I Wanted Fries with That

How to Ask for What You Want and Get What You Need

Amy Fish

• Publisher: New World Library
• Year: 2019
• ISBN:
  9781608686209
• Topic: Personal Development
• Subtopic: Personal Success

SPEAK UP AND PERSUADE At some point in our lives, we've all experienced an injustice, large or small — a restaurant botching our lunch order or a boss who isn't following the guidelines for workplace etiquette — and suffered in silence for fear of offending anyone. When we fail to speak up, however, we shortchange ourselves. Amy Fish encourages standing up for yourself (and others) by complaining effectively. Her suggestions will appeal to anyone who wants to speak up and isn't sure where to start, including managers navigating workplace disputes, couples who argue about the same things over and over, and even someone with a friend with bad breath. Illustrating her points with funny real-life stories, Fish reveals pragmatic methods to redress grievances with civility, honesty, and fairness for everyone involved — whether you're trying to right the wrongs of the world or just claim the french fries you ordered.

PART I

I Want My Problem Solved

1

How to Get Greener Lettuce

Involve the Artist

Please jump into my time machine and fasten your seat belt. I hope you haven’t eaten yet, because we are headed for a submarine sandwich shop in 1996. I am on a lunch break from work.

Oh man, look how long the line is. I can’t wait for my turkey sub. My favorite ingredient is the shredded lettuce. It’s cold and wet and crunchy and it fills up the sub nicely. The line is moving like molasses on a snail’s back. I just finished grad school, and I’m working at a hospital in downtown Toronto. Let me introduce you to my two coworkers, Ward and Ollie. We eat lunch together every day and will continue to do so for the next three years. Ward is the only person I know who actually plays the McDonald’s Monopoly game and thinks he’s going to win.* Ollie just proposed to his girlfriend, who is part Amish.

We are next in line. The lettuce in the display case looks a little brown. I am so disappointed. All I wanted was some nice, green iceberg.

Sandwich Artist is looking at me expectantly, twirling her lip ring with her tongue.

“Six-inch turkey on brown,” I say.

“What toppings would you like with that?”

What do I do now? Do I say, “Everything except hot peppers,” as I usually would, and live with the lukewarm lettuce? Or do I say, “No hot peppers, no lettuce,” and eat a soggy sub that has only the half-hearted crunch of cucumber sliced paper thin?

My first reaction is to accept mediocrity. I can survive with brown lettuce. My lunch doesn’t have to be fantastic. I don’t have to live every moment as if it were my last. (Pinterest quotes have not been invented yet.) There will be other subs. I don’t want to cause a scene.

Plus, if I do say something, she’ll probably just ignore me and go on layering green peppers onto seven-grain bread with her smug latex gloves.† She doesn’t care about my sub or my lettuce. There’s no point in speaking up. I don’t have a chance.

Oy, that is so sad. I am giving up before I even started. That’s like getting to the top of the Olympic track and not rocking back and forth to launch my luge because my aerodynamic boots will probably touch the side of the ice, and I’ll lose the 2.17 seconds I so badly need for the Gold. I’m not even going to try to keep my body completely still and beat my previous record. I’m just going to sit here and wish I took up curling instead.

Yes, my aerodynamic boot may touch the side, and I may lose the race. But just as likely, I may win the race. I may slide down the track faster than anyone ever has, beating not only my personal best but also the competitor on my left, who I could swear illegally greased their sled. The race is fraught with uncertainty. One thing we know for sure is that I have to at least jump on my sled to get greener lettuce. Meaning, when dealing with brown lettuce, you have to try to correct it, or nothing will ever be fixed. Doing nothing is the worst possible option, and let me tell you why.

If I say nothing about the lettuce, I will have to eat something I don’t want. If I get less enjoyment out of my sub, I’ll have to go back to work this afternoon feeling unsatisfied. This will no doubt lead me to the vending machines, where there will be no lettuce whatsoever, and I will be forced to buy three Twix bars just to even out. I will then have to show up at my Weight Watchers meeting and announce, looking at the scale, “I tried, but the lettuce was brown.” Remember, this is 1996 when Weight Watchers did not exist on your phone. People left their homes to attend meetings where they were weighed behind a supposedly opaque screen.‡ Alternatively, I will have the willpower to ignore the chocolate, but will spend the rest of the day feeling vaguely unsettled, like something is missing.

Another thing: If I suffer through the brown lettuce, and I say nothing, then everyone in line behind me — which at this point is like eighty-seven people — will be stuck with brown lettuce too. They will sadly pick at their steak-and-cheese, their pastrami-hold-the-jalapeño, or — even worse — their tuna salad, all thinking that if only the lettuce wasn’t so brown, the sun would be shining a little more brightly today. And I will be partially to blame. I could have fixed the problem when I had a chance.

On the other hand, I can demand to see the manager. I can ask her what in the name of sliced Swiss she was thinking by putting out lettuce not just tinged with brown — but riddled with brown creeping along the edges of each and every leaf. Does she think we are fools? Not a chance! We are better than that! We are stronger! We are — still hungry because that ploy will never work.

Here’s why shrieking at the manager is a no-go: It would be causing a scene. We are in a crowded restaurant, accusing the staff of doing something wrong, and embarrassing them by immediately going over their heads and speaking to the manager.

