The Many Tales of Our Customer Service Experiences (as the Customers)

I woke up this morning to a fantastic reminder to talk about our experiences with customer service and why one of our top goals is to provide the ultimate dining experience for our guests.

That reminder was an email from The Bay of Palms Resort along the Gold Coast in Australia. In 2010, Gwith and I went there to celebrate our one year dating anniversary. The pictures looked great online and we were very excited for a week at the beach. Unfortunately, it didn't live up to expectations. Far from it. Upon arriving at 5:15 pm from the airport, we were informed that our access to food would be nearly impossible in about 15 minutes and the person at the front desk could not offer any suggestions on where to go. We were also informed that we'd get the first roll of toilet paper for free and have to pay after that. On our way to the room, we walked beside the pool which was beautiful in the pictures online! In person, not so much. There wasn't any water in the pool and the lounge chairs didn't exist. When we arrived at the room, we took a quick look around. The room was never updated and the bed felt like a ton of bricks. Even the tile floor was more comfortable (we know because we lied down on it to rest our backs the next morning)! In the morning, we had to use a coin computer in the lobby to arrange for another hotel. Of course, with 5 minutes left to book, we ran out of coins. There wasn't a single person at the front desk to exchange change. In the end, we made it out of there. Ironically, this hotel sends me an email twice a year reminding me to come back. I suppose I haven't complained because I enjoy the twice a year giggle and rolling of my eyes.

While this experience was at a hotel and not a restaurant (I have plenty of those stories coming up), it taught us both a lot about how poorly a place can be managed. During that time the front desk proved to lack knowledge, be non-existent at times, and the management put their money before their customers (the toilet paper is a clear sign). In our experience, successful businesses do not run when you sacrifice customer service by cutting costs. Just look at all of the shows like Hotel Impossible and Restaurant Impossible. The reasons those places are failing is because the owners just don't care. If The Bay of Palms Resort owners had provided toilet paper, had a comfortable bed, a filled pool, and helpful tips on where to eat, we'd probably return there some time. Instead, their yearly emails are a joke for us to sit around the dinner table and laugh about.

On the discussion of cutting costs, sadly, we had an experience in Colorado where our favorite sushi restaurant (we were weekly regulars there for a couple of years) decided during the recession to cut down on the size of sushi pieces to thin little non-existent strips, raised the prices, and changed fish companies to a very fishy tasting supplier. As Gwith knows, it's not about the sizes you serve, it's about the amount you order. If you order more food from suppliers than you serve, that's when you're going to lose money. Also, if you need to raise the prices, raise them slowly and don't cut down on the portion sizes at the same time! Besides the changes in food, the once friendly staff began complaining about the owner who was letting his frustrations out on all of them. Unfortunately, after a few weeks of these unpleasant experiences, we switched sushi restaurants. I doubt there's a single business that wants their most loyal customers to switch restaurants and never return. On another note, the reason we found that first sushi restaurant was because the one near our house refused to offer gluten-free soy sauce; just another example of the lack of customer service.

Besides the obvious lessons learned from these experiences, as a person with life threatening allergies, I've also had my fill of allergic reactions due to incompetent restaurant staffs. The only place that I ever put up with was Pappadeaux in Colorado.

Gwith and I at Pappadeaux during his first visit to the USA, (April 2010)

Our favorite restaurant, Pappadeaux, had a horrible habit of putting pepper on my steak. A few years ago, eating pepper on my food would result in my throat starting to close up until I took a Benadryl. I can say with absolute certainty that this was always the kitchens fault. Why? Because we had two favorite waiters who waited on us for years and knew my allergies. One time the manager informed us that my meal was done without seasoning, but a kitchen staff member saw it, thought someone forgot, and just poured it on. Clearly the communication in the kitchen was the problem. You may be wondering why, after having multiple reactions at this restaurant, we kept coming back. Two words: Customer service. While the kitchen may have been messing up plenty, the management knew how to handle the situation. The manager would come out every time, apologizing. Then, they would not only comp my dish, they would bring me a free appetizer/salad and dessert. In the end, they even had someone come to the restaurant to train their staff on allergies.

Other restaurants we've been to haven't handled the situation nearly as well. We've had everything from them denying they did anything wrong, not comping the dish, or just shrugging it off as if it was a fluke. In my opinion, a restaurant staff is either competent in allergy control or they're not. As Gwith would agree, it's all about communication.

