Letters from a Perfect Imperfectionist

So last night (Friday) we celebrate the end of my business travel for the year by walking into the village for some wine and tapas at La Vina (a regular haunt).

Lovely chats about life, the universe and everything – catching up on work, family and plans for the coming festivities.

Annie, as usual, does occasionally pop outside for a roll-up and I predictably check my iPhone for social media and email (what’s a boy to do in a busy bar when his date pops out for a ciggie?

There is an email from Hale Grill, confirming the New Year booking I was forced to pay for in advance last Monday.

It reads:

“Dear Mr Barrow

Thank you for making a dining reservation at The Hale Grill.

We are pleased to confirm your reservation on 31/12/2013 for 2 people at 21:00.

Your table is re-booked at 23:00.”

and then a few more paragraphs asking us to check out the web site, let them know if there any changes, blah, blah.

I, of course, am incensed.

Annie returns and I show her the email with a grand pronouncement that “if they think they are giving our table to someone else at 11 o’clock and shoving us out after 2 hours they can stick their dinner where it fits.”

After all – its her birthday as well.

Said steak house is actually a few doors down Ashley Road from where we are dining.

So the next 20 minutes are spent finishing our excellent wine and irritated me getting angrier and fantasising about a “scene” coming down the tracks.

We walk down the road (Annie tells me I’ll look more outraged if I take off my Quality Plan NI Russian hat before I go in).

I march into the Grill and meet a very nice lady on the front desk.

Showing her the email on my iPhone I ask if it means I will be escorted from my table at said hour, Christmas pudding dribbling down my chin?

“Oh no – that’s rubbish – I don’t know why they say that in the email.

I’ll be on duty on the night and I can confirm that you will be able to sit at your table for as long as you like.”

So – blood pressure back to normal.

But I do ask myself the question “why the devil send the email in the first place?”

Its the second disappointing MOT now in a week – and there will remain that niggling doubt that, on the night, some officious maitre d’ or grovelling waiter will be hurrying me through my £60 a head set menu.

Its not good is it?

Annie has the rather dubious annual pleasure of celebrating her birthday on 31st December.

Never short of a party of course, but Auld Lang Syne can be frustrating when, in reality, its all about you!

In recent years we have taken to a quiet celebration – just the two of us – a really nice meal, good chats and then back home to watch Jools Holland.

Last year, we walked down to Hale Grill, enjoyed their exceptional steak, excellent wine, a piano-playing crooner and good conversation.

Such a good time that I signed up for their membership card and the decision to repeat this year was a no-brainer.

So I dutifully called about 8 weeks ago and secured a nicely situated table with a £20 deposit.

On Monday this week – a voice mail from Kerry at Hale Grill:

“Mr Barrow could you call us in connection with you New Year’s Eve booking?”

Oh, oh – better reply quickly….

I call said Kerry and she explained:

“I’m calling to collect payment to secure your booking.”

I remind her that my deposit was already paid.

“No Mr Barrow – I’m calling to collect the bill for 2 people at the full set-menu price.”

I’m travelling and, frankly, too busy to respond – so simply react and give her my debit card details.

Its only afterwards that I have chance to reflect.

Earlier this year I took Annie to see Barbra Streisand at The O2 – and had to pay for my tickets in advance.

I get that – they are not going to let us sit and listen to her all night and then work their way around the place with bills and card machines.

But have I missed a sea-change in restaurant policy?

Do we now have to pay for our meals when we book the table?

Last year and I didn’t notice any FTA tables – or, for that matter, any of the Hale glitterati doing a runner after their panna cotta.

So what’s going on here?

1. are they suffering from cash flow problems?

2. will they go bust on Boxing Day and trouser my cash?

3. is there a new Finance Director who wants to make a name for herself?

4. are they a small company becoming a big company – and losing the human touch along the way?

5. have they heard about my tough year and want to make sure I’m good for my money?

I’m over it – in fact getting the food paid for paradoxically means I will probably spend more on drinks on the night (is that another reason?).

But what disappoints me is that, at no stage during the phone call did Kerry say anything along the lines of:

“Thank you so much Mr Barrow, its so nice to see that you are returning for a second year and we are really looking forward to greeting you and your partner on the night. We hope you will have a lovely evening with us.”

Not so much as a kiss my arse – just “give me your card details”.

I was very obviously under B for Barrow on her list.

I wonder what she would have said had I refused?

Moments of truth (MOT’s).

Last year Hale Grill delivered an MOT (an unexpected moment of delight) when they told me that they were providing complimentary taxi rides home for all NYE diners – how cool was that? We live a few minutes walk away and politely declined – but the thought counted.

This year they delivered an MOT (an unexpected moment of disappointment) when they asked me to pay up front with all the charismatic attention to relationship management of a passport control officer.

Such a shame when the food, the wine, the environment and the waiters are so good.

Its the little things make a difference.

“Happy birthday darling – shall get a kitty going for this evening’s drinks and go Dutch?”

Back at the Aer Lingus check in desk but this time at Cork airport on the return leg.

