I have a new piece up at Matador Life. It’s about how a Buddhist monk and a trip to Prague helped me leave my cheating husband.
I got the job! It’s part-time technical writing/admin work at this start-up right outside SF. This week I work Thursday and Friday, but my regular schedule will be Monday, Wednesday, and half a day on Friday. Yay for moola and getting out of the house!
Part-time is so perfect for me. On my “free” days I can write, and the way my schedule is now, I don’t even have to miss my yoga classes.
I have renewed energy for my corporate murder mystery. I got some very helpful feedback recently. I was dissatisfied with my NaNoWriMo draft, but I hadn’t even looked at it.
So this weekend I actually took the time, and so far it’s not as bad as I thought. It definitely needs work, but – so far – it seems to be doable work. In fact right now I like this version better than the rewrite I had been working on.
I have renewed respect for good customer service, because I got some shitty service over the weekend. Normally, Elite Cafe is awesome, both in terms of waitstaff and food. But yesterday there was a new bartender who was a bit of a dick.
We were sitting at the bar. He asked us if we wanted anything to drink, but I couldn’t hear shit because the place is noisy and he was mumbling. So I just gave my order. He looked sort of taken aback, but whatever.
He got our drinks and repeated our order to MB only. So I really didn’t hear that time.
Inevitably I got the wrong order.
I was nice about it. I said, “Oh, I actually asked for the corned beef hash.” To me good customer service would be, “So sorry! We’ll get that straightened out right away.” But he had to say:
“That’s why we ask you twice. To make sure we got it right.”
So it’s my fault huh? Even though obviously I couldn’t hear anything you said, and you asked my boyfriend and not me what my right dish was?
I think the waitress behind the bar realized the new guy’s faux pas because she apologized to me and tried to be friendly.
Sure, it was totally partly my fault for getting the order wrong, but let’s pretend it wasn’t. That’s part of the whole experience of going to a good restaurant.