The Dog Groomer and the Chef

My mother lives in an aged care facility where the favourite topic of conversation is the food. More specifically, how bad it is. “Bland, cold and unappetizing” are polite descriptions. The outspoken residents use more colourful language.

Aged care facilities, like franchise networks, are an example of interdependent relationships where the parties have to learn to coexist and resolve their differences.

Appreciation or depreciation?

As an attempt to address these criticisms, the facility’s management organises regular ‘Food Appreciation Meetings’. Here, residents share random thoughts and feelings about the last meal they had.

I have observed these meetings with a mixture of interest and bemusement as facility staff nod and take note of the feedback, which is recorded in minutes for later distribution.

Esther complains that her soup wasn’t hot enough. Les says the coleslaw needs more carrots. Gwen is adamant that the calamari has too many crumbs. Margaret feels she is being cheated because her lamb didn’t have enough lamb. Bob agrees, but is happy because his lamb was tough as an old boot.

These sessions remind me of franchisee gripe sessions, where the franchisor team is bombarded with a barrage of criticisms, making them feel bad and the franchisees feel good. And nothing productive is achieved.

An unexpected piece of feedback

My mother, who is a no-nonsense, results-focused person, has no patience for these meetings. She is also blind and hard of hearing, and so requested that someone come to see her so she could share her thoughts.

A few days later, a man with a clipboard visited her room. “Speak up! What are you here for?” she barked, squinting in his direction.

“I’m here to get your feedback on how we can improve the food.”

“I have a simple solution”, she replied. “Sack the chef!”

After a pause, he responded. “I am the chef.”

Mum, who is quick-witted, retorted, “Oh, I am of course just joking” (even though they both knew she wasn’t).

They laughed awkwardly, but she says he subsequently made a point of avoiding her at meal times. And of course, nothing has changed because offending people seldom leads to good outcomes.

A ‘whoops’ experience in the dog park

My family has a culture of directness, which I like. But it can sometimes inadvertently cross the line into rudeness. A few weeks after the chef incident, I was at the dog park with Leo, who had recently been groomed.

Each time Ann brings Leo home from these grooming sessions, I wince a little as he smells of perfume and looks like a dog version of Little Lord Fauntleroy, with a coloured bandana around his neck.

However, Ann likes to keep him looking clean and tidy, and the woman who does the grooming has trained her well to book in these visits every six weeks. While I admire the business model, as a customer, I cringe at the cost.

At the park, I noticed Leo sitting obediently in front of a lady who was patting him on the head. As I approached, she looked up and smiled. “What a lovely, well-groomed dog”.

“He’d want to be for the damn price we pay!” I grumbled.

“Yes, well, I am the groomer!” she responded with a hint of indignation. “And how is Ann?”

“Oh, she’s very well, thanks”, I stuttered with embarrassment and then threw the ball for Leo to chase so I could escape.

The Nathan family does it again, I thought.

Once, when I was about to reprimand a supplier for delivering what I thought was poor service, a mentor reminded me that you catch more flies with honey. He made the point that letting off steam at the expense of others may feel good in the short term, but it seldom leads to better long-term results, as it leaves the other party harbouring resentment.

So, how do we strike a balance between being direct and respectful? On reflection, I think if our intentions are genuinely constructive, we’re usually on solid ground.

I guess my mother and I still have a bit to learn in this department.