One of my fondest birthday memories was the year I turned 5 and got the new Fisher Price Schoolhouse. I recently ran across the picture of me proudly holding that thing - I was so proud and smiled so bright. Two of my cousins were standing behind me giving the 'peace' sign above my head, and everyone was dressed in their finest 70's splendor. My mom made my favorite cake that day - German chocolate, served with homemade vanilla ice cream.

I remember little else from that day. But I still have that schoolhouse in a storage closet somewhere, and I still have the robust thighs brought on by a lifetime love affair with that cake. (And, you know, endless loaves of bread...)

I love birthdays - they are something to be celebrated with as much fanfair as a person can handle. So if anyone out there is also celebrating a birthday this weekend, I hope your day is filled with as much fabulousness as you can handle.

I will tip a lemon drop in our honor.

Ok, maybe 2.

3 at the very most.

In a rather intense discussion with a group of my 'Customer Service/Retail' friends, we took turns sharing the Worst Customer of The Week stories. We do this often as a way of clearing our guts of the angst that comes along with being in the business of serving others - a sort of group therapy if you will. Or as I like to call it - The Meeting of The Crazy Fools Club. (We meet at the corner of Wacky and Weird in the heart of Crazy Town if you are interested in joining us.)

In the middle of it all someone said, "...well I guess it goes back to the ole Customer is Always Right mantra..." while rolling their eyes. My response to that was, "You know what? It is 2007 and that statement is a load of hooey."

My family has a long history in the field of customer service. And the speeches about the customer always being right have been a part of my upbringing just as much as saying 'please' and 'thank-you' were. I can still see my grandfather preaching about the ideals of customer service as he wiped the smudges off of his ever present reading glasses. And it was never something I argued with - or bucked. I believed in it wholeheartedly, and I still do.

I don't know if its the upbringing, or a deep seeded psychological need to please people, but I love what I do. I know it's hard to tell with what I write - but I do. I get a complete rush out of serving a person so well that they walk away feeling better about their day. I love the smile of a satisfied customer, and I love the comment that their experience was lovely. I love the smiles and the words of encouragement. And I love knowing I have made a difference in their day - even on such a minuscule scale.

I please them, they please me - it's a win/win situation. Self-indulgent for me? Totally.

But the tide has changed into today's society. All you have to do is click on any given news site to see the decline of so many. People are out for #1, and by God if you get in the way you will get berated, harassed - and in some cases sued. It is this self-entitled, self-indulgent attitude that has put people like me on the defense, or on the offense depending on which way you look at it.

So the customer is not always right. You don't have to be perfect, and you certainly don't have to fall all over yourself gushing with praise and compliments. Everyone has a bad day, and some people just aren't that great at expressing themselves, and don't want to try. We like you just fine, and will treat you just as wonderful as we possibly can.

But don't every mistake our willingness to serve as your free ticket to wave about your abusive self-indulgence, or take advantage of what we have to offer. Ever. We work hard for you, and we love it. But if you think we are just so happy to honored to have you walk in the front door think again, and be grateful we even let you in. Your money isn't worth the paper it is printed on if you create such an environment of misery that we can't wait to see you walk out the door. (Or are tempted to spill cocktail sauce down the front of your shirt.) We aren't desperate. And even if we were we would rather sell hot peppers on cinnamon sticks in Hell than have to take one more minute of you.

Politeness goes a long way in this world.

Just simple, basic kindness.

And let's be honest, a little cocktail now and again never hurt anyone, either.

So a lady comes in for lunch with a friend. When going over the lunch menu she opted for the Caesar with grilled shrimp - the full portion. Her dining partner asked how large the full portion was, and when informed that it's quite large (Ok, it's huge), she opted for the half portion. When the server looked back to The First Woman, she asked, "Would you still like the full portion as well?" She rolled her eyes and said, "Uh - yes. I can handle that", and shook her head as if disgusted.

The the order is plated and sent to the table. It wasn't even 5 minutes later when, and I kid you not, when I heard the words, "Excuse me..." and turned around to see The First Woman.

She walked into the kitchen.

"Please take this from me. I can't even bear to look at it. It's so big, and the thought of all this food on my plate is making me physically ill. Please - oh please take it. Please - I need the half portion. I just cannot take this!" I was stunned, first of all, at her brazen boldness with walking into the kitchen.

And then I was just - speechless.

Someone, please - for all that is Holy - please tell me who does this??

A conversation no one should ever have to overhear.

A client was sitting across the desk from me when he interrupted to excuse himself to make a phone call.

<em>"Hey... did you get my message? Well we've got to step it up. Like, fast. I found two fleas in my socks while changing at the gym. I am tracking them all over the place."

And now my head won't stop itching. A small meltdown is coming, I can feel it.

14.

That is the number of people who came into the kitchen to find out if dinner was ready.

Fourteen people, and not one of them was in any way associated with the wedding party, or the wedding planner. They were just guests - hungry guests - disgusted that food was not waiting for them.

The Wedding Planner was very clear - there would be a social/cocktail time. This would be the time that The Bride & Groom received their guests, and the time that their guests would have a nice cocktail and a few nibbles of Hors d’œuvres here and there.

But like all Wedding Tricks, there's always that cell of people who don't like the way things are planned and take it upon themselves to try and change the status quo.

