Dexter parked his car in the crowded parking lot of the chain steakhouse. Cleared by his doctor to increase his level of activity, and to expand his diet, Dexter had chosen a steak dinner as the ideal way to celebrate. It was true that steak, specifically, hadn't been added to his diet, but Dexter figured that was just a minor technicality.
A crowd of people, mostly smokers, were waiting for tables in front of the restaurant. Although he wasn't a smoker, he thought it was wrong that they weren't allowed smoking areas where they could smoke their foul cigarettes, while letting non-smokers be free of having to smell it. Instead, the laws seemed to cast smokers into a semi-criminal status. He could empathize with the smokers. He viewed it as more laws intended to manipulate people into behaving in a manner that someone else had decided was in their best interests.
In a way, he couldn't figure out the insane policies of the government. It provided subsidies for the tobacco companies, but it didn't want them to advertise so that the subsidies would be unnecessary. It generated revenue from the taxes levied on tobacco products, yet argued against the sales of the products. It criminalized the use of the product while allowing it to be sold.
Inside the restaurant, there was a crowd of people waiting to get seated. Dexter made his way through the crowd to add his name to the list and was told that it would be an hour wait. The hostess gave him a dirty look when he stated that he was alone. He was given a plastic pager to let him know when a table became available.
There weren't any seats available in the waiting area, although there were a few in the bar. He considered the bar, but held back. He didn't really want to drink on an empty stomach. He joined the crowd around the hostess station. There were only seats for about ten customers, and there were at least forty people waiting for a table.
He leaned against a wall examining the décor of the restaurant. There was a strong Texas and cowboy theme. Pictures of famous Hollywood cowboys hung on the wall. There was a saddle mounted over the entrance into the dining area. Spurs, cowboy hats, old tools, kerosene lanterns, and branding irons filled in the spaces on the wall. Considering that this was a national chain, he wondered where they managed to find so much western memorabilia.
He watched others when informed they had a table. The hostess would take the pager from them and then head off into the dining area expecting the customers to follow her. Sometimes the hostess even told the customers to follow her. Once on her way, she never looked back to see if they were behind her. The customers followed along like baby ducklings trailing their mother.
The customers who had arrived before him were slowly seated. The space taken up in the waiting area was filled by new customers. Some groups talked among themselves while others just stood around waiting to be seated. Most groups with young kids didn't even try to wait for a table, but turned around and left. An hour was a long time to wait for a table.
He thought about the other steakhouses in the area. The fancy ones didn't serve steaks on the bone. It was always a New York Strip, Filet Mignon, or a Rib Eye. The high priced steakhouses had asparagus, baked potatoes or fancy mashed potatoes for sides. They served garden salads with fancy dressings.
The problem was that he liked a good sized Porterhouse steak, cooked medium rare. He liked a baked sweet potato with butter, sugar, and cinnamon as a side, and a lettuce salad with Thousand Island dressing. This particular chain delivered exactly that, and at a price that people could afford. If he was to get the meal he wanted, he had to come to this chain ... or one just like it.
The problem with chains was that despite the lousy service, they provided a product that was exactly what the customer wanted, at a price the customer could afford. People who wanted something specific would accept lousy service if the price was right. On the other hand, if the price was high, they wanted the right item and excellent service.
A rule of thumb for project management in engineering is that one can have it fast, cheap, or quality, but not all three. Dexter had come to the conclusion that when it came to purchasing, one could have the item, the price, or the service, but not all three.
Chains emphasized the item and the price at the expense of service. Unfortunately, it seemed to Dexter that low price dominated the other two factors. People would accept an inferior item and poor service just because the price was right.
It seemed to Dexter that successful chains couldn't maintain their success for long. In a way, it was their very success and consequent growth that often led to their downfall. As the chain expanded, the operating costs increased, which then forced them to increase prices. They tended to die when they raised prices without improving the service.
Looking around the steakhouse, Dexter could see the beginnings of its downfall. The building was fifteen years old. In five years or less, it would need a major overhaul. That would cost money. Every year that passed would require increased maintenance expenditures. Soon, prices would have to increase. If the building was not significantly improved, people would interpret the poor surroundings as a lessening of the item they were purchasing – food and atmosphere.
The pager finally went off, and he headed over to the hostess. She gave him a weak wave to follow her, and then headed into the dining area. Dexter followed along like an obedient puppy. She never looked back to see if he was following her. When they reached the table, she put a menu down and then headed back to her station.
Her only statement was a quick, "Your waitperson will be with you soon," as she left.
Dexter sighed and took a seat. He realized that she had spoken five sentences to him from the time he had stepped to her station to be put on the waiting list and getting to his seat. She had asked him the size of his party, asked his name, told him it would be an hour wait, told him that the pager would let him know that his table was available, and lastly that his waiter or waitress would come to the table. He imagined that she was probably a pretty nice and friendly person, but it would be hard to prove based on her performance that evening.
