I was going to write this post last week when I got a sandwich from a shop on campus. It fell off my radar until today when basically the same thing happened again at a different sandwich shop.
“Can I get your first name for the order?”
No. Give me a number. Every time someone asks for my name, I give it to them to move the process along, but invariably it all ends up taking more time than if the computer just gave them a number to give to me. Usually the experience involves some combination of background noise, poor ergonomics in the POS touchscreen, and the cashier just not caring, and I end up with my sandwich and a receipt that says “Frank” or “Rick”. This makes it especially difficult if I’m eating in and have to listen for Frank’s order to be announced over the malfunctioning PA system.
I suppose the counterargument is an attempt by management to make the shop seem more friendly. “People don’t want to be numbers,” Manager Bob might say. To which I simply reply that you’re not assigning me a number. You’re assigning a number to my sandwich. I’m ok with that, and so is my inanimate sandwich. My sandwich’s feelings are not hurt.
When I’m buying a sandwich, it’s all about accuracy and speed. Both of these can be achieved by simply assigning my order a number. And certainly don’t ask for my name and then give me one of those restaurant pagers on top of it. (This happened today.)
I didn’t go into the shop to make friends, and if I’m honest, there’s an old-fashioned—unfortunately this has become the correct adjective—part of me that doesn’t like complete strangers addressing me by my first name.
Maybe from now on, when buying a sandwich, my first name will be “Twenty.” The sandwich will arrive, and the receipt will probably read, “Tony.”
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