"I don't know what the hell he is saying..."
Great lunch today with the family and others for Carla's birthday. Mom and Dad came along, and some of Carla's friends and "family" as well. Long table of 14, which sort of stinks because it's hard to talk with those at the other end. Anyway, I sat directly across from Mom and Dad and had the pleasure of listening to them most of the afternoon.
A quick aside here about the restaurant - great food, a regular stop of ours. The server, however, left much to be desired. Many of us at the table had restaurant experience, and appreciate good service.
This was not what we got. She was unprepared for a party of 14, never anticipated any of our needs (like water pitchers at the table, or extra napkins, or refills of anything). She knew that tip would be included. Fortunately, the manager popped over, spoke to us (we do know him), and insisted we get some great cupcakes on the house. This convinced the server she blew it, and the manager would eventually know that.
Because of this service issue, we had LOTS of time to talk...
First off, Dad starts talking about sports and the old days, and when he played softball for a million teams. I didn't know, for example, that he got twenty bucks on Sunday afternoons for playing in the Bridgeport Puerto Rican League (his words!). The league played on the fields on Iranistan Avenue by Seaside, and if the team lost, he and the other non-Puerto Rican players had to run to their cars because the over 5,000 spectators would start throwing rocks at them. Again, these are his words, not mine.
Meanwhile, Dad is going on and on about the old days, and Mom pipes up, "I don't know what the hell he is saying! What ARE you talking about?" Now, it turns out that one of Carla's friends (sitting next to me) was wondering the same thing, and started laughing with Mom...Dad just kept talking. This type of conversation goes on and on, with Dad telling stories, Mom wondering what the hell he is talking about, and everyone else wondering where the hell the food is.
Eventually, we do get our food. It piddles out, like an old man in bathroom late at night, taking 10 or 15 minutes for everyone to get their lunches. The server is overly apologetic, taking longer to apologize, and standing at the table saying these things while people are STILL waiting for lunch.
We finally finish up, and some folks had other events to get to, wanting the check. The manager comes over, and this sort of stops the conversations going on. He offers us dessert on the house (as he has done in the past when we've been there, regardless of the service).
The server can be heard from the kitchen, "Those people are angry and want their check." I don't think we actually acted angrily myself, although there were definitely some disgruntled diners. She has the nerve to say, "Because there was a big party in the back room, kitchen orders were disrupted. I've brought you these cupcakes to make up for this." Um...no, the manager sent those out because we know him, but alright.
We settle up, Mom is paying attention to everything going on. The server returns the receipt for the check, and says, "I hope to see you all again." Mom is the only one at the table to respond, "Oh yes, you will!"
She may not know what the hell Dad is saying, but she knows what the hell everyone else is saying!
A quick aside here about the restaurant - great food, a regular stop of ours. The server, however, left much to be desired. Many of us at the table had restaurant experience, and appreciate good service.
This was not what we got. She was unprepared for a party of 14, never anticipated any of our needs (like water pitchers at the table, or extra napkins, or refills of anything). She knew that tip would be included. Fortunately, the manager popped over, spoke to us (we do know him), and insisted we get some great cupcakes on the house. This convinced the server she blew it, and the manager would eventually know that.
Because of this service issue, we had LOTS of time to talk...
First off, Dad starts talking about sports and the old days, and when he played softball for a million teams. I didn't know, for example, that he got twenty bucks on Sunday afternoons for playing in the Bridgeport Puerto Rican League (his words!). The league played on the fields on Iranistan Avenue by Seaside, and if the team lost, he and the other non-Puerto Rican players had to run to their cars because the over 5,000 spectators would start throwing rocks at them. Again, these are his words, not mine.
Meanwhile, Dad is going on and on about the old days, and Mom pipes up, "I don't know what the hell he is saying! What ARE you talking about?" Now, it turns out that one of Carla's friends (sitting next to me) was wondering the same thing, and started laughing with Mom...Dad just kept talking. This type of conversation goes on and on, with Dad telling stories, Mom wondering what the hell he is talking about, and everyone else wondering where the hell the food is.
Eventually, we do get our food. It piddles out, like an old man in bathroom late at night, taking 10 or 15 minutes for everyone to get their lunches. The server is overly apologetic, taking longer to apologize, and standing at the table saying these things while people are STILL waiting for lunch.
We finally finish up, and some folks had other events to get to, wanting the check. The manager comes over, and this sort of stops the conversations going on. He offers us dessert on the house (as he has done in the past when we've been there, regardless of the service).
The server can be heard from the kitchen, "Those people are angry and want their check." I don't think we actually acted angrily myself, although there were definitely some disgruntled diners. She has the nerve to say, "Because there was a big party in the back room, kitchen orders were disrupted. I've brought you these cupcakes to make up for this." Um...no, the manager sent those out because we know him, but alright.
We settle up, Mom is paying attention to everything going on. The server returns the receipt for the check, and says, "I hope to see you all again." Mom is the only one at the table to respond, "Oh yes, you will!"
She may not know what the hell Dad is saying, but she knows what the hell everyone else is saying!
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