The waitress arrived before Dexter had a chance to even open the menu. Looking down at her order pad, she asked, "What would you like to drink?"
"A Texas Long Neck," Dexter answered ordering a well known brand of beer.
He noticed that she never introduced herself.
"I'll bring it right out while you look at the menu," she said while turning away. She then walked off.
Dexter raised his hand to get her attention. He knew exactly what he wanted, and was ready to order. She never looked back at him. She went over to a kiosk and typed his drink order into it. She then headed off to another table.
After five minutes, she returned with his beer. While putting it on the table, she said, "What would you like?"
"The porterhouse steak, a baked sweet potato with butter and sugar and cinnamon, and a regular salad with thousand island dressing," Dexter answered.
The waitress scribbled his order down on a pad of paper, then asked, "Any appetizers?"
"No, thank you," Dexter said.
She grabbed the menu out of his hand and left. She went over to a kiosk and typed his order into the machine. Dexter watched her work. The waitress had ten tables in the dining area. Those ten tables keep her continuously moving. In a way, she reminded Dexter of a comet orbiting around the sun in an ever changing elliptical orbit. She would sweep over to a table, and then make her way back to the kiosk.
Based on his observations, she made six visits to each table for each seating of customers. The first was to get the drink order, the second was to deliver the drink and get the food order, the third was to deliver the food, the fourth was to drop off the check, the fifth to pick up the payment, and the sixth was to return the credit card or change. She spent less than a minute at the table for each visit. In fact, it seemed to him that she spent more time at the kiosk than she did at any single table.
The waitress was not the only one working in her area. There were three people delivering food to various tables in the dining room, and another two busboys, who were clearing plates from tables as quickly as people finished eating. This was 'production line service'. He realized that the tips were being split among all of the people working in the area.
Dexter turned his attention to the customers. It was obvious that the pace of service was being dictated by the staff rather than the customers. Some customers seemed to be oblivious to the service, barely giving any attention to the waitstaff. Others looked a little irritated as if the pace of service mismatched their pace of eating. Some were fast eaters and kept looking for their waitperson. Others were slow eaters and reacted like they were being rushed through their meals.
Dexter's salad was delivered by a guy carrying several meals on a large tray. He set up a stand while holding the large tray in one hand. He deftly maneuvered the tray onto the stand. He glanced down at a small slip of paper and looked at Dexter.
"Salad with Thousand Island?"
"Yes," Dexter answered.
The salad and a basket containing a single bun were set on the table. The man picked up the tray and stand. He left without saying another word. By the time Dexter finished unwrapping his silverware, the guy was delivering food at another table.
The salad dressing was in a little cup on the plate of salad. Dexter turned the cup over and scraped out the dressing on the salad. It fell in one mass. He stirred his salad to mix the glop of salad dressing that sat atop the lettuce with the rest of the salad.
He ate his salad. It was nothing special. A little lettuce, two wedges of tomato, a couple pieces of onion, a few bits of purple cabbage, and a sprinkle of croutons. In a way, that pleased him. He was tired of getting served garden salads that had leafs from plants that he didn't recognize. The fact was, he didn't even like the taste of a garden salad. He wondered if the contents of a garden salad were easier to grow than iceberg lettuce and that explained the predominance of it in restaurants today.
He hadn't finished eating his salad when a different guy arrived with a tray loaded with meals appeared at the table. The guy set up the stand and set the tray on it. He looked down at a little slip of paper.
"Porterhouse with sweet potato?"
"Yes," Dexter answered.
"The plate is hot," the guy said by rote.
"Thanks," Dexter said.
The guy deposited the food and then immediately picked up the tray and stand. He was gone before Dexter had finished checking to make sure that the order was correct.
Dexter rearranged his plates so that he could get started on the steak while it was still hot. He glanced over at where he had slid the salad plate, but it was gone. Someone had snatched it while he had been distracted.
The porterhouse was twenty-two ounces of meat and filled the plate with just a little room left for his baked sweet potato. The sweet potato had a load of butter and a huge pile of the cinnamon and sugar mix. He cut a little piece of meat off the steak and then trimmed off the bit of fat that was around the edge of the steak.
He was about to take a bite when a woman's voice next to him said, "Dexter! What are you doing?"
Shocked, Dexter looked up to find Samantha standing next to his table. She had her hands on her hips and a frown on her face. It reminded him of the expression on her face when he had first met her. He had come to label that expression angry concern.
He held up the fork with the piece of steak on it and said, "I'm eating a steak."
"Did your doctor tell you that you could eat steak?" Samantha asked.
"Well ... not exactly..." Dexter started to answer.
Samantha looked at the steak and said, "That is a monster. You'll be back in the hospital if you eat all of that."
"Well..." Dexter said.
"You should have ordered the petite filet mignon if you wanted a steak," Samantha said.
"I wanted a porterhouse," Dexter said. He flashed on the kids in the ice cream parlor shouting that they wanted their ice creams with sprinkles. He hoped he didn't come across that way.
