Drink And Be Merry, For Tomorrow We Dine

| Working | January 20, 2014

(My husband tends to prefer the ‘girly’ drinks. We are at a restaurant. The waiter puts my martini down in front of him and his drink in front of me. We switch.)

Waiter: “What are you doing?”

Me: “Oh, I had the martini.”

Waiter: “No, you drink the pink one.”

Husband: “No. That’s my drink.”

Waiter: “No! That’s a woman’s drink!”

Me: “Could you go get our appetizer, please. We do not need your input on our drink selections.”

(The waiter stalks off. When he returns he makes sure to knock my drink over when he slams our appetizer down, spilling a good portion of that too.)

Waiter: “Oh, sorry. Let me go get you a more appropriate drink.”

Me: “No. You get me your manager. Immediately.”

Waiter: “That won’t be necessary.”

Me: “You don’t get to decide that. Manager. Now.”

(The waiter stalks off again. A manager ambles over a few minutes later.)

Manager: *rudely* “My waiter said you were being disorderly. If you can’t settle down I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Husband: “I’m guessing he conveniently forgot to mention how he’s harassed us since bringing our drink order, purposely spilled my wife’s drink and our appetizer, and then told her he’d go get her a more ‘appropriate’ drink.”

Manager: “Um, well, he said…”

Me: “You know what? Just cancel our order. Bring us the bill for our drinks immediately.”

Manager: “Oh. Surely this is just a misunderstanding.”

Husband: “The only thing I’m not understanding is why you’re not getting us our bill.”

(The manager scuttles off and still tries to bill us for the food we never got. Once the bill is actually settled, we leave. It isn’t until the manager sees my husband’s signature that he runs out to catch us at the door. My husband is a fairly well-known local food critic.)

Manager: “I hope this unfortunate misunderstanding won’t sully your view of our establishment. If you would like to return, we will bring you your meals on the house.”

(It’s obvious he’s trying to save face and ward off a bad review. My husband does not take kindly to this turnabout simply because he can leave a bad review, instead of trying to make it up to paying patrons.)

Husband: “Again, there was no misunderstanding. We were given a rude, condescending waiter, and you did a poor job of handling the situation. I will make sure to let others know of how you treat your patrons.”

Manager: “Please. If you would just—”

Me: “Just what? Give you a chance to treat us like you should have before you knew who he was?”

Husband: “No, thanks.”

(We ended up going to the restaurant across the street. When he wrote his next segment he made sure to give a glowing review to the restaurant in which we actually ate. He never even mentioned the first place, but they still went out of business shortly after.)

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