american girl

We spent the evening of Darby’s birthday at the American Girl Bistro. I went in smiling, feverishly snapping pictures of Darby, the girlfriend she had chosen to bring along and Kendall, all dressed in their Sunday best and proudly clutching their dolls.

Internally, I was kicking and screaming as we walked through the store to get to the restaurant. They charge $95 dollars for their dolls (the dolls my girls have were incredibly generous gifts from their grandparents). $24 for outfits for the dolls. $8 for glasses to go with the $24 outfits for the $95 dolls. I find it appallingly excessive in the current economic environment.

But it was a very special occasion and we really wanted to do something that would be meaningful for Darb. She loves the whole American Girl brand. I can’t really argue with her; there’s a lot to love. The story lines that the dolls are marketed around are wonderfully educational and empowering to young girls. They bring history to life through the eyes of strong, independent, community minded young women. They show girls that they can make a difference in their world, even in the face of incredible challenges.

But that didn’t make it any easier to swallow the concept of a hair salon for dolls (at $10 – $20 depending on the style) or a $16 prixe fix menu for my 5 and newly minted 8 year old. And unfortunately, it didn’t make the environment any friendlier for Kendall.

The place was an outright assault on her senses. Little kids were – as one would expect them to be – everywhere. There were crying babies and yelling toddlers and waiters endlessly announcing birthdays and singing loudly. The acoustics were awful and the tables were cramped and nearly piled on top of each other. Almost immediately, she needed her headphones to keep from melting down. She made it through, but her tension was palpable. By the end of dinner, I felt awful for bringing her there.

The older girls finished their cake and ran off to explore the store. Kendall had finally had enough and Matt got up to take her for a walk. I found myself alone at the table with three dolls, a camera, half a cake and the bill.

The waitress came over and asked if it had been something I said. We laughed and I explained that the older girls were in search of things they just HAD to have (except not) and the little one had been in need of a break. She very diplomatically and respectfully asked if Kendall had sensory challenges. I said that she did and explained that they came along with the autism package. And then came the conversation that forever ended my grumbling about American Girl.

She looked at me, her face drenched in compassion and asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Hmm. Umm. Well. I explained that I never would have thought to tell her. With all due respect, I asked her why I would.

She pointed to a small group of tables set apart from the rest, behind a half wall formed by a set of booths. She said that she would have seen to it that we were seated there, where it would have been quieter, less chaotic.  She then asked if I could tell her if there had been anything that she might have done differently during our meal. She wanted to know if there was anything that might have inadvertantly set Kendall off, or if there could have been ways that she could have made the experience easier for us. “Because I really want to learn for next time.”

We talked for a few minutes. I told her that when she had come over to the table to introduce herself, she had touched Kendall’s shoulder in order to get her attention. I explained how difficult that can be for her. It was really all I could think of on the spot, but she was grateful for it.

She handed me a comment card and implored me to fill it out. She said, “I’m sure you have zero time to do this, but it would be really helpful if you could maybe offer some suggestions for us as to how we could better serve kids like your daughter.”

And then she sealed the deal. She secured a lifelong American Girl customer. She looked me in the eye and said, “We just love girls here. And we want ALL girls to be comfortable and have fun with us.”

It was all I could do not to hug her.

I called American Girl’s corporate office. I thanked them. I asked them to please let the waitress know how much her words meant.

So what do you think?

This one? Or this one?