TheBanyanTree: Mystery Shopping 101

[Monique]

	We were assigned a casual family restaurant for the mission. I try
to dress appropriately, in camo and sunglasses so no one will know it's me.
But the camo is at the cleaners and the sunglasses have never been replaced
since the Toyota was stolen years ago with the sunglasses inside. (The
Toyota was returned as not being worth their time, but the sunglasses left
permanently.) But since this is a top secret mission and since, more
importantly, my hair is standing straight up on my head, I wear a baseball
cap with a big "O" on the front. On the way to our mission I ask my partner
in crime if the "O" is supposed to be a big zero, but he says no, it's for
Oregon. Oh. That makes more sense.
	It is my boyfriend's hat of course, but he was unable to come on
this particular mission since he had a mission of his own to complete. This
mission, which we call "work" takes precedence over mystery shopping for
reasons yet undetermined. So my partner on this particular mission was Stew,
who is always happy to come along and help me grade restaurants. 
	We should have used the drive time to plot our strategy, but we
didn't. I did manage to make the obligatory pre-visit telephone call to the
establishment however. This is required. I asked the person who answered the
phone where they were and what they had for specials. Unoriginal questions
perhaps, but I don't want to get too technical on the phone. 
	Upon arrival at the restaurant, I glanced at my watch so I could
gauge wait times. This is very important in mystery shopping as the report
will ask questions based on the arcane unit of measurement called a
"minute." "How many minutes before your server greeted you? How many minutes
before the dishes were cleared? How many minutes before your beverage
arrived?" Et cetera, et al.
	The hostess wanted to seat us in the bar area, which was the only
part of the restaurant with available seats. However, our instructions were
clear on this: this was not a bar shop, and seating must be in the
restaurant portion. I said we'd wait for a table in the restaurant as I'm
not allowed within 50 feet of alcohol since the last time . . . I find that
the hosts and hostesses are usually willing to accept this statement at face
value. 
	"Five minutes," the hostess said, and I noted that on the memo pad I
keep in my head. Taking one's notes into the restaurant during a mission is
forbidden for some reason. 
	Three minutes later we were led to a table, which helped to endear
the staff to me. Waiting is not something I do well. Within minutes our
server made his appearance, fortunately for him, since he's being graded on
speed.
	Also on several other factors, one of which we declared to be "gum
chewing," which would get him negative points. I didn't tell him this of
course. I'm supposed to be undercover, after all. We placed our beverage
orders and timed the number of minutes between placing the beverage order
and arrival of the beverages. This is all very important. A stray minute
here or there can result in a lower score and therefore humiliation for the
poor server. 
	We ordered our food when our beverages arrived - extra points! No
receipt of beverage with the server hastily departing and saying, "I'll be
right back," over his shoulder, as if we had any hope of seeing him again in
the next half hour. This scenario is much more common than one might think.
No, Bart took our order right then. 
	Stew asked the knowledge question. This is an important part of the
mystery shop. The server must be able to display some sort of knowledge of
the product, or at least not visibly flinch. The question of the day was:
"What's the difference between the honey barbecue sauce and the house
barbecue sauce?"
	Bart looked up. Bart looked to the side. Bart looked at Stew a bit
sideways and said, "Honey?"
	Okay then. At least Bart then tried to elaborate. "The honey
barbecue sauce has honey in it. The other one doesn't. Now, in the kitchen,
do they look alike and does the staff sometimes have a problem telling them
apart? Are they occasionally interchangeable? Well, yes, there's really not
much difference between them."
	I wasn't sure if I should give Bart extra points for honesty or
deduct points for not having a very customer-friendly response. It was like
saying: "Well, yes, we have tilapia, and we have salmon, but once our cooks
get done with it, you can't tell the difference anyway, so it doesn't matter
which is which . . . "
	Well, it just gives me more directions to go with in my narrative
report.
	The food took a decade or so, measured in minutes, to show up. We
