The thought of bad service puts a pit in my stomach and makes my butt sweat a little bit.
That is how awful it is to me.
The effeminate term for it is “Pet peeve”, but I hate that word.
I would rather eat crappy food, if it means I get awesome service.
Because, no matter how good the food is, if I never get to the point of tasting it, all I have is the memory of crappy service.
I grew up in a family business, a little burger place.
The whole family, and I come from a large family, has worked there at one time or another.
It was a lot like jury duty, but worse.
You dodge jury duty and you risk a fine.
Blow off the family obligation and you have no where to go on Thanksgiving.
I started working there at age ten.
I was so short, I had to stand on a milk crate in order to take orders and reach the register.
So, when a new place opens up, and I swing by to sample the fair, I find myself confronted with….
I have been standing in line for 10 minutes so far.
There is only one customer in front of me.
He was there when I got here.
And they are not even halfway thru his order, and it doesn’t sound like a big one.
But the thirty-something behind the counter is a shocking combination of dumb and severe ADD.
She has interrupted him three times to mention something about the rain, his shirt and his watch.
I would think she is flirting but the guy ahead of me is about 70 years old.
Although, you never know, she could be a Methuselah chaser.
Now you KNOW that visual is going to linger.
Counter girl is now trying to puzzle out the register.
Watching her trying to master the modern cash register is a lot like watching a monkey fucking a football.
Sure, its amusing for a few minutes, but then it starts to annoy you and it just frustrates the monkey.
I gave it another 5 minutes and then I left.
She never even noticed.
There was however, a guy, roughly the same age, peeking out from the kitchen.
He raised his finger as I passed thru the threshold.
Whatever he said, I never heard it.
Who has that kind of time?
I hate stomping out of someplace in a snit, but dammit, get your shit together, people!
The new place will have to wait for a later date.
Perhaps a time when I have a wide open schedule and I can block out a serious amount of time for Counter Girl’s laborious mental exercise.
Maybe, God forbid, she will figure it out by then.
Till then, I will visit my favorite places.
And there is a damn good reason why they got to be my favorites.
Maybe the secret to becoming a favorite is that they don’t screw up.
The food isn’t wretched and the service doesn’t suck like an insecure date on prom night.
Rude line for a hard wisdom.
Alright, wisdom might be a stretch.
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