By Eric Wamanji
As a writer, coffee has always been my chum – that charming pal who makes you see all the possibilities in the world. This explains my love affair with coffeeshops – my second offices. During my student-journalism days, I banged my stories from restaurants (I guess most writers do). Nothing much has changed. Grabbing a latte in the morning on the way to work, and cappuccino in the evening has become a daily ritual.
Now, when you’re a coffee junkie like yours truly, you relish the thrill of discovering new coffeeshops. It’s refreshing.
That’s why recently I was pleasantly surprised to learn that there was Artcaffe in Langata. So, on the bright mid-morning of Sunday March 14, 2021, I was at the Mall.
The Askaris at the gate were courteous, chatty and friendly calling me ‘kiongozi‘, whatever that means. Artcaffe is on the Ground Floor. After the metal-detector and a sanitization ritual you take left then left and there you’re. I was surprised though that the place was deserted. I, the lone customer in the huge restaurant. I ignored the dissonance though.
Cashless
I enjoyed my coffee as I worked on a story. But then, trouble boiled with the bill. No. I wasn’t overcharged. and no, I was not about to peel warus. Still, it was something ludicrous. “We don’t’ take cash. Only M-pesa or card,” the young waitress said when she saw a note next to the bill. “Really! how now?” I wondered. “That’s a critical information you should share before serving customers. Better still, you should be having notices to alert customers” I protested. “Now I don’t know. Those are the rules here,” she replied adamantly.
I thought the best thing was for her to call the manager. She did. The dark chap wearing a black Artcaffe-branded shirt and black jeans pants strolled my way. “I need to pay but you guys ain’t taking cash. Why do you ambush customers?” I asked. “Yeah, those are the rules,” he replied nonchalantly. “What if I don’t have mobile money?” I protested again, now a bit irritated. “Why can’t you advise your customers beforehand?”
Brute manager goes ballistic
For a moment he was speechless. Then suddenly he went ballistic, yelling and wagging a finger at me: “Why are you insulting us?” he shouted. “Why? Who has ambushed you?” he screamed. His eyes red, his nostrils widening like a pig’s snout, him breathing heavily and trembling in rage banging on the table.
I was shocked. Piqued. Even scared for my life. See, it was supposed to be a simple thing. Grab coffee. Enjoy. Pay. Go. Yet, instead, it all turned into a life-threatening spectacle. The kitchen staff stopped to peep over, to see their boss exploding. Personally, in my long love-hate relationship with coffee, I had never experienced such primitivity.
“Take your money I don’t have time to waste here,” I pushed the cash his direction. He hesitated for a minute. Then he turned and barked at the waitress. “Take this and bring change,” he ordered. The guy looked high on crack or something. Coffee doesn’t make one to lose sanity.
He turned my way again. “You Nairobians think you’re doing us a favour,” he screamed, his veins jutting off his neck like a snake linking the heart to the brain. “It’s the right of every customer to be served with courtesy and respect… you’re not doing us a favour either,” I reminded him. “To hell with your rights,” he shouted, threw up his hands and walked away.
I shot a protest mail to customer service. A chap called Yarden replied promising to action. May be they acted. May be they didn’t. It’s their own toxic cup of coffee anyway.
A little devil
Artcaffe has been accused numerous times of deplorable services, even racism. At one point there was even a mass protest to do with croissants. I boycotted the eatery for almost four years. Then, somewhere, a little devil nudged me to go back. I did. Here and there I would experience some poor service. But nothing serious. Just petty peeves. In any case, I have met beautiful souls working for the restaurant like Jeniffer at Lavington, Roy Valley Arcade, Regina Yaya…
Still, never had I encountered such a nasty experience where a staff shouts, screams and almost attacking me physically. I think Artecaffe, like most businesses in Kenya, has this sense of entitlement. Some corporate hubris. A misguided notion that the Kenyan customer will be treated like trash and would still return. Methinks that’s suffering serious illusions.
Kenyan businesses, Artcaffe included, should better listen to Sam Walton, the founder of Wal Mart. The master was categorical that “there is only one boss. The customer. And he can fire everyone in the company from the chairman on down, simply by spending his money somewhere else.”
Indeed, where I sit, I brook no poor customer service. There’s no way I can spend my hard-earned cash on repugnant businesses. No way.