At The Counter in Colorado, the manager was incredible. My burgers were always cooked correctly, the staff was happy and friendly (the staff even had monthly bowling nights), the restaurant was booming with customers. Even in the off hours, it was filled. Fast forward to a year later, the manager wanted a raise and the franchise owner didn't give it to him. The manager left and the new person in charge had no idea what they were doing. The waitresses would roll their eyes at our orders, the burgers came out bloody and rare or burned to a crisp, and within a year, the restaurant was closed.

Another poor management experience we've had was at Red Robin in California. Now, this was probably one of the most ridiculous stories we've ever had. Gwith (who doesn't have any allergies) ordered the Caramel Milkshake with Red Hawaiian Sea Salt. That sounds simple enough, right? When they brought out the shake, Gwith looked at it, didn't see a caramel color, but tasted it nonetheless. Of course, after he tasted it, he knew it was just plain vanilla. He let the waitress know who argued with him that there was caramel in it, he just clearly couldn't taste it. Now, this is where it gets really bad. The waitress took the milkshake to replace it and then came back to the table to inform Gwith that they couldn't add the whip cream and sea salt on top because they ran out of whip cream. Then, Gwith saw the bartender pouring whip cream on another milkshake at the bar. Gwith asked for the whip cream and sea salt that was part of the drink, and with an annoyed roll of her eyes, the waitress took the drink and returned announcing they had found the whip cream. Of course, she still couldn't get this drink right, as it returned without sea salt. When Gwith asked about the sea salt, she responded: "Oh? You want that too?" By the shock in her voice, you would think this drink wasn't on the menu and he created it himself. Gwith tasted the drink and it still didn't taste like caramel. Gwith asked to speak to the manager. Normally, the manager should come over and clear up the situation right away. Instead, the manager came over and I kid you not, argued with him for 10 minutes about this milkshake and why he clearly just couldn't taste the flavors. They eventually brought out more caramel for Gwith to mix in himself and snarked, "It's always had caramel but I guess you just need a lot of caramel to actual taste it." As a chef, Gwith wasn't pleased that his ability to taste flavors was being questioned. We have never returned to that Red Robin location since that experience.

Our last night in Colorado at the restaurant Ocean Prime (November 2011)

 On the complete opposite end of the spectrum, there's the restaurant Ocean Prime in Downtown Denver. This restaurant flourished in customer service when we lived out there (and hopefully still does!). Not only do I hold this restaurant near and dear to my heart because Gwith proposed to me the night we dined there, the managers and owners also went above and beyond. Besides giving us a lovely letter congratulating us on our engagement the following visit, they also did something completely unexpected before we moved to California. Our last night in Colorado, we went with my mom to dine there. When we sat down, the manager came over to us and we told him we were moving. In response, he took away our menus and proceeded to give us each a 6 course surprise meal (avoiding all of my allergies, I might add!). What happened next, was the most shocking of all. They paid for the entire meal. In my eyes, normally when an owner or manager hears that their customers are moving and may not be returning for years, the last thing they would think of is to give a free meal. But they did, and that memory will stick with us for a lifetime.

While I could go on with countless stories, I hope I've given everyone an insight into why we feel so strongly about opening a restaurant that provides customers with a relaxing, allergy safe, and friendly experience. Of course no one is perfect and I can't say there will never be one error, but in the end, it's how we handle that mistake that counts. The most important lesson is that as long as you treat and train your staff well and respect your customers, there is no reason they shouldn't return. Respecting customers and employees should be the number one priority in any business and if an owner or manager can't understand that, they shouldn't be in business.

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30990 Russell Ranch Rd Unit C, Westlake Village, CA 91362
© 2014 Aroha Restaurant.

Confessions From a High School Drop-Out

Today, I'm going to tell my story of why I left high school at sixteen years old. Before I begin though, I don't want anyone reading this story with pre-concieved notions and judgements, so let me clear some things up. No, I wasn't a lazy student. I didn't lack motivation and I didn't lack intelligence. I did not leave high school to sit on my ass all day and do nothing. In fact, the year everyone was graduating, I was co-creating and co-producing a TV show pilot with a cast of forty actors from around the country ranging from ages thirteen to sixty, twenty teenage background actors, fifteen locations, and eighteen hour days. No one forced me to spend a year of my life working like that. I chose it. I created it. And I loved it.

But working on "Little Blossom" is not what I'm here to talk about. I'm here to talk about my decision to leave high school with the full support of my parents.

"I did not fail the school system. The school system failed me."

