The Restau-Rant
I don't go out to eat much; I don't really like the fanciness. I'd rather sit on my ass eating frozen pizza (preferably unfrozen when I'm eating it) in front of the computer or TV. But, when I do, I always go kicking and screaming. So, this one's for all you slobs out there.
These things always start the same way. You're minding your own damn business when you get a phone call. It's your friend, girlfriend, or relative. They want to eat with you but don't like the idea of doing it in your home, so they drag you out to some random place that you don't want to go to, like Applebee's, or one you've either never heard of... Like Applebee's.
You get to the restaurant on time, and guess what. Your lunch-mate isn't there. So, what do you do? Do you go in and order like a smart person? No. You sit in the car damning the Heavenly Father because you're out of your house for an extra 20 minutes.
Finally, your friend, girlfriend, or relative shows up and you put on your big dumb smile and, chances are, you realize your teeth are a color to match the sun because you forgot to brush your teeth when you got out of bed for the first time in three weeks. You then stumble to the door, tripping on solid ground due to the muscular dystrophy of being lazier than a rock. When you finally make it to the door, nearly 3 hours later, you're ready to get a doggy bag and take it home.
The seater (that's not a car, that's a person that seats you, although a car ride for the two feet to your table would be nice at this point) is always the same. They don't hire the person best qualified for the job (though the interview for this would really only have to questions: "Can you say words?" and "Can you walk?"); they never hire the most qualified person. They hire the girl with the biggest chest size who can fake a smile while stringing together sentences of no more than three words.
You sit down at the table and immediately get a menu shoved in your face, quite literally. Once you're done rubbing the food particles that came from the menu off your nose, you look at the menu. Here's where the only variation in the average dining experience is: Either everything looks good, so you have trouble deciding, or nothing looks good, so you have trouble deciding.
From your left ear, you hear a fly buzzing around your head. First thought when you hear this is usually, "I hope this thing digs a whole in my brain stem so I don't have to sit here another minute." From your right ear, you hear an annoying female voice bitching to a random customer about how she got in a wreck, got brain damage, and didn't get enough money to pay her hospital bills. Then, she tells this person about how she's going to go to school next semester to become a doctor (probably a brain surgeon so she can try to operate on herself).
Finally, your waitress comes, and says "Ya'll ready to order?" in the same annoying voice that was going to operate on her own head. Your first thought, when finding this out, is "Oh no, she's going to kill a bunch of people." Your second thought is the much more personal, "Oh Jesus, this brain-dead twit is going to drool on my burger."
You sit and wait in complete silence, staring at each other, with only the words "I'm hungry" between you for 30 minutes to an hour for you food to come. Finally, the silence is broken, not by your waitress, but by the explosion of methane that seeps out of your hindquarters. This, of course, you blame on the poor sap sitting behind you.
Then, when you get your food, you sit in silence, stuffing your face. After the first bite or two, the waitress will come over and ask, "How is anything?" You, then, smile and nod with a thumbs-up, because telling her, "It's much better than the pimple-faced retard down at the McDonald's, who's known for rubbing his genitals on the meat before serving it, does!"
In the end, both you and your dinner partner leave more pissed off than you did when you first entered. Ah, the magic of restaurants.
These things always start the same way. You're minding your own damn business when you get a phone call. It's your friend, girlfriend, or relative. They want to eat with you but don't like the idea of doing it in your home, so they drag you out to some random place that you don't want to go to, like Applebee's, or one you've either never heard of... Like Applebee's.
You get to the restaurant on time, and guess what. Your lunch-mate isn't there. So, what do you do? Do you go in and order like a smart person? No. You sit in the car damning the Heavenly Father because you're out of your house for an extra 20 minutes.
Finally, your friend, girlfriend, or relative shows up and you put on your big dumb smile and, chances are, you realize your teeth are a color to match the sun because you forgot to brush your teeth when you got out of bed for the first time in three weeks. You then stumble to the door, tripping on solid ground due to the muscular dystrophy of being lazier than a rock. When you finally make it to the door, nearly 3 hours later, you're ready to get a doggy bag and take it home.
The seater (that's not a car, that's a person that seats you, although a car ride for the two feet to your table would be nice at this point) is always the same. They don't hire the person best qualified for the job (though the interview for this would really only have to questions: "Can you say words?" and "Can you walk?"); they never hire the most qualified person. They hire the girl with the biggest chest size who can fake a smile while stringing together sentences of no more than three words.
You sit down at the table and immediately get a menu shoved in your face, quite literally. Once you're done rubbing the food particles that came from the menu off your nose, you look at the menu. Here's where the only variation in the average dining experience is: Either everything looks good, so you have trouble deciding, or nothing looks good, so you have trouble deciding.
From your left ear, you hear a fly buzzing around your head. First thought when you hear this is usually, "I hope this thing digs a whole in my brain stem so I don't have to sit here another minute." From your right ear, you hear an annoying female voice bitching to a random customer about how she got in a wreck, got brain damage, and didn't get enough money to pay her hospital bills. Then, she tells this person about how she's going to go to school next semester to become a doctor (probably a brain surgeon so she can try to operate on herself).
Finally, your waitress comes, and says "Ya'll ready to order?" in the same annoying voice that was going to operate on her own head. Your first thought, when finding this out, is "Oh no, she's going to kill a bunch of people." Your second thought is the much more personal, "Oh Jesus, this brain-dead twit is going to drool on my burger."
You sit and wait in complete silence, staring at each other, with only the words "I'm hungry" between you for 30 minutes to an hour for you food to come. Finally, the silence is broken, not by your waitress, but by the explosion of methane that seeps out of your hindquarters. This, of course, you blame on the poor sap sitting behind you.
Then, when you get your food, you sit in silence, stuffing your face. After the first bite or two, the waitress will come over and ask, "How is anything?" You, then, smile and nod with a thumbs-up, because telling her, "It's much better than the pimple-faced retard down at the McDonald's, who's known for rubbing his genitals on the meat before serving it, does!"
In the end, both you and your dinner partner leave more pissed off than you did when you first entered. Ah, the magic of restaurants.