Coffee Culture

When you find yourself a decent little coffee shop, you stick to it. You commit to income sharing so that it never ever closes. You don’t tell too many people about it, for fear it may become too popular and you lose your place in the queue (and here I am blogging about it!).

I found such a place conveniently located around the corner from my home.

The Little Marionette Cafe is run by a group of gorgeous young people who have a passion for coffee and great service. What first drew me to this coffee shop was not just the convenience of location but also the atmosphere. The tables are a little small, but an inner city terrace doesn’t allow for a dining tables and there is a lovely little room hidden behind a secret bookshelf that I have come to claim as my own. Chesterfield couches are guarded by kitsch deer heads and vintage mirrors.  

I’m bold enough to say its the best coffee in Sydney, I come here every morning for my fix. They roast their own, so while you drink you also get the heady aromas of Guatemalan, Ethiopian and every other type of great coffee you can think of.

What makes this place truly amazing is the staff. Walking in and finding a seat, you are greeted with friendly, funny and genuinely interested people. They remember your name, your coffee of choice and always ask about your day. In the 18months I have been coming here (every morning except on my travel trips) I have never encountered a rude tone.

This is a novelty in Sydney coffee shops. I think I will continue to income share until my retirement.


http://www.lilm.com.au/

Chocky Wocky - Wonky Service

Chocolate is my favourite pastime. I just love it. Smelling it, eating it, licking it, talking about it. I consider myself to be a kind of chocolate connoisseur. You could even say I am a chocolate snob, as much as I am a coffee snob. I can't do bad chocolate.

I live in Sydney, which means great chocolate is limited to a select few places. And then it gets discovered by the mainstream and becomes all too commercial with a million outlets. The special-ness of it goes.  You know which one I'm talking about right? The chocolate shop that started in a cute little terrace in Paddington and ended up in every Westfield's across Australia. Max Brennar's, the bald man. Although its on every corner, I still can't resist it every now and then for a warm huggie-mug treat.

Today being the day after boxing day and still a public holiday, our little family decided to go for a walk with the dog and treat ourselves to a hot chocolate in Newtown for our efforts. Despite being in the peak of summer, Sydney has not delivered the balmy weather of my childhood, and a hot chocolate is a very nice afternoon treat.

Son and I went in and found a neat little corner on the bar bench to settle. I got up to order and waited at the counter to be served. I suspect the man behind the counter was the manager, because out of the three he was the only one with a sense of authority about him. The other two were busy handing out coffees and generally looking busy. One of them came up beside me at the counter to grab the hot chocolates for a table and instead of asking me politely to move aside, he grunted "MOVE".

Excuse me? (yes, thats the correct term to use when you're asking someone to move out of the way).

The manager looked up and realised I wanted to order (thats why I normally stand at a counter), and nodded his head my way to motion for me to let him know what I wanted. At this point, I probably should have left, but the thought of disappointing my son after promising him a MB treat was too much. I handed over my money and took my number back to the bar bench to wait.

I twitted out my experience. And waited.

And waited.

When our hot chocolate huggie mugs were made, the manager decided to hand them over the top of the high bar bench, rather than walk them around to my young son and myself. I had to grab mine quickly and put it down to grab my sons before a boiling hot chocolate was poured all over him.

While son and I sat and dranked our huggie mugs (and yes, they were delicious) a few young local kids walked into the store and to the chocolate bar area where they were being very obvious about grabbing a few and pocketing them before walking out.

I did think of letting the manager know..... and then decided justice had been served.

Fleas and Swanky Hotel Rooms

I wasn’t born expecting high standards, in fact I was brought into a childhood where compromising my standards was considered the best possible avenue for me. So I don’t quite understand why I am now a stickler for excellent customer service, poor service is the very devil that eats at me.

Recently we had a house full of unwanted guests. Fleas. Tiny little black creatures that nip and bite at ankles and lower limbs and leave a trail of nasty red dots that required frequent scratching. I had legs with claw mark scars that attracted comments from strangers in coffee shops. My husband was away and it was the weekend, a hot and muggy Sydney hint of summer. I decided to pack up the kids and head to a city hotel with a rooftop swimming pool and escape the nasty devils in my house, but only after placing masses amounts of flea bombs in every room.

Checking into the hotel should have given me a warning of what I could expect, even after reading back to me my Sydney home address the desk clerk asked if this was my first time to Sydney. No, I live here. I was born here and apart from small sojourns to exotic lands, I have spent most of my life here. She handed me my swipe cards and went on to explain the charges on my credit card, the cost of the room and another $50 towards any incidentals, but that this would not be charged unless after checking out they discovered I had emptied the mini bar of snickers snacks and mini contreau bottles.

She then handed me a map of my city and reminded me to let her know if I needed directions or ideas for going out in Sydney.

The hotel room was heaven and the kids absolutely loved the novelty of spending a Sunday night in flee-free luxury. We swam all afternoon in a pool overlooking Hyde Park and I made a promise to myself that one day I would live like this forever, possibly in New York overlooking Central Park.

We checked out the following morning with a $12 charge for our snacks and then it was only a short stroll for me to my office in Paddington and a quick bus ride for the boys to school in the inner city.

A week later I noticed on my online bank statement that the $50 incident charge had been charged to my credit card so I called the hotel chain main number. After being passed around several customer service people (or customer non-service people as I call them), I eventually got a lady who spoke little English in blunt and abrupt tones. “What can I do for you today” was replaced with “What do you want” - so I explained my situation and the card charges and asked when it would be refunded. Hmmmmmmmm... it took me a few times to explain it, I even offered to put my request in writing and email it to her after going through it three more times. All for $50. If I had charged my time out to the hotel it would have exceeded the hotel room rate but for me it was the principal that mattered. And I wanted my money back. 

The woman told me I was advised during check in what the money was for, and that it wasnt actually in the hotels bank account but in a holding account until it was proven that I didn’t drink the mini bar dry. Explaining to her that it took less than three seconds to charge my card but over a week to check the fridge and refund it was lost on her. She eventually got agitated and told me “It was only $50”.

The sheer arrogance of someone devaluing my money like that was shocking. It may have only seemed like $50 to her, but to me that represented the hours I had to work to pay my bills and then have this disposable amount left over at the end. In all likelihood it was probably more than her hourly rate. And yet she felt righteous enough to make a comment that it is only $50.

The money was deposited the next day.

What would I have done in that situation if I were the call centre girl with a less-than-satisfied customer on the line?

To start with, I would have acknowledged her concern and expressed empathy for her. $50 is a lot of money to most people and in some cases it may be the difference between feeding a family that night or going without.

I would have explained the hotel policy of charging the card and asked if this was explained to the her on check in. I then would have offered to look into it for her and asked if she wanted to hold or would prefer a call back. Choice is King. As is communication.

The money was in my account the following day and after my experience with the customer service woman, I have to ask if this was the result of my call.

I doubt I will be staying at the Marriott again - despite the lovely room and rooftop swimming pool, the customer service on chasing my money was a real let down.