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My son had a juried piano event he had to be to as soon after 1:00 pm as we could get him there. We arrived at the restaurant about 12:02, but there was some moron with his frazzled looking wife and two ugly teens standing in front of us. I couldn't get the gist of the conversation, but they seemed to be asking questions, describing the difficulties they had getting there, and then when I thought they'd finally move the guy ends up on his freakin' cell phone! The hostess, a confused teen who was getting more confused by the second, tried to seat the baboon troop, but with little success. She'd start off in the direction of an empty table, but the brainless group just stood there, milling about. She tried this again, but it didn't work any better than the first time. Finally daddy and his cell phone took the hint and started off after her. Another pimple faced young woman appeared at the hostess desk and asked how many, I told her three. She grabbed three menus, looked at me, and asked how many. I again said three. I could see the synaptic connections in her brain were not firing in the proper order, it was the vacant look in her eyes that gave it away. She wandered off looking for an empty table. She returned and then wandered off in another direction. She did this three times and finally told us to follow her, but stopped abruptly to announce that breakfast was no longer being served. I was disappointed, my boy eats nothing but hamburgers so he didn't care, but my wife was steamed. She had her heart set on bacon and eggs and after all this confusion they weren't serving any. Reluctantly she agreed to eat lunch. With that the woman marched us to our table and we were seated. No sooner were we down than she grabbed the menus off the table announcing that she couldn't give them to us until the kitchen had made the switch from breakfast to lunch, but she'd be back with them just as soon as they did. I looked at my wife and we both frowned. I asked why she would have to do this and she replied it was policy. Where have I heard this before? This was the point that I lost it. I said, 'Look, I know this is not your restaurant and you only work here, but that is the dumbest thing I've ever heard of. I have a schedule to keep, you've already screwed up my morning by not having the sense to post some information somewhere indicating you stop serving breakfast at noon; on the sign at the street would be the ideal spot. Don't wait until you have someone standing at the front desk to tell them, 'Oh yeah, by the way, we're not serving breakfast now.' That stinks! Then you're going to hold me up longer by not letting me look at a menu while the kitchen help switches from breakfast to lunch? Who came up with this bright idea? Give us the menus, let us look it over and know what we want so when your kitchen crew is done doing god knows what, you can take the order and get it in sometime today! It makes no sense to have us sit here an extra ten or fifteen minutes doing nothing! I wish you'd pass this along to your manager. Of course he may not hear you considering he must have his head up his butt to come up with such idiotic policy to begin with!' The woman had remained stony faced through my rant, right up till that last statement, when she broke a big grin on her face. Yep, I had guessed correctly, the help didn't think the managements policies were any brighter than the customers did. She apologized for the inconvenience and slipped off to pass on my irritation to her fellow employees and her supervisor. I could see her co-workers look my way and grin as she explained my speech to them; I would bet good money they'd all heard it at one point or another since they'd started working there. Soon a guy in his mid 30's, a paunch hanging over his belt, first real signs of balding making an appearance, and a choppy moustache that looked like shredded wheat applied with super glue to his upper lip by one of his kids, approached the table with a bounce in his step. His name was Bob (what else?) and he was the manager, it said so on his little corporate name tag. He never mentioned my complaints, but grinned like an idiot asking us if everything was all right, could he get us anything, did I need more coffee, yada yada yada! He was back every five minutes and in between his visits the waiter, another smiling kid without a clue who was trying to do his best, and the hostess returned to our table like bees to the hive. We were smothered in Friendly's service. Interesting, slightly irritating, but too late to make any difference in my utter dismay at the unthinking policies of this restaurant chain. The waiter did a fair job, he got a tip, and we left late for the kids piano competition. My wife and I had salads, still adhering to our no-carb diet, and the boy a burger. I had to hear her grumble about not getting her breakfast for the rest of the day and how salads just didn't hack it as real food. I had to agree, but I also had to listen to her go on about it until I wanted to shoot myself! The kids burger was mediocre and he had to join in the complaining too. I don't ever want to have to put up with this again. Three strikes you're out. I won't be going
back to Friendly's in this lifetime. Who is this Guy RCat? Currently, his duties include acting as the head of a family consisting of an overworked wife, a vibrating teenaged son, and an over stimulated housecat. An elder daughter resides at some distance with her own family; a husband, two sons, and a daughter. As head of this merry band of pranksters, the illusionary aspects of his carefree life are played out on the stage of daily routine. RCat is a self described "survivor," having lived through the "flower power" promises of the 1960's with the goals of world peace, universal brotherhood, free-love, and the legalization of certain organic herbs. Contrary to what others might say, he can still remember parts of it quite vividly. Sadly, those cosmic issues have now been reduced to the cliché. He now, more realistically, understands the world has gone quite mad and no longer cares to be a part of the continuing descent into oblivion. The thought of putting on a loincloth to venture forth and live out his days meditating in a tall tree in a distant forest sounds appealing. Of course, he isn't kidding himself. Chances are a noisy bunch of cretins will quickly invade the tree next to him. Ah well, such is the way of this planet we call home. In the meantime, he scribbles poetry, short stories, and essays, as well as a choppy stream of drawings, cartoons and works of art. All done with a grin as meditative mental therapy in an effort to hold onto what little remains of his sanity. Enjoy him while you can, he is the quintessential endangered species. Send RC a message either directly or using the Word Catalyst feedback form. For more from RCat visit the Word Catalyst archives or his online home. |
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The wife wanted some breakfast, but didn't want
to cook. I loaded her and my sixteen year old son into the truck
and went off to eat. I had a place in mind, I wanted breakfast
too, but I ended up in the wrong lane to make my turn, so I headed
for another restaurant in my neighborhood. It's a benign place,
called 'Friendlys' and new to the area. We'd eaten here twice
before and I hadn't been impressed, but I figured what the heck.
R.
C. Arquette, "RCat" to friends and fellow writers,
is an aging hippie and practicing curmudgeon. He was dragged
into the world, kicking and screaming, back in the middle of
the last century; 1950 to be exact. His outburst clearly showed
his disdain for reality at the earliest of stages. He grew up
living in the sub-tropical splendor of the "Sunshine State,"
Florida, US of A, where he attended Jr. College and after twenty
years received his AA degree; what can I say, life kept getting
in the way.
From The Attic
Cheshire Cat
Songs of
