Out of Order

Due to a recent development, I may have to renege on my irritation of late with obsequious American customer service.

To provide some background for this strange turn of events…N and I are currently residing in temporary housing until our shipping container is delivered to our new, permanent apartment. The shipping process takes about six to eight weeks, as the container travels by sea. We had been waiting patiently in a small yet fully equipped place for the past five-plus weeks, but now that we have the keys to our new fabulous home, our patience is starting to wear thin. We want outta here already so we can get settled and truly begin the next chapter of our lives.

Naturally, we have been on top of the moving company to get updates on our shipment status. And naturally, the moving company has been falling over itself to make sure we are satisfied with our move—there is a customer satisfaction survey in our future and they want a high rating. The latest news is that our shipping container has arrived at port and has cleared customs. Now the moving company is trying to overcome the final obstacle: obtaining a parking permit from the police for the moving truck, which will be parked on our street for half a day while the movers empty it of our belongings. I asked if there was anything the moving company could do to expedite the process, or at least ensure that the Thanksgiving holiday doesn’t cause any unforeseeable delays—implying that our satisfaction with the entire move depends on it, but in doing so, in no way anticipating what was to come.

Yes, that’s when the customer service magic happened. Our contact became a bit alarmed and showered us with all those niceties that just the other day had me rolling my eyes. He then stated—no, rather, insisted—that he send us a gift basket to make up for our troubles. Um, WHAT? You’re going to send us a present because we’re being a bit pushy and whining about what is a normal part of an intercontinental move? That left me speechless. Only in America would a heaping basket of wine arrive for something like this. (P.S. The day after we were offered this embarrassment of riches, we learned that our belongings will most likely arrive this coming Monday. We are thrilled we’ll have some bottles to uncork to celebrate.)

If such fawning customer service doesn’t impress you, let me draw a comparison to the utter lack thereof in France.

Again with some background…Our moving budget afforded us a hotel stay for our final two nights in Paris, as the movers had at that point packed our bed. We stayed at the Holiday Inn Paris on the basis of convenience alone (it was a five-minute walk from our Paris apartment). Turns out the Holiday Inn Paris is a four-star hotel—who knew?

Anyhow, we had a very early flight out of Paris, so the night before N called room service to pre-order breakfast. While this would be a perfectly normal maneuver on a hotel guest’s part in the States, it caused quite the stir. The room service employee who answered the phone was baffled by the concept of ordering food twelve hours ahead. “Mais, c’est pas normal, ça.” Well, obviously it’s not normal, but have they never had any other customers with a 6am hotel departure and in need of eating something before an eleven-hour flight?

After the initial shock wore off and the employee agreed to process our order, he proceeded to give N a very hard time about our culinary choices. N wanted an omelet, which was on the room service menu. “On ne cuisine pas des oeufs au matin.” WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T COOK EGGS IN THE MORNING? Now, I understand the French may like their omelets for dinner, but: 1) eggs were on the menu; 2) the menu made no indication of there being a time-of-day requirement for any food item; 3) isn’t this room service?; 4) isn’t this an American hotel, where eggs might readily be consumed in the morning? N tried his best, but was ultimately DENIED. He wound up with a ham sandwich, which is entirely unsurprising given it's France, but a little strange given the French don’t normally eat jambon crudité before noon.

Then N moved onto my order: smoked salmon and fruit salad. The latter posed no problem, but the employee actually mocked the former, guffawing and asking why anyone would want to eat that for breakfast. Again, I understand there’s a cultural difference at play here (smoked salmon is a typical appetizer on lunch and dinner menus in France), but are you really making fun of a customer’s order? Either the hotel doesn’t teach the value of tact to its employees, or this guy was absent that day. (Although I don’t know why I was so surprised—French servers and chefs do not accept any deviations from their menus and will flat out refuse any alterations, however small. Sucks to eat out as a diabetic or someone with food allergies in that country.) In the end, the employee did agree to providing the two items I requested. At least we didn’t fail twice.

What can we conclude here? First, the hotel kitchen clearly did not want to cook any hot food at 5am. Second, they probably put together our order when it was placed at 6pm. (So much for a fresh start to our new lives beyond Paris.) Third, a French branch of an American hotel will adhere to the customer service mores of the country in which it is located—in other words, ones that are totally abysmal or absent altogether.

And so, I’m eating my plate of crow and taking back my own mockery of American customer service. I’d take an unearned gift basket over unwarranted derision any day. Even the French themselves would.