When we received our stunningly lousy service at Tumbleweed on the River, I could have raised a terrible stink or left in a huff. I was actually leaning hard toward the latter, but allowed myself to be swayed by another member of the party. I did actually attempt to get the manager to come over, but that didn't happen. Yes, I could have insisted, but since we eventually got the service we wanted, it at least partially made up for the problem. In the middle of all of this, I could not help but study the situation as it was unfolding, and it reveals mind-boggling incompetence on multiple levels, all of which boil down to one simple problem: Every single individual working in that restaurant approached their jobs with a silo-ed attitude. As long as they focused on the one task assigned to them, nothing else mattered. Tumbleweed suffers greatly from Not My Job Syndrome.
Consider this: We were seated at a table that was assigned to a particular individual. That individual failed from the start by not approaching the table as soon as we were seated. During the time that we waited to be served, two or three other servers walked past our table many times, not once making eye contact with us or in any way acknowledging our presence in the establishment. Because it was not their job to do so.
After our server finally came over to take our drink and appetizer orders, a number of subsequent issues occurred that more fully illustrate this failure. We were supposed to be served chips and salsa after being seated. When our server returned to our table with our drinks, we still did not have those chips. At what point does a glimmer of light come on in that cave? one wonders. You'd think that would have prompted him to say, "Oh, I see you have no chips yet. I'll get right on that." But, no. Fetching the chips for restaurant diners is not his job.
The most colossally dumbfounding behavior that occurred was when someone emerged from the kitchen to plop a cup of queso in the middle of our empty table. Empty, as in, no chips. Well, Denise, dontcha think that'd make ya wonder fer just a second that maybe something was wrong?! (Okay, you really have to channel John C. McGinley's voice on that one for the true value.)
Once again, this employee quietly turned away and shambled back to the kitchen like the mindless, zombified slacker that he was.
So we continued to wait, and all the while, other servers were zipping past briskly to take care of their tables while our guy did his best impression of the INVISIBLE FUCKING MAN. I have to admit, he's very good at it. There could be a Broadway show in the works. "Holy shit! He just fucking disappeared on stage! How do they do that without digital effects?! It's fucking amazing!"
It wasn't until I electrocuted the young guy who was serving the table behind us, waking him from his Matrix-like slumber, that we were able to secure any service for a good half an hour. Unfortunately, his masters quickly saw that he'd gone off program and nipped that virus in the bud. Damn shame. He would've made a pretty good house slave.
When the Invisible Waiter finally came back as we were enjoying our meal, he was full of apologies about how he was just so terribly overworked. Jeez Louise! And I guess every other person in the joint was apparently just given the easiest shift in the history of restaurant work. All ya had to do was take two steps in our direction every now and again and say, "Hey, how's it going?" and then double over after the accidental kick to your friggin' coconut basket I so dearly wanted to deliver.
But I digress. It is clear from the way we were constantly ignored that everyone working at this establishment was completely incapable of thinking outside of that tiny little program they were fed. "Must serve table 3. Table 4 not look happy. Not my job. Serve table 3. Serve table 3."
Wake the fuck up, people! Who decided it was a good idea to learn how to do this work from Shitty Restaurant Management for Dummies?
Yeah, it shouldn't be Jane Schmoe's job to pick up Crappy Joe's slack, but at least Janey can walk over to Crappy and say, "Hey, you're doing a shitty job again," right?
You can be the best server in the history of restaurant servers, but if all you ever do is just the task you're assigned and nothing else, you're a shitty employee. Shitty. Say it with me: shitty.
Sunday, April 13, 2014
Tumbleweed on the River: Don't go in hungry
Lonely.
That's what you might be if you're a diner at Tumbleweed on the River at 1201 River Rd in Louisville, KY, as lonely as this cup of queso.
Notice anything missing there? Yep, you guessed it. No chips. What? We're supposed to eat this stuff with a spoon?
