Once or twice a year we ran a program called, “Cooking in Cajun Country.” Mornings were spent in a university kitchen with six cooking stations. Each day featured a different chef or cooking instructor, and the group made their lunch using recipes provided by that day’s chef.
The food budget was a little higher for that program, and it was the only program that our opening night dinner was out at a restaurant, instead of the hotel.
In a previous post I explained a little about the group’s first meeting. In addition to dispersing program folders and name tags, I laid out the week for them, going through the itinerary, explaining how things were going to work, managing their expectations, if you will. I gave them some background info about the area, and some basic history of the people. After my presentation, introductions were made. Each person stood, told us their name, where they were from, and a little bit about themselves.
Let me say that I’ve had plenty of eccentric people in my programs. Being eccentric doesn’t mean you won’t be a good participant, but sometimes there are signs.
On this particular opening night, one woman walked in a little bit late, and headed for the back of the room. I tried to get her attention so I could give her the program folder, but she wouldn’t look at me and she didn’t seem to realize that I was talking to her. I had to walk over to her and touch her arm to get her to look up and receive the folder.
I went through my opening night spiel, and then introductions began. It’s always fun to discover that someone who works for Road Scholar is part of the group at introduction time! Thanks for the heads up! 😮 (It was a very nice guy from the company, and his wife. They said they signed up on a whim, but of course I was thinking they were there to judge me). But they are not the reason for this story.
One of the last introductions was made by our latecomer. She told us her name, and that she was from southern California. Did I forget to mention that she walked in wearing a chef’s hat? An important detail.
With great pride she announced, “I went to culinary school, and then I got a job at the hamburger stand at the zoo.”
She had a Valley Girl-esque speech pattern, and she was 63. Her intro was slightly strange and her occupation was atypical for the group, but it was a cooking program, after all.
We left for dinner at 6:30, and the restaurant was about fifteen minutes away. It was only my second time using this restaurant. It was on the small side, but they were willing and able to take our group of 24, including me and the bus driver. I’d worked with them to create a menu that included a grilled sausage and boudin board appetizer, a choice of salad or gumbo, 3 mains to choose from, and dessert. I was excited for my group to try it.
As we were led to our tables, our tocque wearer chose her spot. I quickly noticed that others were avoiding sitting next to her, so I moved in to sit near her, as did our driver (a college student who was one of my favorite drivers), and a married couple.
We settled in and ordered. The married couple ordered drinks, as did many others in the group, which is pretty normal. I had my usual iced tea. Everything was cordial, there was lots of conversation, although not much from the chef. At one point, she turned to our driver, and asked what the wage was in Louisiana. He looked puzzled, so I asked if she meant minimum wage. “Yes. At the hamburger stand at the zoo, we make $8.00 an hour.”
Near the end of the meal, but before dessert was served, she told me that she was tired and asked if the bus driver could take her back to the hotel. I told her no, but that we shouldn’t be too much longer. A few minutes later she asked if she could call a cab. I told her she could, but Lafayette cabs were notoriously slow, and we might leave on the bus before one could arrive. (This was 2014 and Lafayette didn’t have Uber until 2015.) Our driver offered to go and unlock the bus if she wanted to rest there, where it was quiet. She didn’t.
She got up and left the table. I assumed it was to visit the ladies room, but she’d actually gone to the bar, though not to get a drink. I think maybe to get away from the group. A little later she returned to where the group was sitting, and shouted, “I’m going home! I told you I was sick and you wouldn’t take me back to the hotel! I gave you two chances!” And then she went back to her seat at the bar.
I was completely shocked. I asked the couple and the driver, “Did she say she was sick? I thought she said tired. I’d have handled it differently if she’d said she was sick.” They assured me she’d never said she was sick.
I went to the bar. “I’m so sorry. I thought you were just tired. The driver is starting the bus now,” and I touched her arm to reassure her.
She snatched her arm away and said, “It’s too late! You are harassing me and I’m calling the police!”
I returned to the group and sat down, trying to figure out how I was going to reason with her. A few minutes later I saw that she was now outside, pacing around the parking lot. I decided to go outside and try again. The man who’d been sitting with us with his wife decided he’d come, too.
Surprisingly, just as we started trying to calm her down, a taxi appeared. Fastest ever in Lafayette history. My helper got her into the cab, told her to go get some rest at the hotel, and it would all be better tomorrow, and when she started arguing with the cabbie about price, he even paid the cabbie.
And then the police arrived. She really had called them! She jumped out of the cab and ran over to the officer just as he was getting out of his vehicle. She pointed at me and shouted, “She’s drunk! And she is not looking out for my safety!”
WTH? I was not expecting that. I moved forward, wanting to defend myself, but the police officer held up his hand for me to stop. I did. He wanted to hear her side. He and his partner listened, and at one point I heard them ask her how much SHE’D had to drink. Then they put her in the cab and sent her on her way.
I introduced myself, told them who I worked for and why we were there, and asked them what else they needed from me. They both laughed. “Nothing. Have a good night.”
By now, all of my group was outside and filing into the bus. I had to go back into the restaurant and check over the bill and pay. I was dazed and confused. I’m pretty sure I didn’t check the math.
The bus was abuzz when I got back on. At first, I was just silent, trying to process what had happened. I recall the bus driver asking me to look at how close he was to something, and I’m pretty sure I said it was fine, without actually seeing anything. 😂
I had to collect myself and become a leader again and offer some explanation about what had taken place. A few had been close enough to hear some of it, and they’d already spread the word. I’d also completely forgotten that someone from the Road Scholar office was on the program. Great time to be judged!
I knew I’d have to call both my departmental head at the university as well as the after hours number for Road Scholar to report the incident.
I made the call around 9:00 pm, and they returned the call at 2:00 am. I never did figure out why they waited till 2:00 am to call me back, but that’s beside the point. I explained what had happened, and just as I started to make it clear that I had not been drinking, she stopped me.
“Patti, we know your reputation as coordinator and group leader. You don’t have to defend yourself. If you want us to, we can make arrangements for her return home tomorrow. Or, you could see if she feels better in the morning and apologizes for her behavior.” I chose the former.
The next morning, as I was heading to breakfast, someone from the hotel stopped me to let me know there was someone looking for me in the breakfast room. And there she was, now dressed in full chef regalia, from her head down to her toes.
“I changed my mind! I’m staying. I called my dad and he said I should stick it out!”
“No, you are not staying. You called the police and lied and said I was drunk. Road Scholar is making the arrangements for your flight home right now.”
She looked sad, but did not protest. At that moment Road Scholar called my cell to ask a couple of questions, and then asked me to put her on the phone. “Patti doesn’t even care about me, all she cares about is her job.” 🙄
My boss from the university showed up at the hotel about this time to see how things were going. She got an assignment from Road Scholar to go to the airport and spy on our guest to make sure she actually got on the plane!
The group was very happy with the decision to send her home. They were concerned about who was going to have to work with her, since they break into teams to work at the six stations. In the end, I think it was good that RS had a representative there who saw it all unfold and how I handled it. After this initial glitch, we had a great time that week.
And that is the story of the one time I sent someone home from a program.
