Why Is Most Restaurant Service So Abhorrent? Part II
When we order our steak blue, we're aware it might moo when we bite it. When we order our steak well done, we know that it will be tougher than the sole of your worn out Nikes. When we order our pasta al dente, we don't want to be served wallpaper paste. When we order risotto we don't want soup or a stuck together glob resembling mashed potatoes. When we order veggies we don't want them out of a frozen plastic bag. When we ask for our fish cooked through we don't want sushi. When we order poultry we don't want to see red juices on our plate as we don't like to dine with Sam & Ella. When we order anything at all we don't want to hear that you've run out... was the chef away sick the day they taught inventory planning at cooking school? When we bite into the bread we don't want it to be hard stale or have previous bite marks in it. When we ask for salt and pepper, we don't give a good rodent's tushy that the chef has already seasoned the dish to perfection... it's not that damn perfect or it wouldn't need more salt and pepper.
We don't want the bill to be plunked on the table while we're still spooning up the tiramisu, but we don't want to wait until the show we're going to has closed and left town either. If we have to wave at you like we're emigrating for South America on a steamship, you're really not doing your job of being attentive, are you?
Every second that you stare at our hands when we're filling out the Tips part of the credit card receipt is one less percentage point you're getting. Make us uncomfortable while we're gifting you money. Yeah. That works good. That's why you're the waiter and we have the money to eat here.
If you or the kitchen has screwed up royally during our meal, don't wait until we lose our composure and threaten you with bodily harm, get us a friggin' discount on the check. Cutting down the bill by a few bucks is going to get us leaving your restaurant with the understanding that mistakes happen and appreciation for your courtesy, not ready to write a dozen Hubs about how anyone considering dining at your restaurant should go eat out of a dumpster instead.
We don't want to smell your body odor. We don't want your sweat in our cioppino. We don't want lipstick marks on our glasses. We don't want dried on goop on our forks. We don't want to sit next to a stinky bathroom, or on a banquette next to the half ton dad, or at a table that wobbles more than Joe Lieberman's political affiliations, or next to the front door when it's 20 below, or where the swinging door to the kitchen swats us on the shoulder 157 times during the meal. We don't want to eat something that's been sitting on the pass since the Carter Administration. We don't want to wait an hour between courses. We don't want to be served a dripping dish. We don't want to wear our food. We don't want a towel in our bowl of Caesar Salad (it happened to me... really).
Is that really too much to ask?
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