The whole restaurant experience can leave a bad taste in your mouth these days, not to mention how expensive it all is. Yet what do you get out of it other than bad service, terrible food, and killer cramps?
Nothing like spending $14.95 for a cheeseburger the size of an Oreo—fries not included—and $3.95 for a watered down beverage, served up with enough ice to rival the iceberg that took down the Titanic—refills not included. After the meal an over-friendly waitress will convince you to eat a dessert you don’t want, to the tune of $7.95, for something that taste like rotten peaches in spaghetti sauce, in a bowl the size of a Fancy Feast can. By the time a family of three gets done with their meal—Bambi the waitress’s tip included—you can’t walk out of there without being at least $100 poorer than when you came in.
To kick off your dining experience, there’s always the bubbleheaded waitress meet and greet, which goes something like this:
“Hey there! Good golly gee, it’s great to see ya’ll! How ya’ll doin’? My name’s Bambi Sue and I’m super thrilled to be takin’ your order today!” Bambi Sue will gush, giggling wildly.
Now either Bambi Sue actually is a brainless fruitcake, or she figures it will earn her a bigger tip to act like one. When Bambi Sue finally takes your order, she’ll invade your personal space by plunking herself right down next to you in the booth.
Next, you aren’t sure whether the fault lies on Bambi Sue’s shoulders or the line cook’s dandruff ridden ones, but you could’ve wrestled a cow to the ground and made your own hamburgers in the time it takes them to actually get the food out to you. And once your order arrives it is, of course, wrong.
“Ummm…excuse me, Bambi Sue but I ordered onion rings, not fries.”
To which Bambi Sue will look puzzled, flop her hair to one side, then pick up one of your fries and eat it. A dim bulb will flick on above her head as she giggles and says, “Oooops, guess yer right! Let me just take those for you!” You’re done with the rest of your meal before you ever see Bambi Sue again.
At last, she’ll emerge from who knows where and ask if you’re ready for dessert. To which you explain you’re still waiting for your onion rings. The blank stare reveals she has no clue what you’re talking about, but dismisses it quickly and says, “You’ve just gotta try our Bavarian mango tart soufflé, or I’ll just burst into tears right here and now thinkin’ about how yer missin’ out!”
Without being given a choice in the matter, Bambi Sue takes off and is back in a millisecond with the grossest looking concoction the world’s ever seen—you soon discover it tastes far worse than it looks. Almost an hour goes by before you see her again, but you haven’t really noticed as you and the rest of your family had to take several desperate turns in the dining establishment’s questionable restroom, as the soufflé didn’t sit all that well with anyone.
Smiling, Bambi Sue finally reappears with your check—which is nearly as astronomical as the national debt. “Come back again real soon, cause I’ll miss ya if you don’t!” she says waving wildly at you, even though she’s right in front of you. You question whether to leave any tip at all, but Bambi Sue’s still standing right there eyeing you.
You shell out way too much of a tip onto the table and make a mad dash for toward the cash register, hoping beyond all hope to make it home before the soufflé begins to swirl in your family’s collective stomachs again.
Sort of makes staying at home and slaving away over a hot stove for hours appealing. Well, maybe.