Thanks for Nothin’.

Trolling for customer appreciation down Sushi Row.

Back in America’s glorious days of wealth and excess, say, 2004, I was as guilty as the next nouveau riche hipster of foregoing the deals and bargains that involved the slightest bit of effort to realize. Rebates? Forget about it. No way was I photocopying a receipt and proof of purchase card or following Proctor & Gamble’s overly-specific, micro-printed instructions just to get a $2 check in six to eight weeks. My mailbox was crammed full of supersaver fliers that landed straight in the recycling bin. I don’t think I’d clipped a coupon since I helped my grandmother dissect her Sunday paper when I was eight. And I only shopped at Gelson’s and Whole Foods because I was certain the produce was better (it isn’t) and the meat was superior (OK, it is, but you pay through the nose for it) than what I could get at double-coupon lovin’ Ralphs. I was one of the those idiots who was too cool to carry a store’s discount card on my keychain or to walk out of a  restaurant with a to-go box of perfectly good food that I had paid for and not finished. But now that being frugal is cool again, and the contents of the to-go box have become tomorrow’s lunch, I jump into economizing with the zeal of a crack head with found money.

Some businesses understand the significance of customer loyalty and reward regular patrons with a discount or freebie that really makes a customer feel appreciated.  My local car wash offers punch cards which give you a couple of bucks off per wash, then after ten visits, your eleventh wash is free. Boom. Simple. That’s a deal that’ll keep me coming back and will hold a place for that little tattered card in my ultra-slim Tumi money-clip where every millimeter is sacred. For some reason, however, one sushi restaurant doesn’t get the concept of customer loyalty. And the results would be laughable if they weren’t so infuriating.

Sushi Spot, located in Tarzana at the far western edge of the stretch of Ventura Boulevard known informally as Sushi Row, distinguishes itself with excellent sushi, not with its in-house promotion. A friend and I have fallen into the habit of eating there before our Monday night poker game in Reseda.  The head chef, Mika, is a believer in the warm-rice sushi popularized by Nozawa in Studio City and Sasabune in West Los Angeles.  (Mika sharpened his knives under Nozawa before opening his own place farther west.) After several visits, the waitress asked if we’d like a club card. “Sure, we would.” Who doesn’t like a deal, right? We had certainly been eating there enough to warrant a little appreciation. So from then on, every week when our bill arrived, out came our cards and the woman would dutifully stamp them (one stamp per $15 spent.) I never took the time to read the fine print of what the great deal on the horizon would be, but I was sure a fine, friendly establishment like Sushi Spot would make toting the hideous, flimsy bit of viridescent cardstock around on my hip a worthwhile undertaking.

I was wrong. When I finally got around to reading back of the card as we pulled into the parking lot one night, not even the odors emanating from the adjacent pot dispensary could make the “deal” sound enticing. Here’s the pitch: One stamp for every $15 spent (excluding tip). After twenty stamps (a ludicrously high number) you get…wait for it…a whopping $20 off. Your next visit. That’s right, for spending $300+, the thanks you get is a one-time bump of about 6%.

I am a big believer that any discount of less than 10% is no discount at all, in fact, it’s a big “fuck you.” This might be the era of consolidation: Adidas bought Reebok, XM merged with Sirius, Google gobbled up everything else, but customers still have some choice, especially in something as competitive as the restaurant business. I’m one of those jerks who wants 10% off just for walking into a store instead of a competitor’s down the street. But if the store gives me a discount, or does something else for me, like throws in a freebie, or offers free repairs, or sweeps out my garage, then I will almost certainly be back. For giving me a few dollars off, that business earns the right to a  lot more of my dollars in the future. We both go home happy.

Unimpressed by Sushi Spot’s promotion, but willing to take their lame discount over none at all, I pulled my tattered card from my pocket and placed it on the table when the bill came. With ten stamps already on my card, I was halfway to glory, even though the Promise Land that Sushi Spot was offering was worth less than a three-pack of dress socks or a case of tennis balls. The server took our cards with a smile, but a minute later returned grim-faced.

“Expired,” she said, pointing to the date-stamp on the top of my card. Sure enough, there it was, stamped like a due date on a library book. And right under, in bold no less, were the words “Offer is good for up to 6 months.” In my incredulity at the net value of the deal, I had overlooked the key stipulation. Not only is the promotion a shitty one, but you have to eat there hard and fast to make it happen. Twenty visits in six months—I don’t hit a gas station that frequently—just to save a double sawbuck after going in the hole for $300.

This was a deal devised by someone very opposed to making deals for anything.

Unfazed, I asked her if she would honor the card anyway and give me the stamps for the $40 I had just spent. She looked at me like I had just asked if I could fuck her sister. “No, you have to start new card.”

“I don’t think I’ll do that, “ I said, and slid my useless card back into my wallet, knowing it would be the cover girl of my next Wreckoning story.

Afterward I started wondering if Sushi Spot’s inability to grasp the concept that a reward to a customer for prolonged loyalty has to be not only meaningful, but attainable, was due to cultural differences. Would the deal the restaurant was offering, pitiful by American standards, be considered reasonable in Japan? My dinner companion that night had lived in Japan for many years and answered the question this way: “Hell no. This guy’s just cheap.”

Maybe so. (The owner certainly wouldn’t have learned good customer care from a sushi-nazi like Mr. Nozawa.) I’ve traveled extensively through the Far East and found that cutting a deal was not only acceptable, but expected. Everything was negotiable. I haggled for everything from hotel rooms to hot pots.

Ahi Sushi in Sherman Oaks offers an almost identical card promotion to that of Sushi Spot, but Ahi has the good sense not to have any expiration date and they let you redeem your card then and there when you get twenty stamps. As a result, I’ve gone through two of Ahi’s cards over the years and am well on my way through a third.

But the greatest example of a Japanese restaurant coming up with a kick-ass deal for this economic down turn can be found less than a quarter mile from Sushi Spot. Mon Restaurant, with its Reggae music and waitresses dressed like beer hall fräulines, throws down an all-day happy hour that would cause even the surliest swapmeeter to crack a smile: large beers for five bucks, from opening until 7 pm.

Now that’s a deal that means something.

Sushi Spot. 19658 Ventura Blvd, Tarzana, CA 91356. Excellent sushi. Lame promotion. Closed Sundays.

Ahi Sushi. 12915 Ventura Blvd, Studio City, CA 91604. Good Nigiri sushi, but don’t get fancy. Avoid the creative menu dishes. These guys will put mangoes on anything.

Mon Sushi. 19463 Ventura Blvd, Tarzana, CA 91356. Yaahhhh, Mon!