Yesterday, returning home from the fourth performance in as many days, I stopped for fast food. (Don't judge. When you're as sick of driving as I sometimes get to be, stopping for a sit-down meal is not an option.)
Waiting in line at KFC, I studied my options and made my choice, but when I actually gave my order, the fellow at the register encouraged me to order differently: If you get this heah othah one, he said, pointing to a placard on the counter, it's 'bout the same thing, but mo' cheapah. He said "No problem" to the substitution I'd have to make in order to eat while driving. (Again, no judging please.) And he also pointed out that I'd get a cookie!
Once upon a time, I would've been a little put off by the bad grammar. Once upon a time, I would've wondered why in the world KFC would have a counter representative -- essentially the front man for their establishment -- who wasn't passably well-spoken. But in recent years, I find myself more and more surprised when I get good customer service. These days, I'll even take indifferent service over hostile and argumentative service. This man, grammatically inept though he may have been, was cheerful and caring as he steered me towards that mo' cheapah menu option.
I hope I see him again. (The food was pretty delicious, especially that cookie, so it's not unlikely that I'll go back.)
His customer service rating? MO' BETTAH!