I’ve been donating a disproportionate amount of my time lately, trying to resolve a rather nasty affair that’s broken out between Northeastern University’s Department of Admissions and Chris Nilan. Unfortunately, negotiations have ground to a stalemate and somehow I got portrayed as the bad guy. I’m hoping this post may inspire other Good Samaritans to step in and hopefully succeed where I have clearly failed.
Out of the full-time banquet servers, Lorik Berisha, Adil Belsany, Farid El-Khassissi(sp?), Djordge Nezic, and myself all drove our vehicles into work. Parking garages around the Back Bay are cost-prohibitive. Around 2011, Farid located an area within walking distance to the Mandarin Oriental which featured unmetered street parking. Since they still utilize this parking area, I cannot divulge the specific location.
Every food and beverage operation in the history of the world hits snags now and then. It’s the nature of a customer-driven business. In such a reality, I believe it is important to be proactive about how we approach our inevitable service failures.
I often brainstorm about possible guests approaches to poor food quality or late food arrival. The latest iteration of our Banquet Kitchen management regime is Chef Dan Burger and Sous Chef Mohammed Mohib. I couldn’t help but realize this offered us a dynamic explanation to any potential service failures w/r/t food.
W/R/T Ganesh Ramcharron. I left this part out of my documentation because I didn’t want to distract from what I believed were issues that needed to be addressed immediately.
Coupling service culture and colleague engagement through technological innovation
Walt hated my usage of the term Data Warehouse.
“It’s not a data warehouse…it’s not even close”, he scolded me.
“Whatever”, I said, “data warehouse sounds bad-ass.
Below is transcription of a screenshot of an MS Word document I texted to my MOBOS Banquet colleagues:
I just moved to Tennessee. I’ve been living in Boston for the last ten years. I’ve been in New England my whole life. That means I’m saddled with the most objectionable of tasks: meeting new people.
One of the first people I met was Lindsey Vonn’s boyfriend. I’m terrible with names. That’s probably a horrible attribute in a writer. Someone said he plays hockey, so I’ve been frequenting the pick-up games at Centennial Sportsplex. He hasn’t shown. I’m getting the sense that he’s actively resisting my follow-ups. I’m not sure what went wrong.
Just about all my other networking has been accomplished through a Sherman’s March to the Sea of consumer credit destruction throughout downtown Nashville as well as short hit-and-run missions into the Gulch and East Nashville. Reviewing my credit card statements on the first of the month brought on a sense of dread.
Realizing, in actuality, that I compiled those numbers in fifteen (15) days invoked a sense of something akin to Shock & Awe.
I could probably use my refrigerator for storage at this juncture. If I didn’t need ice cubes for my whiskey (why is whiskey more expensive in Tennessee than New Hampshire?!), that appliance could be unplugged altogether.
I went into Design Within Reach in order to splurge on a nice desk chair. I left with an interior decorator on my hands. She’s been emailing me every day with ideas for how to spend my money. She recently escalated to handwritten notes. This lady talks to me more than my Significant Other. The last time I spoke with her, she said “We need art for our space.”
By “We” and “Our” she meant me and her, the interior decorator.
I went into Nordstrom’s last week just to kill some time. I left that establishment with an image consultant. She may be even more efficient at spending my money than the interior decorator [~$1k in under 45 minutes (I was totally just looking!)].
I’m sending out this dispatch from deep behind enemy lines. I live my life in Boston, Massachusetts. I know, I know. Every day, I knock heads with the worst of the worst: knuckleheaded Bruins fans. They come at me constantly, fade haircut after fade haircut. They all talk trash about the Habs in that same mind-numbing accent, the one that pretty much crosses the line into an all-out speech impediment.
I walk among them.