But wait, why should we be nice? They have done something wrong! They have attempted to serve us imperfect iceberg! They’re trying to dupe us!

True, someone somewhere may have let the lettuce tray slip through quality control. But we don’t know if this is a purposeful attempt to move inventory or just carelessness by people who are marking time till they can go home and soak their feet. We don’t know if Sandwich Artist pointed out the brown lettuce to a manager, and she herself was told not to make waves. Until we can confirm intentional deception, I think it is in our best interest to remain calm and not raise our voices. The literature about standing up for yourself agrees with me: “Standing up for yourself doesn’t mean being a rude tyrant. There’s definitely a happy medium between aggressiveness and assertiveness.”

I’m worried that if we ask for the manager, we are going to stall the line. Don’t forget, we have to get back to work. By the time the manager comes out, listens to our plight, and helps brainstorm a solution, hours may pass, and everyone in line will be looking at us, annoyed, and we will be embarrassed.

We’ve agreed that we aren’t going to tolerate suboptimal lettuce. And we’ve agreed that asking for a manager would be premature at this point. So, what are we left with?

We can’t leap over the acrylic counter ourselves and grab the fresher lettuce. That would be both unsanitary and grounds for calling 911. If we are going to get better lettuce on our subs, we need Sandwich Artist to help us. We have to get her on our side.

Watch what I do next.

Sandwich Artist has just asked me what I want on my sub. I catch her eye. I look down at the lettuce. I look back up at her, and I say:

“Does this lettuce look a little brown to you?”

She looks at the lettuce. Nods her head. Reaches below the counter, and, Hallelujah, Praise the Lord — she pulls out a fresh batch of shredded iceberg with nary a brownish leaf to be found.

What worked?

What worked is that we included the server in the conversation. We went with the fundamental belief that everyone is operating in good faith, and that all we have to do to get something corrected is to point it out. When I asked her if the lettuce looked brown, she had the chance to pause, look down at it, and form her own opinion. She agreed that it was browner than it should have been. She had the tools to correct the situation — a better lettuce supply — and she did so without any fuss.

The other thing we did well here is that we let said artist comment as an expert. Our question basically was “As someone who makes sandwiches all day long, and is very experienced in the area of lettuce, does this lettuce look brown to you?” We trusted her to give an expert opinion, and since she was empowered to do something about it, she changed the lettuce right away.

We did her a favor, because we gave her the opportunity to cast herself as the hero in the story. When we speak up, one thing we need to remember is that we are building alliances with the people who can solve our problems. This might be a sandwich artist, a clerk behind a desk, or a customer service agent on the phone. All of these people have something we want, such as new lettuce or a full refund. Sometimes all we have to do is let them see that there’s a situation to be corrected and give them the chance to correct it on their own.

Now, what if she had said, “No, I don’t think it looks brown” — then what would we have done? We would have pushed a little further, and maybe said something like “Really? Must be the light. From this angle, it looks kinda brown.” If that didn’t work, then we could maybe put a bit more pressure, with a question: “Do we have any other lettuce we can use?” Again, giving her another opportunity to save the day for us, veggie-wise.

If that didn’t work either, then it would be time to evaluate how important the lettuce is, and depending on how hungry we are, how much time we have, and whether there’s a line at the burger place across the street, we would make a quick decision about buying the sub now or dipping out and grabbing something somewhere else.

Before we jump back into the time machine so I can take you home, I have to congratulate you. You have learned the first lesson of speaking up.

The first lesson of speaking up is: it works.

Sure, it doesn’t work all the time. But sometimes, it’s easy. All you have to do is point out the potential problem, and the universe (or in this case, the Sandwich Artist) takes care of the rest. Had I stayed quiet, I would not have had a chance. Because I spoke up, my sub was more delicious, and I improved lunch for every single one of the 112 people in line behind me.*

The second lesson you learned today is that you can include the person you’re complaining to in your complaint, and invite them to help you. Many people are thrilled to ride in on their white horses and offer you fresh lettuce.

Third, when given the chance to save the day, many people will grab it, and you will end up getting the lettuce you want and need.

When Else to Use This Technique

The “Involve the Artist” technique works well with airline or train reservations, in which case we would call it “Involve the Ticket Agent.” Let’s say your flight has been canceled, and you need to rebook. The ticket agent usually has the ability to fix your problem. I suggest you open by saying the lettuce looks brown. Just kidding. That would be confusing. I suggest you open with a comment about how crowded the airport is, or a question about what time the shifts change. You can ask if the people on the flight have been losing their cool, which would indicate that you’re on her side.† Then tell her that you believe in her ability to get you to your destination. Let her fingers work their magic on the keyboard, and chances are she will try to help you. If you can say things like “I’m counting on you” without being condescending, I believe it’s worth a try.

Or you might want to try this technique over the phone, when you are calling to complain about something you ordered online. When the person answers the phone and says, “Hi, this is Janet,” you can answer with something like “Hi, Janet. I’...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title
• Copyright
• Contents
• Preface: I Wanted Fries with That
• About the Book: The Hole in the Story
• Part I: I Want My Problem Solved
• Part II: I Want You to Change
• Part III: I Want Justice to Be Served
• Conclusion
• Acknowledgments
• Endnotes
• About the Author