From 2nd grade onwards, I had a lot of trouble staying healthy. I was susceptible to any and every virus that wandered the halls and I always got it. I never faked being sick (okay, maybe once or twice in early elementary school!). My family has always believed in health. They'd rather take care of their sick children instead of unleash their germs onto everyone else. Imagine that, right!? Wanting your kids to get healthy. Anyways, as we found out years later, my immune system was low due to many allergies my family was unaware of at the time.

The Cherry Creek School District never supported my health issues. In 2nd grade, my teacher wanted us to walk everyday. Okay. That's healthy. I understand that. On the day of a very cold blizzard though, she still wanted us to walk. I've always been sensitive to cold temperatures and I told her I didn't want to walk that day. She called my parents and told them that I was afraid of the snow. It was absolutely ridiculous. I played in the snow all the time. I just didn't want to freeze for twenty minutes with snow blasting in my face. I still don't want to do that. This caused an entire ruckus that led to my parents having to come in to meet with my teacher, the principal, and the school nurse. Needless to say, my dad, who's a world renowned doctor, was not pleased when the school nurse tried to teach him about health.

In 5th grade, my class was going on a field trip and I realized I forgot my jacket. My teacher scolded me in front of the class to the point where I began to cry. She was upset at me, an eleven year old, for not thinking ahead of time and bringing my jacket to class. All I wanted was to stay warm and she didn't care. Thankfully, my art teacher saw me crying in the hallway and brought me a jacket.

In 6th grade, I began getting sick a lot more. I was out for weeks at a time back and forth. I had piles of makeup assignments and I would spend every day working on them. One day, I went into my science class to get help from my teacher during recess. She yelled at me, told me I was lazy, and accused me of being truant. I fled from the room, tears in my eyes. I was just a student trying to get by and learn what I had missed. If I was truant, why would I come in during recess for help? Why would I care enough? I didn't understand why I was being treated so horribly. I believed that it must've been my fault in some way. Afterwards, I sat in the hallway outside of my social studies teacher's class. He was my favorite teacher. In fact, I visited him every year up until I moved two years ago. He came out from his classroom and saw me crying. He sat next to me, listened to my story, and sympathized with me. He talked to me and encouraged me. I was able to go to the rest of my classes that day because of him.

There are some stories from 7th grade, like the teacher I wrote a ten page essay for, that he then had another student present at a competition. It was my work and I felt incredibly betrayed. 8th grade though, that was the beginning of the end for me. I was out every few weeks, ill, and again, buried in makeup assignments. My makeup assignment folder was jam packed with a hopeless amount of assignments. One day, my history teacher asked me to come in during recess so he could explain a project I had missed. As you can understand, I hadn't felt very comfortable doing this since 6th grade. Every time I tried to talk to a teacher, I had been yelled at. This time, I mustered up the courage to go in. What could possibly happen? He wants to help me with my assignment! Hah. What a laugh. I went in and instead of giving me the help I needed, he saw my overwhelmingly large makeup assignment folder and accused me of being unorganized. I'm not unorganized. I created a booklet listing my DVDs at home by category and by actor. I am far from unorganized. But, he took one look at this pile and decided instead of helping me with my assignment, he would sit me down for my entire recess and have me reorganize my binder. During this time, he paced the classroom and explained to me for forty minutes why I would never be successful in life. At the end of the period, he handed me a piece of paper with information on the assignment. I spent all night working on this assignment. When I turned it in, he took one look at it and scoffed. When I got it back, I saw that he had marked me down because I didn't do multiple things that he purposely left off the list. Needless to say, I switched history classes that year. However, because I was falling so far behind in my classes, my family decided that one class of mine could be dropped. I couldn't keep up no matter how hard I tried. The class that made the most sense was my advanced placement math class. It was a no brainer. It was an advanced class and I could retake it in high school. My parents emailed my teacher back and forth over this matter, explaining to her that I was dropping the class. My teacher agreed to let me read a book and work on makeup assignments during class in the meantime. That same teacher, then went to the principal complaining that I wasn't doing my work. She tried to get my parents in trouble and my parents ended up receiving a letter from the school about my truancy, claiming that I would be taken away if they didn't get it under control. I'll add that I had doctor's notes every single time I was sick. My parents printed out the emails they had shared with my math teacher and brought them into the principals office for a meeting. Luckily, this is where my teacher wasn't very smart. Everything she agreed to had been written down. In the end, I was able to drop the class and retake it in 9th grade.

9th grade my teachers weren't all that bad. I liked most of them. I still was dealing with being sick but overall, my teachers were supportive and I thrived in my math class that year. The only problem I had was that I never saw my history teacher. When I was sick, he was teaching. When I was in school, he was off playing golf tournaments. I literally only saw him twice that year, so I had no idea what was ever going on in that class.

