Britney and the ten-year-old back seat driver
Hospitality lessons learned from travels with a kid.
February 27 is my wife’s birthday. It’s our daughter’s birthday, too. They were born 31 years apart, and our daughter was due to be born in May. I guess she thought she’d be the perfect birthday gift for her Mom. She was and, thirty-four years later, she still is.
I know the feeling. I entered the world on my Mom’s birthday, too, but instead of coming a couple of months early, I was a couple of days late.
This post is a tribute to the two women in my life who helped me learn how much you can love and care for other people. The two women who pushed, pulled, challenged, and changed me from the workaholic hermit I was, and showed me how much empathy, compassion, and caring would help me become a better, happier person.
Happy birthday, Kirsten and Vibe!
It’s also a tribute to all the hotel, restaurant, and hospitality staff around the world who showed us empathy, compassion, and caring on our travels.
The first big trip we took as a family was to Canada so my new family could meet my parents and my brothers and their families. After some delays, we landed in Vancouver on a dark and stormy September night. We were excited but tired and a four-hour drive across the mountains lay ahead. Traffic out of Vancouver was snarled and slow. Rain was pelting the windshield so hard the wipers could hardly keep up.
We were hungry. There was silence in the car. Although she’d only known me for six or seven months, our daughter knew not to poke the bear if he hadn’t eaten.
When we neared Coquitlam, I knew that driving over a mountain pass in the dark of night in horrible weather after travelling for over twenty hours, was not a great idea.
My parents would have to wait until tomorrow to meet my family. We pulled into a hotel that had a vacancy sign and a restaurant. I went in and asked if the kitchen was still open. It was, so I booked us in for the night.
Kirsten and Vibe were disappointed that they weren’t going to meet my parents until the next day. Our Canadian holiday was off to a rocky start as we silently dragged our bags down the hotel hallway to the room.
I unlocked the door, swung it open and flipped the light switch on.
Vibe ran past me, did a perfect swan dive onto the bed and exclaimed:
“This is the best holiday I’ve ever had”
The next morning, the sun was shining and we didn’t see another cloud until we flew home from Toronto three weeks later.
For Vibe, the good thing about having to spend the night in a hotel instead of at Bedste and Bedstefar’s house, was that she could cash in on one of the promises we’d made. She could have breakfast at McDonald’s. In the year 2000, that wasn’t yet possible in Denmark.
As we entered McDs, I asked her what she wanted to eat.
“A cheeseburger!”
“It’s breakfast. They don’t serve cheeseburgers for breakfast. You can have an Egg McMuffin.”
“I don’t like those.”
“You’ve never had one.”
“I know I don’t like them. I always have a cheeseburger at McDonald’s.”
“You can have an Egg McMuffin.”
“I don’t want one.”
“OK, you can go hungry until we get to Kelowna. Mom and I will have an Egg McMuffin.”
“I’m hungry.”
“We’ll order you an Egg McMuffin. Eat it or starve.”
After the first, careful, skeptical bite, she looked up at me with wide-open, pleading eyes that any puppy hoping to be served scraps off a Sunday dinner table would have been proud of.
“May I have two?”
So began our first trip together. Kirsten and me in the front, Vibe and Britney Spears on a Walkman in the back. The serenades were non-stop from the time we hit the road in the morning until we started looking for motels with signs that said “vacancy” and “pool” in the afternoon.
Somewhere south of Moose Jaw, we crossed into the United States. The remote border post was staffed by some heavily armed young folks. When they learned Kirsten and Vibe were Danish, the older, lead officer demanded a fictional fee because they didn’t visas. (Danes didn’t need visas, but it’s hard to argue with kids carrying M-16s.) The fee had to be paid in cash. American dollars only.
Leaving my bewildered girlfriend and her daughter behind at the border post to drive to the nearest ATM on the US side was unnerving yet unavoidable. After paying, I thought I was going to be shot when I asked for a receipt on US government stationery, but to my surprise the lead agent typed one up and angrily handed it to me. It didn’t say thank you for contributing to the agents’ annual Christmas party fund, but I think that’s what we paid for.
I could write volumes about all the trips we took over the years. Getting lost in forests on Paul’s adventure walks, slip-sliding our way across small glaciers in the Rockies, or looking for spots in Sousse that served spaghetti bolognese…
Some of the best memories are of the people who cared for our little family. It’s not always easy to please both kids and their parents. Especially if you’re running a fine-dining restaurant at a five-star resort in the middle of nowhere Ireland.
