The other night, I called Outback to place a “takeaway” order.
The recording, after going through so much sales spiel, said the restaurant was closed.
It’s Tuesday night. I know that’s not right. Outback is our takeaway place of choice. You can eat pretty healthy there.
Salad, veggies, split a steak and we're good. And I dang sure know their schedules.
So, I drive up there.
I park in the “takeaway” parking spaces. There are no cars in the spaces. Zero. Weirdness. You usually have to wait for a takeaway ordering car to move so you can park. It's a great restaurant, with great take-out food.
I wait a minute, and decide to write down my order, and take it in.
I walk in to the order station. There's a customer standing there, one that's a polo player. Or polo horse owner, anyway. I can't remember his name, but I've met him. I say hello.
I tell the young lady working, “I tried to call in, but your machine says you’re closed.”
She says, “Yes, I know.”
Me: “You know?”
Her: “Well, our manager knows. He doesn’t know how to fix it.”
Me: “Really?”
Her: “Yes. It’s going on at Outbacks all over the country.”
Me: “Really?”
Her: “Yes. Our answering machines are all networked, so when one Outback is closed, they’re all messed up - the machines all say they're closed.”
Me: “Really?”
This customer, I'll call him Mr. Polo, standing beside me, is shaking his head “Yes.” Like he knows, too. Or, maybe, he’s heard the drill, already.
Me: “You know, I don’t think that’s the case.”
Her: “Why not?”
Me: “Because your answering machine notes that this is the Loop 250 location.”
Her: “What?”
Me: “Your answering machine says this is the Loop 250 location of Outback, in Midland, Texas.”
Her: speechless
Mr. Polo: Looks at me, nodding “Yes.” Again.
Me: “You might want to let your manager know that. Okay?”
I sweetly give her my hand-written order, smile, and go to the car to wait.
I’ve still not figured out what the heck Mr. Polo knew that I didn’t.
And I don't think anyone spit in our food.
Or that's my story anyway - and I'm sticking to it, Mate.