If you find yourself wandering somewhere around the Waterfront, maybe strolling across the Big Four Bridge, and you get that rumbly-in-the-tummy feeling, you're likely to think, "Hey, Tumbleweed's right over here! Let's go have some chips and salsa!" And maybe a burrito, or, if you're more health conscious, perhaps a grilled-chicken taco salad.
Well, if you have that thought, let me just warn you: Don't do it. Just tell your rumbly tummy no. No!
It must be really hopping today, we thought after we arrived and were told there was a 10-15-minute wait for outdoor seating.
We waited 25. At that point I had just risen to tell the hostess that we'd just take whatever was available. As it happened, as I was approaching the hostess station, I received the text stating that our table was ready. There were three of us. A party of six was being seated at the same time we were.
I expected to see a lot of full tables when we were led to the outdoor patio. Instead, most of the tables were empty. Okay, I understand that staffing levels dictate the wait rather than table availability, but still.
The children were already a little disgruntled at having had to wait half an hour to be seated.
We were ushered to a spot in the sun in the middle of the patio.
At the adjacent table, the manager was trying to placate diners who were complaining about the service. She explained that the issue was not with their server, but with the kitchen. I was thinking, "Yeah, right."
We did a little musical chairs at the table, as two of the three in our party didn't want the sun hitting them in the face. And then we sat. And waited. And waited. The debate began to percolate over whether we should just get up and leave or flag someone down to find out who our server was.
I had a pretty good idea who our server was supposed to be. It was the guy who'd been the target of the earlier complaint and was doing everything he could to make the folks at the other table happy—at our expense of course. I was going to flag down someone to ask who our server was, but it was like trying to communicate with factory robots.
Eventually, our server came to the table to take our drink order and get us some chips and salsa and was gone before I could tell him we also wanted a queso.
And then we waited again. When he finally returned with our drinks, I told him we wanted to order a queso. At this point, we were still without chips and salsa, a fact that seemed to escape his notice.
Once again he vanished. And we waited again.
I saw him flit numerous times from a table just inside the open patio doors to one just outside a few feet away from ours. Not once did he make eye contact with us or stop by to check on us. It was really as if he was deliberately ignoring us.
Once again, our conversation turned to whether we should get someone to call the manager over or just leave. I was leaning heavily toward just getting up and leaving.
Someone from the kitchen materialized at the table with a cup of queso and placed on our table, once again oblivious to the fact that there were still no chips, and disappeared before our shocked astonishment could wear off enough for us say, "Yo, where are the chips?!"
And we sat there stunned and dumbfounded, staring at a lonely bowl of queso, for half an hour. The consensus was for us to call for the manager instead of leaving, but I honestly just wanted to leave at this point.
I flagged down another server who was busily taking care of the party of six that was seated at the same time we were. By this time they already had their meals.
I told him I wanted see the manager. He asked if there was anything he could help with in the meantime, and I pointed to the solitary queso in the middle of the table and told him that we could also use a refill on the drinks we'd emptied long ago.
He returned with chips, salsa and drinks. I thought he was also fetching the manager as well, but she never showed up at our table.
So we nibbled at the chips, salsa and queso and waited even longer. Eventually, our server resurfaced again to find out if we needed a drink refill. We did.
His absence this time around wasn't quite as long, but his visit to our table was just as brusque as the previous.
After finishing off the chips and queso, we sat drumming our fingers for another long wait.
Eventually, our food arrived and we were finally able to eat.
We arrived at Tumbleweed at approximately 15 minutes after 2:00PM. We were seated at 2:40PM after a 10-15-minute wait. We had our meals in front of us at 3:45PM and left sunburned and disgruntled around 4:30PM.
As we walked through the restaurant, we passed the manager as she was having a discussion with diners at one of the indoor tables, no doubt defending her staff against complaints.
Thus Tumbleweed on the River has been added to our growing list of establishments we shall never visit again, no matter how famished we are.
Notice anything missing there? Yep, you guessed it. No chips. What? We're supposed to eat this stuff with a spoon?