whiled away the time by drawing pretty pictures on the pad of paper I had
with me to take notes on. However, in all the excitement of beginning the
mission, I'd left my pen in the car, so Stew went out to get it. He was gone
for longer than I thought was reasonable but rarely gets himself lost in
that short of a distance, so I wasn't overly concerned. 
	When he arrived back at the table he looked as if he'd inadvertently
stepped out onto the highway and been run over. Despite the weather, and
because he IS Stew, he was wearing shorts, and one leg had been severely
scraped and was red and bloody. He pushed up one sleeve and showed me his
arm, which looked much the same, except for being an arm instead of a leg.
And his wrist on his other arm hurt. 
	These missions are dangerous at the best of times. 
	Before I could get information on how he'd managed to sustain such
damage on a pen retrieval task he excused himself to go to the restroom,
which was just as well since someone had to investigate the restroom for the
report. 
	While he was gone I continued looking around for the manager. That's
part of the mission. To locate the manager, to spy on the manager, and to
report on what the manager was doing. I could not find the manager. I looked
here, I looked there. The entire restaurant could be seen from our table,
more or less, and no one resembling a manager could be seen. They wear
different shirts, that's how we know who they are, though a flashing light
on their head would be much more helpful when the restaurant is busy like it
was. 
	Stew returned from ministering to his injuries and told me what had
happened. He'd been walking to the vehicle to retrieve the pen when he'd
noticed a pretty girl coming toward him With his attention distracted, he'd
neglected to watch where his feet were going and he stepped off a curb into
nothingness, and before he knew it he'd fallen. She asked him if he was
okay, which he was other than being severely injured, but mostly he was
embarrassed. I told him it was okay. This is one of those things guys do, so
I hear. I myself have never caused anyone to fall down, but I did once stop
traffic at the beach. 
	At last our food arrived, and just in time. 
	Points deducted for the presentation of Stew's food. Mine, on the
other hand, was fine. I've mystery shopped a lot at this chain, and was a
customer before that too, so I'm pretty familiar with the food. I have
noticed that the server who takes our order never brings us the food, it's
always brought by someone else. What is this? A stand-in server? An
understudy? Is there a class of employee between kitchen staff and server
that is responsible for food delivery? I don't know. 
	We ate. We discussed the likelihood of getting injured while looking
at pretty girls. (It's not a problem I myself have, but that doesn't mean I
can't commiserate.) I timed the various portions of our service while trying
not to look too conspicuous. We kept looking for signs of a manager. I was
hoping I wouldn't have to get up and search one out, because that just gets
messy. "Excuse me, where is your manager?"
	Then they assume something's wrong . . . well, it IS. The manager is
not doing their job because I can't SEE them. But I didn't have to ask. The
manager was spotted by Stew. She was doing a quick turn at the end of our
row of tables, disappearing back into the environs of the kitchen but
present long enough for him to take note of what she looked like so I could
identify her.
	It helped that she was a pretty girl.
	Otherwise we might never have spotted her.
	I talked him into sharing a dessert because I felt I needed one. For
the long drive home or something. It's one of my favorite desserts, this
particular dessert. 
	When we left the hostess had her back to the door and did not tell
us thank you or ask us to come back. I deducted points not because she
ignored us, which was bad enough, but because she had her back to the
entrance. How's she supposed to promptly greet people if she's not even
watching them come in? Stew was limping quite badly on his injured leg.
Since then he's been uttering what I proclaimed to be pterodactyl screams,
or perhaps velociraptor screams, whenever he has to move. He says it's more
of an "aaarrrrgghhhhh . . . " but believe me, it's definitely something
prehistoric. 
	Another mystery shop successfully concluded. Well, other than the
injuries of course. In a few weeks I'll get a check to reimburse me for the
meal. It's not a well paying job, but I can't pass up free food, can I?


Monique
(aka Mystery Shopper 007)