10:35am | I embarrassed myself recently by not taking proper care with my words. (And to all the smartasses who think I do so regularly here, no, I’m not talking about anything I’ve written for the Long Beach Post.)

I was having dinner at a very good Belmont Shore restaurant that had a very off night. First we were seated after a 45-minute wait when we were told it would be 15. (I understand that it’s always a guesstimate, but there’s never a real excuse for being that off.) Then it was over 10 minutes and asking twice just to get water. (It was busy, but not that busy.) Then it was 10 minutes and asking twice to get cream and sugar for the Turkish coffee—a beverage that proved to be undrinkable (even though I’ve had it before there and it’s been good). The rest of the meal was fine; the food was delicious. And while I’d politely complained to the hostess about being so off on telling us how long the wait would be, they had taken the coffee off the bill without my asking, and nothing had transpired that necessitated a complaint to the manager or owner, so that was that.

Except that along with the bill were those customer comment cards you sometimes see. Now, while you might guess from this space that I’m the kind of person who volunteers his opinion every chance he gets, you’d be mistaken. That’s my gig here, but in day-to-day life I’m more of a listener, a questioner—happy to offer my two cents if asked, but I’d rather keep them in my purse if they’re unwanted.

I’m a sucker for surveys, though. If you’re a telemarketer and you call me at home I’m likely to be annoyed, but if you’re taking a survey, you’ve just found someone at home who will take part with alacrity.

And so here’s this survey card in front of me on the heels of a very hit-and-miss dining experience. I couldn’t resist filling it out, going into detail about what the good… and, of course, the bad. Rather harshly.

This was, truth be told, merely to amuse myself and my companion, with my enunciating each word as I wrote it. I did not have any serious thoughts of leaving this card for them. It’s not that it was some lewd or profanity-laced tirade; it’s just that when you write that the coffee was “swill,” you’re not exactly being constructive.

Much later that night, as I lay in bed, it occurred to me that I had left that comment card rather than taken it with me after we had had our fun. I was so mortified that the next day I dropped them an e-mail copping to having done so and apologizing, explaining that I hadn’t really meant to leave it, etc.

But the damage was done. It’s not that I think the owner or whomever saw the card is going to be all that affected by what some less-than-tactful ninny writes on their 4″ x 6″ piece of paper; it’s that once you put it out there, you can’t take it back, and it’s ramifications—however small—are largely (if not wholly) beyond your control.

I don’t mean this to sound like I’m not an advocate of complete honestly, even bluntness, that I think any of us ought to do other than call it like we see it. But there’s something very obvious to be said for taking care about what you say, for making it count in the way you want it to.

There’s any number of ways to lose sight of that. And let me tell you from experience (and alas, this recent faux pas ain’t anywhere near my first), it’s not a good feeling when you do.

But you probably already know that, yes?

Footnotes
¹Having worked in multiple restaurants, I do have some first-hand experience being on the service end of the business.