We were (ok, I was) uncharacteristically nice to the Kitchen Mongers. They were greeted with a simple smile, and a much-practiced response of, "Dinner is at 7:30!". One member actually had the audacity to say, "Well who planned that? We're hungry. Let's get this show on the road."

How he stayed out of the oven is beyond me.

After the last Kitchen Monger came through, The Bride made an entrance. "Ok, I am hearing rumbles that people are coming in here wondering when food will be served."

I laughed and said, "You heard correctly."

"Is that common?", she asked.

"Oh there's always a few at every function."

"Well I won't have it. The next person who comes to this kitchen to ask, you tell them it is none of their damn business and to get their ass back out to their table and have a damn glass of wine. Sorry for the potty mouth, but I will not have people dictating how I run my own show. Nor will I have them harassing you. The assholes."

With that said she hiked her dress up to her knees and stomped out of the kitchen mumbling about stupid people.

Word must have gotten out, because not one more person came into the kitchen to ask. Which is a bummer, I really wanted to follow her orders...

It's the weather, the time of year. The influx of the weary traveller, and those who go out to avoid being alone together at home.

That must be the reason.

I could hear the voices in the kitchen, but with all the background noise in the kitchen it was hard to tell if I was hearing correctly. But I could swear I could hear someone shouting.

I stopped for a minute, but no one else seemed to notice. So I blew it off as the voices inside my head.

But then it happened again, and this time The Hostess came in the kitchen and said, "Uh - we've got an issue out here."

A couple at Table 7 was fighting. Not fist-fighting, but I think someone wanted to punch someone. But The Wife was increasingly loud - and The Husband kept telling her to calm down. The Wife kept saying, "You never listen to me!" And I have to be honest when I say that made me giggle - because, you know - I know many wives who have said that to their husbands. But as giggly as it made me, I had do something.

People were staring - how could they not - and I was in the kitchen with my hand on my forehead rehearsing my speech before I went to their table. I couldn't let it continue. It was loud - disruptive - embarassing. So I had to be calm, kind, and not bring more attention than they already had.

But before I got to their table The Husband grabbed his keys and walked out the door - left her. And she stayed to finish her meal, quite happy to do so.

There are days when I think we need to sell this place. And then I think - oh but all the fun I would miss...

It's been a little hot around here lately. The last couple days have been especially toasty prompting approximately 4356 phone calls to The Restaurant inquiring of we have air conditioning.

We do.

This is the only time that no one complains of a long wait to be seated, as long as they can be inside the building. Last night at one point we were tapping out at 45 minutes. A sweet lady and her husband said they would wait 45 hours and sit in the bathroom if that was the only space we had available - as long as they could just be someplace cool.

It was a totally relatable statement when I walked into my home last night. We are of the Old Northwest Guard who think it unnecessary to have A/C in our home, preferring instead to throw open the windows and revel in the summer warmth in all it's glory.

Yeah. We're idiots.

Last night we had 4 strategically placed fans blowing hot air around the place. It occured to me that our home had gone from "Hotter than a standard cooking oven" to "Oh my God this place is like a convection oven."

Screw the romantic notion of the summer warmth in all it's glory - today we're buying A/C.

I think I've mentioned (in annoying abundance) my inablility to hold a set of chopsticks.

Well, someone was nice enough to send me a link to this product:

You can find them over at Style Kid

I am not ashamed to admit that I am totally buying a set.

I am having t-shirts made.

They will be simple, and to the point.

A nice white shirt with the words, "I am so over it."

I will let you know when they go on sale.

Seriously - I am totally not joking.

Last night a woman came into The Restaurant. She sat down, reached into her purse and proceeded to open the bottle of Mt. Dew she had packed in. The hostess said, "I am sorry, ma'am. But we do not allow outside food or beverages in the restaurant."

The woman rolled her eyes and sighed. "Oh what is the big deal?", she asked.

And then - then - she actually said, "Just bring me a glass of ice and I will put the bottle away, if it makes you feel any better." The Hostess, not wanting to cause a huge fuss, and fast thinking on her feet said, "Ok - but if you insist, the ice will cost you $1.50"

The Woman gasped, and demanded to speak to the manager. Which makes total sense, right? I mean if you are going to be a total creep, and do something you are not supposed to do speaking to the manager will make it all better.

So I went to her table and she proceeded to tell me how ridiculous the 'no outside food' policy is, and "...after all - it's just a Mt. Dew."

Honestly, I wasn't even mad. I was just so - curious - about what makes a person think they can behave in this way and get away with it. In the big picture - it's a bottle of Mt. Dew. Not the end of life as we know it. But the disrespect and sense of entitlement of today's society is just mind boggling to me.

"Well", I said. "You're right. It is just a bottle of Mt. Dew. We have a policy, and quite frankly the policy seems silly at this point. I just sort of assumed people would know better, and such a policy would not have to exist. But again - sadly - I was wrong. So if you want to drink your Mt. Dew, and feel justified in doing so, you go right ahead. Drink up."

Her tablemates were mortified. Her husband, especially, kept biting his lip and looking the other way.

I walked back to the kitchen and got on with more important things, like crawling in the chest freezer and slamming the door against my head.

The waitstaff told me The Woman put the bottle of Mt. Dew back in her purse, and sipped on ice water, instead.

T-shirts, coming soon.