Customer Profiles
Today I thought I would give a detailed account of each type of customer we get at my amazing Kitamba hot dog empire. Isn’t that special?
The first type is the most rare type. And sadly, the most rare type of customer is also my favourite type of customer. These, my friends, are the people who have grasped this whole ‘efficiency’ concept. They are the ones who think, “those hot dog shaped, foil-wrapped objects sitting on a shelf labeled HOT DOGS likely are hot dogs. I’m not going to ask to make sure; I’m just going to live on the edge and take one! Similarly, I’m not going to ask for the price of this thing that is almost certainly a hot dog because the prices are labeled very clearly just above them.” These dearly loved customers also have this thought process: “Alright, although the condiments are not in my line of sight this very second, I know that 99.9% of people who buy hot dogs also use condiments. Thus, they must be pretty easy to find, especially since I walked right by them to get here. I’m not going to ask about that, either.” Oh, smart customer. Please educate the masses and make my life happier…
The most common type is the customer who has to double-check and ask about everything. Yes, those are hot dogs, yes they are the ones in the picture, no they don’t have condiments on them, yes they are that flipping expensive, the condiments are past the till in the eating area by the door you came in, yes they are all-beef, yes you just take them, no they don’t have anything on them, yes I just made them (half an hour ago! Hah!).
The third type is made up of foreigners. Need I say more?
Of course I need say more! Foreign tourists are okay to make fun of because anyone who travels is one at some time or another. If locals are going to have to deal with their excessive picture-taking, ogling and chattering in another language, they at least get making fun of rights. It’s only fair. When we Canadians go to China or Germany, then Chinese and German people get the right to make fun of our touristy crap.
That said, there are good and bad tourists. An example of the good tourists would be the family of Brits who came in. The father looked around at what food we served and then proceeded to relay this information (in an awesome, educated-sounding accent) to his primary school-aged children. “Today they seem to have hot dogs, sandwiches, pizzas of various sorts, portions of chips, hamburgers, salads and fish sticks,” to which his son replied in an equally kick-ass accent, “Too right, dad, could I have the fish sticks?” I almost died.
The bad tourists are the ones who don’t speak a word of English. That fact doesn’t usually occur to them until they are standing in front of me, madly gesticulating, trying to communicate that they want a hot dog. One Asian lady came frantically barreling up to me yelling, “CA-FEE! CA-FEE!” I didn’t know what the heck she was talking about for a second, but soon I was able to point her in the direction of the coffee. (Really, it seems obvious… anyone so frantically in need of anything must need coffee.)
I know I shouldn’t be so amused by this, but for some reason it makes me smirk to see the ten year old “skank-in-training” girls come by and think they are so grown-up as they pour their cups of iced cappuccino without looking at the price. I hope you have a grown-up wallet, too.
The next type is what I call the “food inspector/critic”. The ones who feel the need to exclaim, “God, those pizzas look awful.” Thanks, thanks for that. Really, I wouldn’t have known but for your divine insight. The food inspectors are the people who take a hot dog, unwrap it, look at it, decide against it, and then put it back all unwrapped. Seriously, what were you expecting to see? It’s a hot dog. Surprise!
Of course there is the obligatory ticked-off and impatient customer. Those guys need no explanation because they are everywhere.
Then we have the strange and sometimes creepy customer! Like this one guy I have seen twice: “Hey there little girl, how ’bout a hot dog? Can I have cheese on it?” A few moments later, “thanks, girl!” Actually that doesn’t look as strange written down, but how about I just assure you that he is strange and sometimes creepy.
Surely my most loathed customer is the ‘waffler’. They ask what type of pizzas we have, and then they waffle. You can just see their brows furrowed in anxious concern as they make the epic decision —cheese, pepperoni or supreme? Normally, this would be fine. But most of the time, the waffler decides to have a pizza at rush time. So while they are slowly deciding, the steamer is beeping, the hot dog shelf is empty and the line-up is growing behind them. Thirty seconds later: “What are the choices again?” Oh, this is why people become alcoholics, Colette.
