Wyn Drabble: Cheesed off at Fiji's slack service

I really don't know how Fiji works but somehow it seems to get by. It's the lack of organisation which puzzles me. Sure, I got what I went for - a relaxing time with lots of swimming and lazing on beaches - after six weeks of medical "exile" in Palmerston North.
But I still had to eat and drink and be accommodated and last week's experiences made me wonder how their "system" produces any goods and services at all.
Let me script an exchange which occurred at the reasonably "posh" cafe at Denarau Marina.
Me: May I have a ham and cheese toastie and a black coffee please?
Girl 1: Certainly, sir, a ham and cheese sandwich and a coffee.
Me: Ham and cheese toastie.
Girl 1 (turning to Girl 2 for advice): Which button do I press for toastie?
Girl 2 (taking over): Now, what was it, sir? A toastie and a coffee?
Me: That's right.
Girl 2: And what sort of toastie would you like?
Me: Ham and cheese.
Girl 2: And the coffee?
Me: Black, please.
Girl 2 (turning to Girl 3 who must have been a supervisor): He wants a ham and cheese toastie and a black coffee.
Girl 3: Now, sir, I understand you would like a ham and cheese toastie and a black coffee.
Me: Absolutely correct.
Girl 3: Will that be all, sir?
Me: For the present but I might have a caramel square to take away after that.
Girl 3: A which?
Me (pointing): A caramel square. It's written up there on the board.
Girl 3 (scanning shelf then turning to Girl 2): Do we have caramel square?
Girl 2 (checking board): Well, it's written up there but maybe we've run out.
Me: Well, maybe by the time I've finished my toastie you might have got some more in.
Girl 3: Of course, sir. Now what sort of toastie was it?
Girl 4 (pouting): I didn't even get any dialogue.
You think I'm exaggerating, don't you? Well, only with Girl 4.
And how's this for a worldwide franchise operation? I won't script it or I would use up my allotted space. I will condense it.
For my simple burger (I was very desperate) I was served by four different people, none of whom knew what anyone else was doing. The order took twenty minutes and the supervisor (the fourth person) didn't charge me because he must have thought that one of the other three had.
Admittedly, the third one got really close but then suddenly turned and ran about 40m to the other end of the building and started taking drive-through orders. End result - one free burger (free being a very accurate reflection of its value).
From the same franchise but a different outlet:
Me: I'd like a large chocolate sundae please?
Assistant: Yes, sir. What flavour?
Me: Chocolate, please.
Assistant: Large or small?
One morning I decided on a cafe breakfast. I sat and ordered toast and two poached eggs. They came pretty swiftly and looked good but there was no salt and pepper on the table. I looked around. There was no salt and pepper on any table. I asked for some.
After a while I had to start so I was halfway through my eggs when the waitress brought some salt in a tiny little tub, the kind they use for tartare sauce with takeaway fish and chips. I reminded her about the pepper too. By the time I had finished my eggs, pepper-free, she returned to tell me that there was no pepper.
"No pepper in a restaurant! That must be a world first."
She flashed one of those brilliant, carefree smiles Fijians are so expert at - a sort of thank you for the compliment.
When I paid the cashier I asked, very politely, why their restaurant lacked salt and pepper. Her total explanation, with which she was perfectly happy: "It ran out."
I have an uncanny feeling she is still offering the same excuse a week or so later.
Even in the airport departure lounge:
Me: I'll have a mango juice, please.
Attendant: It ran out. You can have guava or pineapple.
Turned out it came from a can anyway.
Back in New Zealand on the drive home from the airport, I engaged in a commercial transaction which delighted me.
Me: Just this milk, please.
Attendant: $4.30, thanks.
Me (departing): Thank you.
It was brief, concise, efficient. I was home.
Wyn Drabble is a teacher of English, a writer, public speaker and musician.