It’s amazing to me that comfort and hospitality are two concepts that did not occur to the hosts and managers at that chain. Why would anyone want to juggle a drink under such circumstances, with chaos going on around and no place to sit? Are they so focused on making a buck that they forget the other reason they are in business–to make their guests feel welcome and wanted?

It all falls under the title of “what were they thinking?”

I wonder if you can call New York a culture. I was born here and there are certain things I still can’t get over. In a coffee shop when the wait staff tosses thick porcelain dishes in a pail of dirty cups and plates, it makes a huge clattering noise that to me is what nails on a blackboard sounds to others. I hate it and even if I’m eating the best grilled cheese sandwich in the city, I won’t go back.

Thanks for your comment. Due to your reminiscence of the lower east side, I will be thinking not of pastrami but of corned beef on a roll as I dig into my yogurt at lunch today. The pickles you find at that and other delis like it in NYC are unequalled. In fact, they spoil me so that I can’t tolerate any others. And pickles–bright green, crunchy, not sour–are one of my favorite food groups!

Interesting and unusual, not in the greeting you didn’t receive, but in the response of the establishment. I wonder what was really going on at that front desk when you and your husband came in. Maybe there is another explanation about what happened.

I’ve been eating in restaurants for longer probably than you’ve been alive, and the welcomes I’ve experienced have run the gamut from my being aggressively abused to my believing I’d actually passed through the pearly gates.

Abused is what I felt when, in the early 1960s, I was taken, after I first moved to New York, to eat on the lower east side of the city. Fortunately, I had been warned that the abuse was part of the place’s “charm,” and that if I focused on the pastrami and raw onion on rye and the pickles, I’d be O.K. I did. It was absolutely delicious, but I never went back, not because the food wasn’t great, but because I don’t care to be abused even if it is supposed to be “charming.” I guess it is a cultural thing.

Heaven is what I was in when we ate for the first time in a suburban restaurant in San Sebastian, Spain, a couple of years ago. It was freezing rain when we arrived and a young lady rushed out with a big umbrella to help us up the steps to the restaurant door from our taxi, warning us as we went up that marble steps were slippery and icy. Service for the next three plus hours was so smooth, seamlessly detailed and unobtrusive, that I fell into a trance believing for first time in reincarnation I had come back to earth as royalty!

The secret to the place may be the shy young chef, an up and coming star in international cuisine. When he came out after desert to ask us what we thought of his cooking, he spoke only Spanish. When we asked him if he had ever traveled to the States, he said no. He preferred cooking to traveling, No signature jam pots for him, three stars or no. Our waiter subsequently told us that he was a tyrant with short fuse should anything be not exactly the way he wanted it.

I suspect what may have been wrong with those three “statues” behind the desk you described is that you and your husband didn’t fit the image or demographic of what those pretty young things thought ought to be eating in their restaurant. Then again, service in American restaurants has always been hit or miss – I suppose it is the equalitarian cant of the place. Who knows?

Milt

Ages ago my husband and I were in a fairly new Brooklyn neighborhood restaurant where we were asked to sit at the bar to wait for the very next free table. We did not have a reservation.

So we ordered drinks–I hate to feel that pressure–when another couple came in. The owner or manager greeted them loudly [the bar was by the door] and said he was so glad to see them, and sure, he had a table for them [obviously, they, too had no reservation] and sat them down immediately. With this, my husband gave the bartender money for our drinks and without saying a word, bolted out the door. The bartender didn’t speak much English and was shocked at our leaving. I explained that my husband didn’t like being treated this way. We never gave this place a second chance!

I’ve been with people who snap their fingers and act aggressive and pushy at a restaurant, usually about some trivial thing, and I want to crawl under a table.

Many take my approach as a sign of weakness, that I’m not standing up for myself. If I am abused–such as made to wait an exorbitant amount of time for my order—believe me, I speak up, but otherwise I either leave or don’t return.

I’ve had store clerks send me running for the door–either by ignoring me or saying right off the bat, “The sales rack is over there” all the while giving me “elevator eyes” without so much as a hello.

I think that people who are “instinctively” motivated were at some point taught to be that way (that’s why, Jeanne, you asked if their parents ever entertained at home.) We’re talking about manners here. I had a mentor of sorts in my first job out of college. She was older, smart, efficient and I adored her. She was rather crusty, too, and at one point growled, “Will you please stop thanking me every time I answer one of your questions? You shouldn’t thank me for doing my job.” I told her that I couldn’t help myself, that saying thank you was automatic for me, and that it was the way I was raised.

I can’t say how to motivate people other than to say that a little kindness goes a long way. And that praise is free. I’d rather hear praise for a job well job than to attend any office party or get any box of cookies at holiday time. And I’d prefer to work for someone who can do my job better than I can and will show me how–because that’s how I can learn.

I will need to think about what you say about self-esteem–lack of same–leading to someone not being welcoming. I can see this in a one-on-one situation where shyness can throw up armors of arrogance and shields of coldness–but not at a job. But that’s because 1) I find that I can be bold at work—far more than in personal situations. 2) How would someone—or in this case three people—be so shy as to accept a front desk job at a busy restaurant where, as Carolyn DeFir wrote, 200 guests come in nightly and 3) How did they pass an interview for a job like this?

As for the second chance, the converse is true with me. In personal relationships, I give more than a second chance. In business situations, I’m not usually forgiving. I return where I am welcome, whether at a coffee shop, elegant restaurant or street vendor. Apart from not wanting to spend my money where I am not wanted, I like feeling comfortable. A smile and cheerful attitude wins over little mistakes with me every time. I felt Ms. DeFir’s smile and as you pointed out assurance that we are welcome.

I speak to groups and coach individuals about the importance of building relationships that have distinction … which leads to business, connections, friendships, jobs and being invited by others to share in their social networks. Being the first to reach out and make someone else feel comfortable, sharing a personal greeting and a kindred spirit develops self-confidence, charm, and manners faster than any self-help book or workshop. I believe it’s often a lack of self-esteem that prevents people from being welcoming to others but that’s certainly no excuse.

Making a positive first impression is the first step in building a personal brand that is remembered and stands apart. It’s that important. And, no, I don’t think service staff instinctively understand the inportance of excellence in customer service. There will always be those who do it so much better than others though because they appreciate they have the power to change the customer experience. The Service of Welcome is an honorable role no matter what the job.

I applaud the Service Director at Convivio for taking responsibility, quickly reaching out to you and letting you know they value your patronage. There are times when we all need a second chance.