For some reason I had a hankering for a featured meal at a familiar restaurant chain I hadn’t graced with my presence in over twenty years. I went with my friend who seemed a little querulous at my selection, as he should have been.
I expected that the place would have kept up with the times in terms of interior design and food offerings, but no, this restaurant was built in the sixties and little had been done with it since. It was lunch time and there weren’t more than seven customers, and they seemed to be old geezers like me. We’d gotten old along with an establishment that looked as beat up as we did. Poor lighting, worn tables and chairs: the only sop to modern times was a credit card reader that still looked seriously out of date.
We were greeted by Bambi, a waitress (sorry, server) who was nice enough but looked like she had been on meth for several years. I ordered the breakfast special from a menu that probably had been printed when Gutenberg first came out with his press. The photos weren’t exactly enticing. My friend ordered a lunch selection and had the temerity to ask them to toast the sandwich bread.
So it took forty-five minutes for the food to arrive (remember, seven folks in the restaurant), but my toast didn’t make it with the main dish. When it did come, I asked for jelly, and Bambi apologized, but they were all out of jelly. Of course they were. The food itself tasted like it had been left under a warming lamp for a couple of days. I could have bounced the rubbery eggs off the wall, and the bacon was so crisp and black, it stood up on its own. My friend’s sandwich and fries didn’t fair much better.
I decided to use the restroom, big mistake. The sign said, “Let the management know if this facility needs attention.” Well, obviously, nobody in management had entered this hallowed space in days. Dirty sinks and mirror, roll of paper towels on the floor and the distinct odor of bodily fluids. Not exactly the de rigueur sanitizer.
I treated my friend; hey, this had been my idea. As I stood at the counter to pay, a disheveled lady next to me asked if they had any dishwasher openings (beats working at McDonalds?) and Bambi said, no, they already had two dishwashers, but they only worked in the morning. Of course they did. The credit card reader gave the option of no tips,15%, 20%,or 22% (?). I’m sure the no tips selection got a heck of a workout, but I went with the 22%. Figured Bambi needed whatever help it took to get out of this place.
So if you’re doing the foodie nostalgia tour, be careful what you ask for. You might just be able to bounce the selection off the walls.