She Does Like To (Belgian) Waffle On And On

, , , , , | Right | February 13, 2018

(My family and I are attending breakfast at an extremely fancy restaurant. My grandmother has a tendency to be a pretty difficult customer, but on this particular day, NOTHING seems to be right. After nearly five minutes of arguing with the hostess, we finally are seated. My grandmother then walks around the buffet tables and returns to our spot, empty-handed, with THE MOST disgusted facial expression I have ever seen. The waitress notices.)

Waitress: “Is everything all right, ma’am?”

Grandmother: “No! This is absolutely disgusting!”

Waitress: “I’m very sorry to hear that. May I ask what’s wrong?”

Grandmother: “Well, for one thing, this table is too small!”

Waitress: “I’m sorry. Would you like me see if there is another table availa—”

Grandmother: “No! We’re already seated! But you said there’d be a full omelet station, and Belgian waffles, but I don’t see any of that here!”

Waitress: “Ma’am, this is what we always serve during breakfast hours.”

Grandmother: “But your ad said a full omelet station and Belgian waffles! I WANTED OMELETS AND BELGIAN WAFFLES!”

Waitress: “I’m sorry, but we don’t serve those in our continental breakfast buffet. Perhaps you are referring to our Sunday Brunch Special?”  

Grandmother: “THE AD SAID THERE’D BE OMELETS AND BELGIAN WAFFLES IN YOUR BREAKFAST BUFFET! I DON’T KNOW WHAT KIND OF PLACE YOU’RE RUNNING HERE!”

(The waitress quickly goes over to the hostess stand and brings back a small flyer, which I read. Sure enough, in bold letters, it advertises a Sunday Brunch Special from 9:00 to 11:30 that features the desired items. It’s 8:00 on Wednesday.)

Grandmother: “Well, you have to do something about this! I don’t want any of that!”

Waitress: “I’m sorry, but I am not able to change the menu like that.”

(My grandmother stopped complaining long enough for the poor waitress to get our drink orders, but was soon at it again, varying between loud, disapproving huffs, slopping and picking at her food, and complaining to anyone who would listen, including strangers. It didn’t help when I discovered a crack in my glass. At that point, she got up and walked INTO the kitchen looking for a manager. By the time we were done with our meal, my grandmother was counting out a 5% tip, and the waitress looked like she was about to cry. So, before I left, I found the manager and told her what happened. Apparently, my grandmother had said the waitress was “incredibly rude” and “had no idea what she was doing.” Then, I hugged our waitress and apologized.)

1 Thumbs
551
VOTES