Tuesday, June 3, 2008

the diner

this isn't about a diner. It's about a DINER.

Not a customer. A place you go to eat.

So, my mom, my sister and I went to eat at this restaurant across the street from us, for our weekly business meeting.

We've got there a handful of times. The french toast is quite good.

Last Saturday, I went there by myself, to get out of the house and not have cereal for 108 consecutive days. And the french toast was awful. I actually had to send it back, and I hate doing that. So they gave me a waffle and everything was right with the world.

This morning, had same thing... but I asked if they could make sure it's really cooked. Perhaps that was the problem. So the waitress goes in the back and says "Listen, really cook the french toast, cause the guy was here Saturday and said it wasn't good."

I'm like, christ... there's no way this food is not going to contain any of a hundred really nasty, awful things.

So I get the food, and lo-and-behold, really bad french toast. And so I asked the waitress. "Umm, listen, this isn't very good. I'm really sorry. But did you change cooks or something? Maybe the bread?"

"No. Remy's been here 12 years. I've been here 12 years."

"Oh. Well, I was here Saturday and it was the same thing, just not right. I'm really sorry."

"It's no problem, we need to know these things."

So she takes it. And I think it's the end. And it's not.

She turns around and says, in front of about fifteen other patrons. "He says it's no good Remy. Just like Saturday's."

Remy is this 50 year old battle ax of a woman, wearing a hairnet with a broad sword over one shoulder, a missile launcher over the other.

My mouth falls open.

"Was something different?" she says. "Because he said something's wrong with it."

Remy says something. "Oh, the batter?"

She says something else. "Oh, you didn't make the batter?"

My mom goes "Oh my god, your face is so red!" to me.

I'm mortified.

"You didn't make the batter?" my sister practically yells to Remy. I turn and say "Shut up!" to her.

I can't even look over, because I know Remy is taking down my stats just in case I ever show my face in there. The waitress comes by and says "I'll take it off the check. Do you want anything?"

"Just some wheat toast," I say, not able to look at her.

She says "Want some more coffee?"

I groan. I do. I nod.

What a freakin' nightmare.

This is basically what I thought was gonna happen.



Next week, Perkins, where I will be dealing with another animal, all together.

(everyone) Next week, Perkins, where I will be dealing with...

Ah, forget it.

1 comment:

~*~Shadow.Crystal~*~ said...

This is gold... I stumbled it. :-)
Wow... that video clip summed up my greatest fear when complaining about restaurant food.