My ground attendant looks at my ticket and tells me again that baggage isn’t covered.

I calmly explain that I experienced the same problem yesterday in Manchester and that we double-checked and I have a PLUS ticket that covers hold luggage.

Unlike yesterday’s customer service anarchist, this chap tells me “I will put the bag through FOC and you can sort the refund out with Aer Lingus”.

Sanity is restored and this gentleman uses his initiative to reclaim a few lost confidence points for the airline.

Cork airport is clearly a remnant of the Celtic Tiger days.

It is massive, modern and completely empty like a 21st Century Marie Celeste.

A skeleton staff (metaphorically) watch with disinterest as we place our laptops in a separate tray, take off watches, belts, shoes (for the first time in weeks – why?), coats, scarves and wallets and watch them slowly roll through the X-Ray as a very bored looking young lady looks for a moment of truth as she uncovers a sinister container of over 100ml of any liquid.

My briefcase is randomly swabbed by a nice lady who is probably just doing something to pass the time and restore her circulation – and then I’m through

What used to be cafes and shops are in mothballs and airside I am obliged to seek refreshment in a rather tired pub/cafe where the best I can do is a cup of tea and some deep fried vegetables (the best of a poor choice).

They taste lousy and are abandoned.

There is at least free wifi and a few email replies are cranked out before we board.

It does tickle me when I climb the steps to the rear of the aircraft and have to wait while the stewardess reads everybody’s tickets and tells them where to sit:

“Hi there, thank you very much, seat 6C on the left.”

“Hi there, thank you very much, seat 15D on the right.”

Hi there, thank you very much, seat 23A on the left.”

And on, and on, and on – until we are all safely in the right place.

What is the rationale for this?

1. assume the passenger is illiterate?

2. assume the passenger can’t count?

3. assume the passenger has suffered from a short term memory loss since they were at the gate 3 minutes ago?

As I walk slowly down the central aisle I also notice that whenever a passenger reaches their seat, they throw their bag on the seat, turn around, see me and the rest of the passengers behind and then adopt a 45 degree body angle as they try to hunch under the overhead locker, disrobe and allow me past, all at the same time?

I explain to the chap in front of me that I’m happy to wait as we will all be taking off at the same time.

The gent behind me is clearly annoyed at this, the gent in front suffers a mild seizure during his contortion as he now doesn’t know whether to accept my offer, step back out into the aisle, remove his coat, store above and sit comfortably.

The risk of the gent behind me pulling out a gun and shooting us both dead appears too great so he continues with his Lee Evans tribute and I continue to my seat.

At the front of the aircraft a male attendant stands in a greatcoat with quite the most disinterested expression on his face I have seen since I asked LInda Lusardi for a dance (whilst pissed) at a Geordie nightclub in the 80”s.

A lady passenger is struggling to lift her roller case into the overhead locker. He watches expressionless until she has succeeded and then calmly walks a few paces down the aisle and tells her it is too big and will have to sit beneath the chair in front of her.

The lack of passion as he next shows us how to don a life-jacket and fasten a seat-belt is epic – I wish I could have filmed it.

It must be repetitive to have to do that 6 times (12 times?) a day – but so what?

I don’t expect the performers in a West End musical to get bored singing and dancing the same every day and their ticket price is less.

Can we empower us ordinary citizens to make an arrest when we see people in customer service not caring?

Aer Lingus haven’t impressed me this last 24 hours.

Luck of the draw? Maybe.

At least if the airline goes bust they can all rest assured of a job with an NHS corporate.

Contrast that with my Discovery Day at Citygate Specialist Dental Care in Cork and also with the excellent team at The Rothestown Park Hotel.

Operating in the same recovering economy and making sure that guest and patients have a first class experience.

A singularly bloody awful experience at Terminal 1 this afternoon.

Winner of the “face like a slapped arse award 2013” – the indifferent lady at the Aer Lingus check in desk who told me that I didn’t have any hold bag booked on my ticket.

When challenged over the phone by the ever-dependable by Phillippa (who did book me the right ticket), she just shook her head, looked at the screen, shrugged, charged £24 to my credit card and, disappointingly didn’t say “computer says no” but might as well have.

Nadya you need to consider a career in the prison service or a switch to immigration and passport control, you would flourish.

Next up the security check – wandering around as if mass redundancies had just been announced. Get a life people – you have a job.

Finally, irate passengers. The airport was half-empty but there were still people in security who had arrived late for their flights and considered it necessary to huff, puff and blither on about their misfortune to everyone in earshot.

Clever little me arrived plenty early, didn’t much mind being spot checked and swabbed and still had time for a gingerbread soya latte, salad and a few phone calls before my flight.

I write this at 35,000 feet, enjoying a spectacular sunset from seat 6A.

There seems to be so much anger in the world.

I’m on a mission to avoid and ignore it.

Taking the time out to cool down – finding a place where I can be alone, uninterrupted and just think through what happened, why it made me feel that way and what I can do to make myself and the others involved (f any) feel better.

Sometimes it is also necessary to apologise for my behaviour when I am in a bad mood – I make mistakes when I am tired.