Many of our trips were tacked on to business trips.
Shortly before Easter 2001, I had to go to Galway, Ireland, to help a hotel. The trip would take place during Easter week, which is a school holiday in Denmark.
Turning the uncontrollable obstacle into an opportunity, we made a family holiday out of it. When work finished on Thursday, the hotel general manager told us he had the perfect place for us to spend the first night of our road trip around the Irish coast. He had some friends who had recently taken over management of what he described as a nice countryside hotel. He would call ahead, book us a room, and get us a favourable rate.
When we arrived at Aghadoe Heights, our daughter was less than impressed. It was out in the countryside. The only traffic we heard was a cowbell from a distant field. To an eleven-year-old’s eyes, there was nothing to see and nothing to do. The pool was closed for cleaning, and, worst of all, there was only one restaurant. It had one set menu, and none of the words on the menu were spaghetti or pizza. Peering in through the door of the restaurant, we could see sparkling silver cutlery and crystal glasses.
We cleaned up for dinner and put on our best clothes. There was anxiety in the air as we entered the very quiet, very formal restaurant. Our server was what many people might call a stereotypical Irish woman in her sixties. She was very kind and polite; her demeanour didn’t quite match the formality of the restaurant, but her professionalism was spot on.
Fresh, warm dinner rolls were delicately placed on the side plates with slim silver tongs. Our daughter picked hers up, took a bite, and plonked it down on the charger plate. I reached across and moved it to the side plate.
We’re pretty sure the server witnessed the game of checkers or chess that continued throughout the three-course meal. Each time our daughter took a bite of her bun, she would place it on the charger plate, and if that spot was covered by a dinner plate, she’d just put the bread on the table. Without saying anything, I would reach over and move it to the side plate. As dinner progressed, what had started as a silent protest at the lack of pasta and burgers turned into a quiet game of trying not to giggle when the bread was moved.
The server remained a quiet, consummate professional throughout. She explained each course, often in ways designed to make our daughter feel comfortable. She didn’t use the fancy-schmancy jargon from the menu. It was in plain, clear Irish-accented English with explanations like “the way my grandmother made it for me.”
We had a delicious dinner. Our daughter not only behaved very well, apart from the silent game she played with Paul, but she also admitted that it had been an excellent evening. So excellent, she said, that she thought we deserved to remain seated and have a post-dinner coffee, instead of rushing back to the room so she could watch TV. (That was a discussion we often had when we travelled while Vibe was young.)
We thanked our daughter for being so considerate and, because we were in Ireland, we ordered Irish coffee. Like the rest of our meal, the coffee was wonderful – Irish whiskey, excellent coffee, and no whipped cream. Whipped cream doesn’t belong in Irish coffee; real Irish double cream does, and that’s what we had. Since then, every Irish coffee we’ve had has been compared to Aghadoe Heights’ Irish coffee. Most come nowhere close.
You may think that this is a good story, but not an exceptional service lesson. That’s only because the lesson was still to come.
As our glasses emptied and we were getting ready to leave, our server came over with two more Irish coffees for us, and a Coke for Vibe.
“You always have to have an Irish coffee in each leg for balance, or you could be a bit wobbly when you walk out!” she said.
Our server knew that we’d had no choice but to dine in their restaurant. We’d arrived at the hotel fairly late. We were hungry and tired, and there was little chance we’d drive all the way down to Killarney to eat. She’d seen the apprehension in our eyes when we walked in, and she’d observed the bread game that had been played throughout the meal. In her eyes, we weren’t two customers with a kid. We were three customers. She used that ever so powerful combination or empathy, compassion, and caring that makes great service memorable for guests and work more meaningful for those who serve them.
Hospitality - It’s the people!
Stay safe, Always Care
Thanks for reading our newsletter!
If you’re in hospitality, read our book, Spin the Bottle Service. A local server told us it should be required reading for everyone who works in a restaurant or hotel. In the chapter “Children are also customers” you can read the full Agadhoe Heights story. You can also read about why our memories of the server who wouldn’t serve 18-year-old Vibe a glass of wine are better than the memory of the server who did pour a glass to our underage (in the US) daughter.
If you’re an owner or manager, let’s chat about how Ditch the Script workshops make jobs more meaningful and guest experiences more memorable by unleashing the power of the biggest business differentiator you have available - people!
Don’t forget to have a look at the 87 Stories tab, where we share lessons learned at the University of Life.
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"May I have two?" LOL LOL LOL