The FLL Case Study in Exquisite Service

Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood International Airport.  Some people love it, most people just think of it as Broward County’s HELL.  To be fair, this airport is preferable to the hustle and bustle of MIA, and your flight has a good chance of on-time performance so long as you are not flying amongst hurricanes in the late Summer/Fall.

I digress… Be not bamboozled by the post title, for this anecdote has diddly to do with flying, airplanes, on-time performance, or aviation at all!  Friends, we have met the ultimate scofflaw, and her name is “Veronica*.”

Veronica’s abhorrent ingress into my life occurred during an otherwise equable sally from Lauderdale to Washington, DC.  It involved a catastrophic decision to dine at “Vito’s Gourmet Deli” and, more importantly, to eat a Meatball Sandwich.  Please take a moment to picture the perfect meatball sandwich in  your head.  Actually, it does not matter what picture came to mind, as long as it involved copious amounts of white bubbly melted cheese (and if you specifically pictured “White American Cheese” please leave this blog immediately, and send an email to admin [searchforservice@gmail.com] so we can subtract one visitor from our now tarnished stats.)  It may not look exactly like the picture below but should be close:

Courtesy voodoolily.blogspot.com

This is NOT up for discussion; the true Gentleman will insist that there are only two ingredients of paramount importance to make the quintessential sandwich:  MEAT AND CHEESE.  Furthermore, a meatball sandwich requires said cheese to be melted and plentiful.

Vito’s is a simple counter-service deli operated by the Delaware North Companies that featured an unhappy employee at the register named Veronica.  As the time to order drew near, a customer three spaces ahead ordered a meatball sandwich.  One should always consider such an event a great twist of fate; a sort of ‘preview’ of your dining experience to come.  Just as Veronica asked, “Can I help you with something…?” the meatball sandwich was delivered to the gentleman at the front of the queue.  After one glance, he removed a large rope from his carry-on baggage, looped it over the fluorescent lamp above, hopped up on a table, and began tying a hangman’s knot.  Yes, it was that depressing… Anemic amounts of impossible-to-melt grated Parmesan cheese on dry meatballs with a par-baked roll.

After a 15 minutes of psyching myself out about meatball sandwiches I was determined to press forward and correct the issues I observed with the preview sandwich and get a properly executed Meatball sub.  The conversation that ensued went something like this:

“Meatball Sandwich, please!  Please toast the bread and add some extra sauce.  In addition, what kind of cheese is available?”

Veronica: “It comes with Mozzarella”

“Perfect! Extra Mozzarella please!”

V: “$9.50″

Sounds simple enough and the exchange was brief, to the point, and, yes, appropriate for an airport deli.  The sandwich was delivered in about 5 minutes swimming in sauce with a toasted roll, but alas, grated Parmesan cheese.

“Excuse me, may I have some mozzarella for this sandwich?”

V takes the sandwich and exclaims: “It’s on there, NEXT”

“No, no this is Parmesan, I need some Mozarella, you know, the kind that MELTS”

V: “It is mozzarella, and that’s all we have”

“This is definitely not mozzarella, it’s finely grated in a powder and not melting, you can’t even grate mozzarella like this!”

V raises her voice: “What is it you want from me?  What are you trying to get? you got what you asked for!”

“I just want some mozzarella for my sandwich; you know, a meatball sandwich with melted cheese! That’s why I asked you before I ordered what kind of cheese is on it.  This is NOT mozzarella, and if you want to continue to argue about it you can show me a package of it with the label on”

V: “Fine I will do that right now, SIR!”  She leaves the queue of about 10 people to go to the back room, rummages awhile, and returns, “There aren’t anymore boxes of it.  That cheese is all we use and it’s mozzarella so you’re not getting your money back”

“I don’t want my money back I want melted cheese on my damned sandwich” (Looked over to the Hispanic man preparing the dishes, currently prepping a personal pizza by adding shredded mozzarella cheese to a frozen and sauced crust).  “May I have some of that (Pointing) cheese in side cup so I can put it on my sandwich?”

V: “Sir, that cheese is for the pizzas, you can’t use it on your sandwich.  What’s the DIFFERENCE anyway? There’s cheese on it.”

Take a moment to let it all sink in.  If you are steaming at home, just imagine the Armageddon at the deli!  At this point, all control was lost and a yelling match ensued between me and Veronica.  Very rarely will a gentleman loose his cool in such situations so we can skip the unproductive pissing contest that developed.  I hastily read the sign on the register: “Did we forget to give you a receipt? Please call 1-800-xxx-xxxx.”  Quickly dialing the number on my BlackBerry, I made my way back to my assigned gate.  I left a message for the manager in charge of hospitality, calmly letting him know of the incident that occurred.  I did not ask for anything in return but left my phone number if he had any questions.  I recommended Veronica be fired.

Fast forward to Washington, DC two days later;  BlackBerry lights up with a suspicious area code.  Begrudgingly accepting the call, I was greeted by a cheerful “Steven*” from Fort Lauderdale Airport.  At this point I thought I had left a bag at the airport and had no idea what he could be calling about, but he set the record straight and began quizzing me on the incidents that transpired on that dreadful day.  I explained to him that one envisions and expects a meatball sandwich with melted gooey cheese, and painted a mental image for him of my choppers lacerating the crusty bread, seizing a large chunk of seasoned ground beef, lips pursing around the remaining strings of cheese that form upon the withdrawal of the delicious sandwich from my face now blotchy with fresh marinara sauce.  A fellow gentleman, Steven paused to reflect a moment, no doubt salivating at the mere thought of such a heavenly culinary experience.  He agreed with me about the cheese, informed me Veronica has been disciplined, and asked for my address.  One week later, a letter arrived:

A note from Steven offering sincere apologies for my terrible experience, $15 dollars in Chili’s currency, and a Postal Money Order for $10 to compensate me for my $9.50 Meatball Sandwich.

MELTDOWN TURNED TO MEMORY.

At FLL, this Delaware North has a captive audience.  The only alternative passengers have is to bring their own food.  Steven did not have to go the extra step to fix this problem, but he is no doubt passionate about what he does, and perhaps even a reader of this very blog.  I may not dine at Vito’s again, but I will definitely perpetuate this experience within the industry.

*All names have been changed.