Man, I’ve been away from the blog for quite some time, and what’s the first thing I do upon my return? Bitch.
There’s this burger joint near where I work that’s a Chicagoland landmark, and has been an awesome place to eat for years. Always has great food, and the waitresses (who have been there forever) are awesome.
Well today I go in there, have a seat and I don’t see anyone I recognize. No worries, the place always rocks. My never-before-seen waitress takes my order and then things immediately go downhill.
I order a meal that has chili, a burger, fries and a drink (I’m bulking up for my initial weigh in for a weight loss challenge. More on that in future posts)
Anyway, the chili has add-on’s here. Cheese and sour cream cost $.89 extra for each. I order both. In addition they always ask if you want raw or grilled onions on the burger. Always. This waitress just asked if I wanted everything. I said yes, and that I wanted the onions grilled.
She drops the chili off at the table and then sprints away like she just pulled the wrong cord while diffusing a bomb. Because of her rapid departure I’m not able to tell her that she forgot the cheese. No worry, I probably don’t need it anyway, so I figure I’ll tell her at the end of the meal.
So next she comes by and drops off the burger and fries. She asks if I need anything, and I ask for a side of mayo for the burger. She says sure, and then like the Flash, she’s gone again. I realize then that there’s no onions. Okay, strike two. I’ll inform her when she returns with my mayo. So I wait…and wait…and wait some more.
She’s flittering about the restaurant taking care of people, so I figure the mayo has slipped her mind. I try to flag her down a couple of times to no avail. Fine, before everything gets cold, I’ll eat it without the mayo or the onions. Strike three.
I don’t see her again until after I’ve consumed everything. She does a high-speed fly-by and drops off the check. Not once did she ask to refill my drink (which had been drained since mid-meal.) Strike Four. I look at the check and everything I ordered is on there, including the cheese I never got for that additional $.89 cents. Strike Five.
The waitress has now gone full ninja and I can’t find her anywhere. She didn’t catch a single mistake, didn’t refill my drink, and wasn’t around to ever tell her any of it. That was all annoying enough, but at one point I heard her talking to the people seated in a booth behind me.
“I’m good at this because I can juggle seven kids and this job at the same time.” “Seven kids?” they ask. “Yep, keeps me on my toes.” she says as she sprints away at Mach 5.
That’s the part that really pissed me off. She thought she was awesome at this job, and she bragged about her over-population of the Earth as if repeatedly fucking without contraception was a job skill. In reality she has nothing more than a clown car for a vagina.
So honey, apparently you should have closed your legs years ago, because seven kids was too many to allow you to also be a good waitress. I think I’ve had my last burger there.