If you find yourself wandering somewhere around the Waterfront, maybe strolling across the Big Four Bridge, and you get that rumbly-in-the-tummy feeling, you're likely to think, "Hey, Tumbleweed's right over here! Let's go have some chips and salsa!" And maybe a burrito, or, if you're more health conscious, perhaps a grilled-chicken taco salad.
Well, if you have that thought, let me just warn you: Don't do it. Just tell your rumbly tummy no. No!
It must be really hopping today, we thought after we arrived and were told there was a 10-15-minute wait for outdoor seating.
We waited 25. At that point I had just risen to tell the hostess that we'd just take whatever was available. As it happened, as I was approaching the hostess station, I received the text stating that our table was ready. There were three of us. A party of six was being seated at the same time we were.
I expected to see a lot of full tables when we were led to the outdoor patio. Instead, most of the tables were empty. Okay, I understand that staffing levels dictate the wait rather than table availability, but still.
The children were already a little disgruntled at having had to wait half an hour to be seated.
We were ushered to a spot in the sun in the middle of the patio.
At the adjacent table, the manager was trying to placate diners who were complaining about the service. She explained that the issue was not with their server, but with the kitchen. I was thinking, "Yeah, right."
We did a little musical chairs at the table, as two of the three in our party didn't want the sun hitting them in the face. And then we sat. And waited. And waited. The debate began to percolate over whether we should just get up and leave or flag someone down to find out who our server was.
I had a pretty good idea who our server was supposed to be. It was the guy who'd been the target of the earlier complaint and was doing everything he could to make the folks at the other table happy—at our expense of course. I was going to flag down someone to ask who our server was, but it was like trying to communicate with factory robots.
Eventually, our server came to the table to take our drink order and get us some chips and salsa and was gone before I could tell him we also wanted a queso.
And then we waited again. When he finally returned with our drinks, I told him we wanted to order a queso. At this point, we were still without chips and salsa, a fact that seemed to escape his notice.
Once again he vanished. And we waited again.
I saw him flit numerous times from a table just inside the open patio doors to one just outside a few feet away from ours. Not once did he make eye contact with us or stop by to check on us. It was really as if he was deliberately ignoring us.
Once again, our conversation turned to whether we should get someone to call the manager over or just leave. I was leaning heavily toward just getting up and leaving.
Someone from the kitchen materialized at the table with a cup of queso and placed on our table, once again oblivious to the fact that there were still no chips, and disappeared before our shocked astonishment could wear off enough for us say, "Yo, where are the chips?!"
And we sat there stunned and dumbfounded, staring at a lonely bowl of queso, for half an hour. The consensus was for us to call for the manager instead of leaving, but I honestly just wanted to leave at this point.
I flagged down another server who was busily taking care of the party of six that was seated at the same time we were. By this time they already had their meals.
I told him I wanted see the manager. He asked if there was anything he could help with in the meantime, and I pointed to the solitary queso in the middle of the table and told him that we could also use a refill on the drinks we'd emptied long ago.
He returned with chips, salsa and drinks. I thought he was also fetching the manager as well, but she never showed up at our table.
So we nibbled at the chips, salsa and queso and waited even longer. Eventually, our server resurfaced again to find out if we needed a drink refill. We did.
His absence this time around wasn't quite as long, but his visit to our table was just as brusque as the previous.
After finishing off the chips and queso, we sat drumming our fingers for another long wait.
Eventually, our food arrived and we were finally able to eat.
We arrived at Tumbleweed at approximately 15 minutes after 2:00PM. We were seated at 2:40PM after a 10-15-minute wait. We had our meals in front of us at 3:45PM and left sunburned and disgruntled around 4:30PM.
As we walked through the restaurant, we passed the manager as she was having a discussion with diners at one of the indoor tables, no doubt defending her staff against complaints.
Thus Tumbleweed on the River has been added to our growing list of establishments we shall never visit again, no matter how famished we are.
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