By Lanny Morgnanesi
I’m the Regretful Critic. I criticize America, everyone gets angry at me, and I regret it.
Recently, I suggested the U.S. follow China’s example and adopt a 5-year plan aimed at solving our many problems.
The response:
“China kills its own people,” they said.
“There is no freedom in China,” they said.
“If you like China so much, go live there,” they said.
In America, unless you are a Democrat saying bad things about Republicans, or a Republican saying bad things about Democrats, you aren’t supposed to criticize America. This is what the Regretful Critic have learned. The default opinion is: America is the best, smartest, and strongest in every way.
And yet, I continue to criticize.
Today, I want to discuss something important in the life of most Americans, something that has bothered me for many years, something in a bad state of being, something that needs fixing
That something is lunchmeat, specifically the way it is cut.
To establish my lunchmeat credentials, you should know I have cut a lot of it. Throughout high school and college, I worked in restaurants that sold hoagies, and much of the lunchmeat on those hoagies was cut by me. I didn’t shy from the task, or find it beneath me, or consider it unpleasant. I always got the most out of my machine, preserved the quality of the meat, and worked quickly and with precision. My motions were sharp, quick, and efficient.
In the Suburban Philadelphia supermarkets where I purchase cold cuts, there is a different approach. There is unhappiness and lethargy on the part of the meat cutters. Too many are slow, awkward, imprecise, seemingly uncaring.
For me, the first and primary rule of meat cutting is KEEP THE BLADE SHARP. This rule is not followed by today’s meat cutters. When the blade dulls, the tail end of the slice turns ragged, torn, and crumbly. In appearance and taste, there is a world of difference between meat cut with a sharp blade and meat cut with a dull blade. Sharpening the blade is easy and quick. (There is a device you attach to the blade to sharpen it while running the machine). It should be done frequently, but isn’t. In all my years of buying lunchmeat, I never once saw a meat cutter sharpen the blade, but I’ve seen a good deal of ruined lunchmeat. This is the first issue that needs to be addressed.
The second is customer experience.
Aside from the slow-moving hands and arms of the meat cutters, their fumbling, indecision, false steps, and awkwardness, there are other factors at play in the unnecessarily long wait for that half pound of Boar’s Head Virginia Ham.
In almost all situations, the meat cutters work behind a large display case that holds the uncut meat and cheeses. The practice once had been that the customer would place his or her order and the cutter would reach into the case, grab the appropriate item, and cut it to order. At the large supermarket I go to, the display cases is for display only. Once an item is ordered, the cutter leaves the cutting floor, goes into a back storage room, and gets the block of meat or cheese. This takes a noticeable amount of time.
Recently, I asked for a half pound of cheddar. “Store brand?” the cutter asked. I said yes. She went in the back. Couldn’t find it. Only then did she look in the display case. And couldn’t find it. “Any brand,” I said. And she made a second trip to the storage room.
Aside from speed and efficiency, a sure way to enhance customer experience is for the meat cutter to realize that they have a captive audience, usually small but sometimes large, and always standing there with nothing to do but watch. And so, I propose the meat cutter should look at him or herself as a performer, and put on a show of verve, skill, dexterity, and panache. Give the customer something to look at. Be like the street vendor in Shanghai who turns the making of fried rice into high art.
Wow the customers who must stand impatiently. Let them know you are doing your very best, much better than they could ever do.
Bringing something special to an otherwise mundane job adds value to everyone involved. It uplifts the day and the spirit. Allow me to give an example.
I am an infrequent rider of commuter trains in the Philadelphia and New Jersey areas. Being the critic that I am, the experience has never been pleasant. The cars are old, dirty, noisy, and slow. Also unnerving is that most conductors do a poor job of announcing the stations. They either don’t do it, or you can’t hear them do it. But once, just once, I was on a train with a showman conductor. He’d use a stage voice to announce the stations, an include commentary.
“Lovely Croydon by the sea. Croydon is your next stop. Lovely Croydon.”
It was clear and distinct. It didn’t matter that Croydon is neither lovely nor by the sea (it is on the Delaware River). So it was sort of a joke, funny, and that made it even better.
“Bensalem. Bensalem is next, where the air is as fresh as a mountain forest. Bensalem.”
“Historic and vivacious North Philadelphia, home of Bill Cosby, Kevin Hart, Teddy Pendergrass, John Coltrane and the heavyweight champion of the world, Joe Frazier. North Philadelphia is next.”
In some every-day professions, showmanship can increase one’s salary. Going back to another era, there once were clothing salesmen on South Street in Philadelphia who were not content to wait in their stores for customers. Instead, they’d go out on the street and pulled them in.
“Hey, son. You’re a sharp looking kid. You could use some pants. Today and today only, two pair for the price of one. You like cuffs or no cuffs?” He’d keep talking and talking and the next thing you knew, you were in the store buying pants. In high school, my friends and I would go to South Street just to be part of this because there was nothing like it in the suburbs.
The ultimate showmanship/performance by people in unglamorous jobs takes place daily at Pike Place Fish Market in Seattle. In 1986, the market was going broke. I guess there was a “who cares” attitude going on and workers would prank each other. One fish monger, while on one side of the large market, yelled across to an employee on the other side about a fish that a customer wanted. That employee yelled back, and a dialogue of yelling continued. Customers seemed to like it. Then the first fish monger threw the large fish in question to the other fish monger on the far side of the market. It was caught, and the customers cheered.
This all became a habit. A standard practice. A show. It attracted tourists. They say 20,000 people a day visited the Pike Place Fish Market. The market redesigned its logo to show a fishmonger throwing a fish.
Good Morning America and other TV shows did stories on the market, the yelling and the fish throwing. More tourists. More attention. In addition to being able to fillet a fish, employees now had to be adept at throwing and catching them. The spirit of fun, playfulness, excitement, and camaraderie was so pronounced that a documentary on the market was made, and a corporate training video about the market was shown at Fortune 500 companies. Pike employees began touring the country giving motivation speeches.
Employees who were shown the training film, however, should have been reminded that the intended message was not quite literal. At one company, an enthusiastic middle manager who had seen video broke into a board meeting and tossed a 15-pound striped bass at the CEO. When it came time for a promotion, he was passed over.
In the end, the corporate videos and the Pike Place Fish Market did not change the morale of the American worker or change the American workplace. It certainly did not change the craft of cutting meat. And I image there are employees right now at Pike Place Fish Market who have grown tired of tossing fish. When fun becomes mandatory, it is no longer fun.
So I’m not asking the meat cutters of America to have fun, or to toss salamis. I’m just asking them to take pride, to treat their movements seriously, like choreography, to exhibit skill and develop dexterity. To give the person holding Number 35 (while number 25 is being cut), something to look at and admire. And also to give customers a clean cut, neatly stacked, well-wrapped package of meat.
Not only will this increase productivity, it will also bring a degree of happiness and satisfaction to both meat cutter and meat customer.
And it will make America better.
That’s all now from the Regretful Critic. When the meat cutters read this and say nasty things about me, I’m certain I will regret every word of it.
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