Just Say It

On a partly sunny Saturday morning, while most people were figuring out their brunch or lunch to enjoy in their jammies, I was charged with making sure the elite society of the world received gourmet catering on their jets. It was a particularly slow Saturday, slow enough for me to catch up on some work and answer the occassional phone call as well as process the occassional order.

The phone rang and looking down at the caller I.D., I hesitated. I didn't recognize the number, but was curious as to what this call would involve. I was curious with all unknown numbers that flashed across that screen before answering the phone. It was never the same type of call, which made things interesting.

I recited my greeting, and before I could ask the caller how I could assist them, I was rudely interrupted.

"This is Bob* from ABC Aircrafts*," said the caller, his tone edgy and volatile. "You NEED to go over my catering order immediately. I want to give you one chance to see if you're right. I want to give [name of our company] the chance to be right before I get angry. It was a pretty simple order and I don't see how anyone can screw this order up."

Um, okay. How would you respond to this? Exactly. I paused, taking in the words this fellow just snarled to me, and then pointed out the obvious: "Could I have a tail number?" You see, I don't know EVERYONE'S catering order for the day. We have to have a reference somehow, to be able to look up an order. Our crystal ball has been broken for some time now.

He spouted off his tail number and breathed heavily into the phone while I looked up the order. Opening the last page of the order, I informed Bob* that we had one cobb salad with light Italian dressing and ranch dressing.

"Light Italian," Bob* said. Silence. Silence ... is he asking me a question? Telling me something? What is he telling me? What do I say to this guy that won't set him over the edge? He sounds like he's standing on the ledge, the rocks are beginning to crumble beneath him and he's deciding whether it's worth it to jump. Dude, it's sooooo not worth jumping over Light Italian dressing.

"Yes, Bob*. Light Italian," I repeated. "I will have to pull the hard copy of the order the CSR took, but I do show Light Italian."

"There is no Light Italian," he coldly stated. Okay, can you elaborate sir? WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY?

"We do show Light Italian reflected on the order," I calmly state. "Did you not get Light Italian dressing?"

"No, we did not," he finally said (holy hell, he finally got to the root of the problem). "Now I'm going to have to go the store and get some before the passengers arrive."

"Sir, we can always bring some out to you befo ... *click* re ... you .... leaaaaaave. He hung up on me," I say, sighing, hanging up the phone.

Light Italian dressing. I'm hoping whatever rich or famous person ordered the salad savoured every last drop of that damn dressing.

One Chance to Get it Right

Although I walk on the tightrope of right and wrong by posting anything related to my job, I just can't take it anymore. I HAVE to post the humorous happenings of dealing with an elite clientele (and their lackeys) on a daily basis. You see, the stars of the world, politicians, members of royal families, and successful business people are my priority five days a week. During those days, I, as well as the team around me in the client services department, the kitchens and vendors, must ensure these fancy folk receive the very best cheese, the ripest fruit, the finest steak to consume while jet-setting. It sounds glamorous and easy, but trust me: those of us who walked into the job on the first day with transluscent skin have now developed leather-thick skin. Each time the phone rings, we never know who is on the other end of the call, or what issue they may bring to our attention. It may be a simple catering order for our Chicago kitchen for MDW, or an elaborate order for a contracted caterer out of CLE. However, it could also be a client looking for food, complimenting food (on a rare, rare basis), or *gulp* a client calling to complain about catering.

Oftentimes, the latter types of calls are manageable. Our talented team of folks in client services can schmooze, calm, sympathize with the most irate client. Other times ... well, just imagine being on the receiving end of Mr. Multi-Billionaire's pilot or flight attendant. The crew members are the people who must face Mr. Multi-Billionaire's and tell him his cinnamon and plain bagels never made it to the airport (only because the driver left them in the back of the van).

Anyway, without naming names, companies, exact times, dates, etc., I will share on a frequent basis the humor that is my job. Because frankly, in a job that can be so stressful, confusing, negative, humor helps me -- and anyone -- survive.