February 18th 2017
Today I sent food back for the first time in my life. I sent my cooked breakfast back because it came with tomato, and I’d specifically asked for no tomato.
Now, that may seem like a fairly insignificant part of ones day – certainly not enough to warrant an entire blog post – but for me, it was significant.
See, I’ve historically been the type of person who in that situation would just accept the fact that my breakfast had been screwed up, and not mention it. It’s a combination of the fact that I worked as a waiter for six years, plus my often-crippling social anxiety that prevents me from causing a fuss in that situation.
Alice and I went to Cote Brasserie for breakfast, and I ordered my fry-up with no tomato, plus extra sausage. But when he brought it over there was no extra sausage, and the tomato remained. He put it in front of me, and at that point, I’d’ve previously ignored it, but for some reason, I’m now capable of speaking up in that situation. So I told the waiter the problem, that there was tomato when I’d asked for it without, and he went and fixed it for me, “no worries, sorry about that sir.”
Maybe what previously stopped me was that I thought that I was being rude. Except it’s not really rude, is it? I ordered it, I’m paying for it, so I should get what I wanted, right? A lot of people wouldn’t even have to think twice about that, but until today I’ve never been able to.
It’s a little victory, and a miniscule milestone. That being said, I got a hair cut today and the only words I spoke to my hairdresser in the entire thirty minutes I was in her chair were “scissors on top” and “don’t worry about the change.”
So, you know, baby steps.
I think it was the first time I’ve ever sent back food I’ve ordered in my entire life. And I’m wondering what’s changed.
Perhaps it’s because I’m, y’know, twenty three – a fully fledged adult with a house and a TV license. (The TV license probably isn’t relevant, but it just makes me feel old – and upset – that I have to pay it)
Maybe it’s that I’ve grown in confidence since I started my new job.
Maybe I’ve been out of the service industry for long enough that I no longer worry about annoying a comrade.
Maybe it’s because it really isn’t a big deal when you think about it.
But, for us overly-analytical, socially awkward, hyper-conscious British snowflakes that wouldn’t dream of causing a fuss, it’s for some reason a big deal.
For me, at least.
Until tomorrow, plus, I really don’t like tomatoes.