Samantha said, "You should have gotten the small T-bone. It's the same cut of meat."
"I like a porterhouse," Dexter said. "It's bigger, it's thicker, and it tastes better."
Amber appeared next to Samantha. She looked at his plate and said, "That's not on your diet."
Dexter wondered if he was dreaming. There was no way that Samantha and Amber should be together at the steakhouse where he was falling off his diet in a major way.
"Amber? What are you doing here?"
"Sam and I came over here to eat," Amber answered.
"You and Sam?" Dexter asked looking from one woman to the next.
"Yes," Amber answered.
"I didn't see you in the waiting area," Dexter said wondering how they had managed to sneak in without him seeing them.
Amber said, "I stopped by here on my way to the gym, and put my name on the waiting list. After a half-hour workout, we came over here."
"That's smart," Dexter said.
"We better get over to our table," Amber said.
"Okay," Samantha said. She turned to Dexter and then said, "Eat only a third of that. You can take the rest home in a doggy bag."
"I suppose you're right," Dexter said.
Samantha walked over to a table and took a seat. Amber leaned over and caressed his cheek with her hand.
She said, "Dexter, take care of yourself."
"I will," Dexter said.
"Good," Amber said.
He watched her join Samantha at their table. He wondered if Samantha knew what Amber did for a living. He doubted it. The two women laughed about something. Samantha glanced over at him. They chatted some more and then Amber glanced over at him.
Enjoying his meal, Dexter ate a third of his steak and polished off the baked sweet potato. He sopped up the juices from the steak with the bun. To him, that was one of the great pleasures of eating a steak. He put down his silverware and pushed the plate away so that he wouldn't be tempted to finish the rest of the steak. He knew that the two women were right. He really shouldn't have ordered such a big steak. He drank down the last of his beer.
One of people who cleared tables stopped by his table and asked, "Are you done with your meal?"
"Yes. Could I have that wrapped to go?" Dexter asked.
"Sure," the guy answered.
The guy tossed all of the dirty dishes onto a tray. He walked off with the tray. Five minutes later he returned with a paper bag and dropped it on the table without saying a word.
His waitress stopped by and asked, "Any dessert?"
"No," Dexter answered.
She dropped the bill on the table and said, "I'll be back to get that."
She walked off. Dexter dug through his wallet to find his debit card. He slipped it into the plastic folder that held the bill so that the card was showing. He sat there thinking about how no one had asked him if the steak had been prepared correctly. No one had asked him if he had enjoyed the meal. In fact, no one had said anything beyond what was required to accomplish their jobs.
He figured a few more years of this kind of service and waitresses would be replaced by ordering pads at the table. He knew there were a few problems that had to be solved before that could happen. He wondered how the restaurant manager would assure a slightly rushed flow through the restaurant.
He thought about the problem for a minute and realized that he would have customers order their meal at a kiosk before getting seated. That would free up about five minutes of time spent at the table. People could be taken to their seats with their food appearing almost at the same time. That might free up another ten or more minutes spent at the table. A small dessert kiosk at the table would solve the rest of the problem.
If he were in charge, he'd keep a person around to take care of the bill despite the fact that they could pay for their meal when they ordered it. That would enable them to gently push customers out of the restaurant when they finished their meal. Some folks might be tempted to sit around after the meal having a conversation. That would hold up a table for a lot longer. With that kind of operation, a restaurant could double or triple the number of customers handled in an hour.
It dawned on him that it would be a modern version of the automat with the advantage that it would have a facade of a regular restaurant. The idea of that really depressed him. He knew that if he could think of it, so would some smart businessman. It was going to happen unless society really rebelled against the idea.
He thought about it some more and realized that the self-service buffet had already gone beyond that point. The customer had replaced the waiter and server. About the only jobs left were the hostess, cook, busboy, and cashier.
Without him noticing it, the bill had been collected and his debit card returned. He stared at the charge slip wondering what to put down for a tip. It was one of those aspects of dining out that he had trouble with.
He glanced around the restaurant at the people. The staff was working hard. They were in constant motion. They each did their job. He knew they would be tired by the end of their shift.
Still, what they were doing wasn't what he would call service. The meal was good, but that was covered in the price of the food. He looked at the tax and wrote that down as the tip. He was sure the waitstaff would consider him a jerk, but it hadn't been good service and he wasn't going to reward it as such.
Dexter grabbed his bag and started to head out. He stopped when he realized that he hadn't said goodbye to Amber and Samantha. He went over to the table where they were seated. On arriving there, he said, "I hope you enjoy your meal."
"Thanks, Dexter," Amber said.
Winking at Amber, Samantha said, "We'll spend the whole meal gossiping about you. That will be fun."
Holding up his doggy bag, Dexter said, "I only ate a third of the steak."
"And I'll work it off of you, tomorrow," Samantha said with a smile.
"Why do I believe you?" Dexter said looking worried.
Amber and Samantha burst out laughing.
Edited By TeNderLoin