don't have to be horrible to the sandwich people. "Yes, yes," she says, "let me put the lady through."

I panic as my 'phone rings. What follows is a stuttered, mumbled explanation followed by me apologising for being so much trouble, but would she mind terribly that her chicken is off?

"Well," sniffed the baker, after offering me another salad as compensation (er, no thanks) "we haven't had any other complaints."

And that's just the thing. Around this city now, dozens of people will be gagging and choking on their salmonella chicken, but will they complain, bless their British souls?

Will they feck. Bah.

Threaded | Flat

*blush* undercooked steak and eats it and cold speghetti bologonese and i eat it. Do i ask for it to be cooked more?....mmmm no However, am getting better and have started to make formal complaints about stuff. After all i got a £10 selfridges voucher for my last whinge.

ohhh, nooo. i have a tummy ache just reading that. ::but maybe that's cus i'm a loud-mouthed american, who would ocmplain in that situation... ;-) ::

very true love we say fuck all but for some reason I normally say stuff. I think I get it from my dad when he gets off on one if something is not perfect for him.

heheheheheheheh...

*MUST* remember to call out people whilst out with Becky!

i will say one thing, i'm extremely tolerant of some things in restaurants. A couple of key reasons:

1) minor discrepancies such as missing a thing, or wrong side dish, for got my extra sauce, etc. these people are human, first and foremost, also are mostly overworked, underpaid students, single parents, or just struggling. I praise good service whenever i can, and treat them as equals. that way, if there is something amiss, i can feel more at ease bringing it up, and i've been so respectful, that they are happy to go for it.

2) fact that, if one is blatant bitch about discrepancies, chances are much higher that returned dish will be pissed or spat upon once returned to your table by smiling waitperson.

lol

What follows is a stuttered, mumbled explanation followed by me apologising for being so much trouble, but would she mind terribly that her chicken is off? Bwahaha!-I mean, you poor thing!

At our local restuarant my friend ordered pizza and chips, what she actually got was wig and chips because that much hair covered the pizza it looked like the head waiter had been scalped. We left without a fuss and gave a tip *le sigh*

American woman should have handled the call and shown you how it's done. *says the other American*

Don't worry about getting sick/er though. Probably won't happen. In the future however I would stop eating after the first one or oh, two bites. ;)

But then there is that archetype of Aussie pantheon of abuse, "The Whinging Pom" where everything is not as good as back home and they complain about everything from the weather to the transport to whatever is annoying them about the country that day.

Maybe you export all your complainers and we get them or they feel less repressed here about complaining.

*agrees totally with vera*

Twice in the last week I've complained about stuff, which I never do either... but then again, I don't usually have problems. But when Red Rooster gives me disgusting cheesy nuggets when I wanted plain chicken, and when the Sprite at the Coffee Club tastes like it's gone off, and how does soft drink even go off anyway, but that's what it tasted like... then I'm going to at least ask for an exchange. Of course, I prefaced both requests with, "I'm sorry, but..."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

mmhhmm

no subject