This brings me to 10th grade. The year I dropped out. The year my family and I finally decided enough was enough. Before I delve that year, I have to explain the summer before 10th grade first. My family went on a road trip to Mt. Rushmore. On this trip, I discovered that I was suddenly highly allergic to pine trees; so much so that my body ended up covered in rashes, my ears would clog, and my throat would start closing up. Luckily, I never needed an EpiPen, just some Benadryl, which would wipe me out for days at a time.

Why is that story important? That's coming up now, in my 10th grade science class. Let me start by saying that for a while, I loved this class. I thought the teacher was great, I enjoyed my classmates immensely. Little did I know at the time, this was the class that was going to cause me a complete mental breakdown. Part way through the school year, my class did a study on plants. We went outside and I started reacting to what I learned was a ponderosa pine tree, as I stayed standing underneath it. My teacher saw my reaction and a student led me to the nurse's office. After this reaction, I was sick for a couple of weeks. When I came back, I had missed a "test" on the different plants. My teacher told me I had to take the test. Fine. No problem. She then led me into the supply closet, told me each of the plants were on the shelf and I had to identify them. She told me I couldn't leave the closet until I was done and closed the door. This teacher knew I was highly allergic to this plant and she knowingly left me in a small enclosed space with it. Needless to say, I ended up being out sick for three more weeks because of my reaction. During this time, the class was getting ready for a group assignment, one that I was really excited for at the time. I came back to class with only two days before that project would begin. My teacher then told me that because she couldn't rely on me being healthy, I wasn't going to participate. I was devastated. My parents complained, told her she was discriminating against me for my allergies and illnesses and eventually got me in a group to do the assignment. You would think this saga would end there. No. After a few weeks of making up all of my assignments, I turned them in ahead of the deadline. When the grade reports came in, I had a D because I had supposedly failed weeks of my assignments. What we found out was then shocking. My teacher had taken it upon herself to lock my grade. She refused to count all of my hard work. At the time, I didn't even understand. Part of me knew what was happening but I was only sixteen. I somehow thought that this was just because I was stupid or a failure. I blamed myself. I was so depressed looking at my plummeting grade. I believed that grade marked my level of intelligence. I didn't believe in myself at all. That's what school had taught me all of these years. Not to believe in myself. For weeks, I could hardly find the will to make it out of bed in the morning and one day I finally broke. I couldn't do this anymore. I remember sitting in my parents master bathroom on the floor. Tears were streaming from my eyes and I was throwing a tissue box back and forth against the wall. My mom saw me crying, put her arms around me, and asked me what I wanted to do. What did I want to do? There was no question in my mind. I wanted to leave high school. I couldn't do this anymore. The amazing part was, my parents were completely supportive. They saw everything I had been through and they didn't want me to go through it anymore. For the rest of the year, I had dropped all of my classes except my video editing class. I stayed in that class till the end of the year because video editing was still what I wanted to do.

The terrible truth is, it's taken me a long time to not look at myself as a failure. Some days, I still struggle to find my confidence but I push myself everyday to build it back. I left school in 2007 and since then, I experienced so many other things that helped me regain my strength. As I said at the beginning of this, managing an entire film set was not an easy task at 18 years old. Taking charge was something I had never been able to do and it was a life changing experience for me.

In all honesty, had I had different experiences in school, maybe finishing high school and going to college would've taken me somewhere else in life. But to be honest, I'm happy with where I've ended up. If I had finished high school, I never would've had that amazing experience on "Little Blossom". If I had gone to college, I never would've met my husband on a trip to New Zealand in 2009, and he alone changed my world (read our love story here). The truth is, my interests have never needed a degree. I've always been into the arts and I work hard teaching myself new things all the time. My life long dream has always been to be a singer and last year I finally released my first EP, "Stepping Stone". Do I have some big successful career right now? No. Do I know exactly where I'm going in life? Of course not. But who does at 22 years old? Against all odds, my husband and I are happy and financially stable, and that's really all I could ask for.

The hardest part about dropping out of high school is telling people. Few people will take the time to listen and understand. So I want to thank everyone right now for listening to my story. I don't want to feel ashamed anymore. I don't want to try to hide this aspect of my life. This is a large part of who I am. When I say "this", I don't mean being a drop out. I mean the struggles I experienced for nine years leading up to that decision.

I'm not a drop-out. I'm a survivor.