We once stopped at a Subway. After we each laid out our well-phrased order, the sandwich artist replied, "We're out of bread."
My daughter and I exchanged glances than laughed and said, "That's a good one..."
"No, really. We're outta bread."
Since we're sharing worth restauarant experiences....
Years ago I was TDY for some Army training in a site west of Baltimore, MD. There was no didning facility, etc so I hopped in the car after a long day looking for anything other than fast food. Finally I saw "Mama Pepperonis" [name changed to protect against lawsuits and I forgot the actual name].
I walked in, waited by the sign that said, "Please Wait to be Seated" and noticed that the place was nearly empty except for a scattering of people who appeared to be veterans of the Civil War. Eventually a surly, broad-beamed wench named "Flo" [another falsity] looked at me long enough to catch my eye so w and then pointed to an empty table. He look transmitted in a glance the message: "If you think I'm walking all the way over there to show you one of twenty empty tables you are sadly mistaken, buster." Once I took a step towards the table, popped her gum and turned back into the kitchen, not caring if I sat my customer a$$ down or not.
My next hint should have been the SENIOR SPECIALS listed front and center on heality-laminated card stock. The most inoffensive item appeared to be the PASTA PRIMEVARA [sic]. I hadn't had a Prime Pasta in a week and was famished.
When Her Surliness finally re-appeared, I offered up my request. She looked at me with disgust -- who would actually order PASTA PRIMEVARA in this dump? She grabbed the menu and walked off. Five steps away she turned part-way and said over her shoulder, "You want the salad?"
"Sure..."
She continued on her way to important surliness, eager to insult someone more worthy.
By now I relaized that while my hunger would not be satisfied, a morbid curiosity in the depths of human depravity might be. After a long, long time the salad (consisting of three iceberg leaves and four store-brand croutons) landed in front of me, with a paper napkin and some tossed silverware. I picked at the lettuce and the
Great Value Ranch dressing and wondered what was next.
Eventually the main course arrived. Flo asked if I was done with me salad and seemed hurt I'd only picked at the cheaped, limp mess.. She traded my salad plate for a a plate of overcooked
Great Value spaghetti upon which dirty stems -- not florets (the green part) -- just
stems -- of brocolli sat bathed in watery solution. I looked up to ask Flo what this was but she'd already headed back towards the kitchen. Mid-escape she half-turned, looked at me, and tossed the salad fork -- yes
tossed -- back on to the table as she said "You're going to need that."
I stopped the fork from skipping across the table and watched Flos back as she stumped back into the kitchen, exhausted from dealing with demanding morons who thought you got a separate fork for each course --
idiots!!
I smiled, glad to have been exposed to this level of slovenly service to better appreciate the chains where the wait staff are commanded to break into the most compelling converstaion to ask if you need more Coke ("I've been thinking, we've been togther a long time now, and..." "HOW'S YOUR POTATO SKINS? GOOD? MORE COKE?")
I waited until Flo came back out for her rounds and told her I was done. She seemed unsurprised, and dropped the bill.
$8.13 for "Drnk, Sal, PP"
I pulled out eight singles and thirteen cents and left it on the table, scattered a bit, to force Flo to do something requiring effort.
