ARRGHHHHH!!!!

Today was one of those days where everywhere you go, everyone you see is all messed up.

Daughter was going for a flu shot. We got there just as they opened back up from lunch, and already three people were ahead of us. (Did they just sit in the waiting room through lunch, or what?) We knew we didn't have time to wait, because Daughter had a doctor's appointment across town (sorta). We got there with five minutes to spare and waited for 35 minutes in the waiting room. This, I don't like.

They called her back and she put on paper clothes and sat there, freezing for 35 minutes. This, I like even less.

The doctor had forgotten why Daughter was there and had to run back and forth to get what she needed.

By the time we got outta there, we were near starvation. It was too late to get the flu shot.

After we ate, it was too late to do the other errand.

It took forever at the restaurant, the guy who waited on us apologized (because they weren't that busy) and said something was going on back in the kitchen.

Daughter thought she saw one of the guys who works at the funeral home come out of the kitchen, but she was mistaken.

I still felt kind of funny about my steak.

So I came home an aggravated, disgusted, hurting and tired woman.

Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.

Get it together, will you people?

The Customer Is Always Right

Yeah, right.

At least I think that's what our waitress and certainly the "chef" (which was probably an eighteen year old fresh out of high school having a high old time) was thinking.

As you know, Daughter had a recent birthday. Since I had to back out of our traditional restaurant trip due to b.a.c.k. problems, we told her to pick a local place and we'd go to the favorite place this next weekend.

She did, and off we went. She was excited as everything was hers for the asking on the menu. (We are usually more frugal: water only, etc.)

She ordered a dip that she loves, among other things.

When the waitress brought all our food, it was indeed lovely.

Then Daughter tasted the dip. "Will you take a bite and see if it tastes a bit off to you?" she asked.

So I took a piece of hot crusty bread and did so. Errr....I asked Husband to taste it, too

"Tastes like spoiled milk."

Yep.

I finally caught the waitress's eye and told her I thought the cream or milk was spoiled in the dip. She made an ugly face, picked up the dip and walked off.

In a minute she came back. "The chef says he made it fresh from scratch and all the ingredients are in date."

"I'm not accusing him of using out of date products," I said calmly. "However; he needs to taste the dip or smell the cream or milk. Something is spoiled. He needs to check it out."

She asked Daughter if she wanted something else, and Daughter declined, saying the rest of her food was enough. She had a wonderful soup and bread, plus some steamed vegetables.

Husband's food was good, mine was good.

But where is the manager coming over to apologize? Where is the smiling waitress offering free dessert for our trouble? Where are manners? What happened to treating the customer like you wanted them to come back again?

I hope the chef smelled the milk and gagged. Better yet, I hope he took a big old swig of it.

There has to be justice somewhere.

May I Take Your Order?

I frequent a restaurant here, sometimes for the food, sometimes for the entertainment.

Because for a long time, none of the wait staff spoke English. Oh, they thought they did....

For example:

"Take order?"

"Yes, I'll have ____________."

"What dressing on salad?"

"I don't want a salad."

"What kind dressing?"

"No salad. No dressing." And yes, I started speaking louder, like that would help.

"You want no dressing?"
"And no salad."

I got a salad.

Another time, Husband, Daughter and I were seated at the hibachi. The table was already full except for our three seats.

As we listened, it was obvious the others were together and were, in fact, all part of one family. There was an older couple at the other end of the table. They appeared to be in their late sixties, maybe early seventies.

Then there were three couples with children of various ages.

When the meal was coming to an end, I noticed they got their bill and we didn't. I waited a few minutes, but when no bill showed up for us, I flagged down our waitress. I told her we wanted our bill.

"He pay for it." She pointed to the older gentleman at the end of the table.

He was staring at us.

"No, we aren't with his party. The three of us are separate," I said, pointing to Husband, Daughter and myself.

"He pay for it."

"You need to take our food cost off  his bill. We are paying separate."

"No, no. He pay."

A thirty something son-in-law leaned over and whispered to me, "Eh, let him pay. He's loaded."

You just can't make this stuff up.

When it became obvious we weren't going to get a separate bill, Husband and I both apologized to the man. "If you can tell by the bill, we'll pay our share. If not, I'll get a menu and figure it out."

The man sighed heavily. "Forget it. Just consider it an early Christmas present." I think it was October.

"We'll return the favor someday," I said, thanking him profusely.

"You'll never see me again. We live in the eastern part of North Carolina. We are just passing through.

So, yeah, he pay for it.

You get the picture. And we saw other things like that happen around us on different occasions.

It didn't matter what you wanted, you got what they thought you should want.

Daughter attempted to work there. It didn't take long before her not understanding Chinese and them not understanding English got to her. Not only the communication between herself and her co-workers and boss, but the crazy mix ups like what had happened to us.

Customers took it and responded from being amused to very frustrated, depending on the customer and the size of the misunderstanding.

Daughter once told a customer she'd take the difference and pay for it herself, but the customer wouldn't let her.

I don't know what happened, but in the last few months, American wait persons have appeared on the scene.

I am suspicious that business had drooped enough that in some way, the message got across that people were getting too aggravated to eat there.

And, free meal notwithstanding, I didn't blame them at all.

Who knows? Next time, it might have been. "You pay for it."