Saturday, June 2, 2012

Eating Out (Sucks)

Eating out sucks. No, I'm not talking about cunnilingus, which is actually a very rewarding exercise for both the tongue and clitoris. With cunnilingus, you actually feel a sense of achievement, and get rewarded as a result of your efforts. You also get to choose the soundtrack to that adventure, which isn't true when going out to eat at a restaurant. Eating at a restaurant is sometimes more tortuous than it is rewarding.

The first thing I noticed upon walking into the Pub 99 an hour or two ago, was the overpoweringly horrible music. The volume of said music was excessive, causing everyone in the restaurant to talk at louder volumes as well. The choice of music was no better; they seem to pick the corniest, most cringe inducing shit they can find. It feels like you just walked onto the set of some shitty romantic comedy movie, with this really poppy, effeminate, castrated rock music blaring over the speakers, dulling the will to live of everyone with good taste in music. Who honestly likes Smash Mouth above the age of 5?

Then, if you have the luck I do, you get stuck with the most unattractive waitress in the restaurant in the place, every time. Or, at the very least, we're talking, bottom 3. Maybe 4th least attractive at the best. I fuckin' swear, this has happened to me every time I've gone to a restaurant in recent memory. And it seems like the only time I actually get an attractive waitress, is when I bring a date, so there's no chance to flirt with her, or get her number when I'm there with another girl. Maybe I could slip her a piece of paper really quick on the way to the bathroom. But I'd never risk that, with my luck my date would turn around to tell me how much she loves the Smash Mouth song playing JUST AS I initiate the number hand off. Then she'd get all appalled and leave without paying for our dinner. That bitch.

Now the funny thing with my lack of hot waitress luck, is I also seem to somehow advertise my disappointment when the waitress introduces herself. I get a strong sense, that THEY can sense my sense of disappointment. All to the soundtrack of Nickelback and Green Day, blaring at uncomfortably loud levels. And waitresses are always so enthusiastic, in general, nevermind the unappealing ones, so it's almost expected of customers to attempt to match their unnecessary levels of pep and happiness.

The awkwardness doesn't end there, oh no. You get a soda, and the amount of ice they throw in there waters that shit right down. I should have just payed for the cup and brought my own refrigerated 2 liter from home. The food and drinks are supposed to be better at restaurants, why else would you want to eat in public with a bunch of strangers around you? "Oh you don't particularly enjoy french fries or coleslaw? Well that's too bad, there's no onion rings to be had at this establishment. Not for shallow assholes who aren't satisfied with consistently overweight, overly enthusiastic waitresses, that is. DICK."

Not to mention the food is excessively overpriced. Three people buying a meal and a drink will usually end up costing at least $50, which is absurd when the food at places like Pub 99 are basically microwaved; it isn't exactly that fresh. Sure, it's a bit higher quality than your local McDonalds or Burger King, but the meal doesn't reflect such a dramatic spike in price. And, it's like, 2 or 3 bucks just for a soda that is more ice than it is drink. The refills aren't even free. So the fat (or perhaps old, but not cougar old, just depressing old) waitress will try to sell you refills, as if she's getting commission for selling more shit. Not only is she up-selling, with no benefit for herself in doing so...she isn't even filling you in on the fact it costs an extra $2.50 to get another watered down Pepsi. An offer to refill should be coupled with a notification of additional payment.

"I didn't even finish the second drink you practically forced me into I only have to pay half because I didn't finish it? As a matter of fact, the ice was about a quarter of the shouldn't I only be paying 25% of this second drink?"

Worst of all, you gotta watch what you say, being in public and whatnot. You'll be remarking on the lack of BBQ sauce on the wrap, how it doesn't taste as good as last time you were there, that it tastes more like a salad with some scraps of chicken in it, in a half joking manner of course, and this will somehow coincide with the exact moment the disappointing waitress comes to drop off that unwanted refill she convinced one of your friends or family members into accepting, at the tune of an extra $2.50, as the speakers vomit the lyrics to one of the worst songs in history;



Either that, or the chef is walking out to take a cigarette break. Why he isn't going out the employee entrance, I don't know, but he just happens to be walking by when you're talking shit about his meal. Maybe he's a disgruntled gourmet chef, who ended up being forced to work at an Applebees. It's his first week back on the job, after a two or three year stretch of unemployment. He used to work in a 5 star joint, but he accidentally burnt the place down the day he went in despite his cold, ever the loyal and valiant employee, so he drank a bit too much cough medicine before his shift, not knowing there were side-effects, burnt that place to the ground, wound up at Applebees microwaving fake food. So he ends up going on a killing spree, getting naked and eating the face off some poor homeless dude in Miami, just because of ill timing.

At the end of it all, you gotta leave a better tip. Otherwise, it's implied you're disappointed with the way the waitress looks. The service is almost always the same, in my opinion. The attitude fluctuates from waitress to's either flirty vs. peppy. There is no in-between. There is no middle ground in these circumstances. The exception to the rule is if you get the older woman, the one you feel bad that she has to have such a job at such an age, so you tip her a little extra, hopefully putting little Cornelius through a semester at the shitty local community college.

I mean, shit, eating out is a rare chance to effortlessly tell a completely random hot chick that I don't even know to get me a sandwich, without her getting offended in any way. It's her JOB, to bring me this sandwich. Obviously there's some more verbal padding to it than that, but none the less...that's basically what's going down, if you really think about it. "Fetch me a steak - and an ale!"

But instead, I don't even get the eye candy, I don't get greeted by 'flirty'...I get stuck with 'peppy'. Disgustingly over-compensating peppy. And I guess you could call her eye-candy...but its shitty eye candy. Eye candy that gives you pink-eye. Like that terrible hard candy you get offered that sits in open containers at old homes. It just sits there for months, basking in the stale air of a nursing home, such unappealing and awkward tasting candy. This isn't Sour Patch Watermelon, or Peach Rings, or Swedish Fish....this is old people candy. It waits patiently for that unlucky, courteous bastard of a visitor to haplessly indulge...

That bowl is quite representative of the stream of unattractive waitresses I've had at all my most recent restaurant visits...just one of the many reasons I feel like life is this giant shit-test. It's all just a big, sick, twisted simulation. Like the Truman Show, but way shittier. Unlike Truman, I don't get the job. I don't get the wife, or even the hot waitress. Instead I live from bowl-pack to bowl-pack to cope with living this horribly scripted series of disappointment to disappointment we all face, watching the fallout resulting from years of a shadow governments tyrannical reign over the world.


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