We’ll take back clothing that comes apart, maybe. But when it comes to restaurants and accommodation, Kate Langdon reckons we are a nation terrified.
In general, we as a nation are lousy at complaining. Bad service, bad food, bad accommodation, bad experiences, bad vibes. It doesn’t seem to matter what’s gone bung we just suck it up and act like it’s perfectly normal to chomp on a stale burger bun, or wait 45 minutes for a takeaway coffee, or stand silent and awkward until hotel reception staff finish chatting about their sick weekend and realise we’re standing in front of them waiting to check out.
Sure, there are some career complainers out there but they’re by far the minority. The rest of us generally reply “good” or “lovely” or even “excellent” when the maître d’ asks how our meal is, when mere seconds before we were bitching to our dining companion that our gnocchi tasted like desperation.
Instead of complaining, we waste time agonising over whether we should say what we really want to say; that we were a generation older by the time the meal finally arrived, and it looked like it had been prepared by a family of racoons.
I’m as guilty of chucking on a smiling face when I’m disappointed as the rest of the country. The worse the meal, service or experience is, the more gracious my response becomes. It’s like the shock of it sends me into some sort of courteous overdrive where I feel a desperate need to please the person I’m speaking to, rather than be honest with them. If hotel staff ask how I slept I reply “very well”. When in reality I didn’t sleep at all because the mattress was made of rocks and they put me in a cupboard directly opposite the lift shaft.
On the other hand, if I buy a shirt and a button comes off within the first month of wearing it, I return it to the shop and request a replacement or a refund, all without feeling any shame in doing so. The retailer generally didn’t make the shirt themselves, it’s not their fault, they’re simply the middle person. Plus, there’s evidence sitting right there on the counter between us. It’s way more confronting to complain about service to the waitperson who’s been looking after you, or to complain about a shitty meal to the café owner. It feels more subjective – and personal.
But, much like the shirt, we’re paying good, and oftentimes, scarce money for food and services, so why not give some constructive feedback when we’re asked? Or even if we’re not asked? What are we so afraid of? That they’ll spit in our food? We’ve already received the meal so it’s too late for that. Or, are we worried that whoever we’re giving feedback to won’t give a shit, so what’s the point anyway? True, they might not. But also, they might. And they should, if it’s given the right way.
I think what most of us are afraid of is making a scene. I am. I worry that if I give feedback then people will assume I’m angling for a discount. Instead, what I do is diss the establishment whenever it comes up in conversation and solemnly vow never to return. It’s a childlike response and one that doesn’t lead to any positive outcomes, certainly not for the establishment in question.
But we don’t have to make a scene, do we? We simply need to voice our feedback in a kind and respectful tone and maybe use some different words to the ones inside our head. And if we’re too shy to voice it, then why don’t we send an email? Yes, this takes time, but surely it’s worth doing if it means nobody else has to experience the sterile service or flaccid fettucine you’ve been dished. Wouldn’t the manager or owner prefer to know if things aren’t up to scratch so they have the opportunity to improve?
