267 words yesterday.
Mike took me to dinner last night. We started at a restaurant I’m not going to name because I’m going to trash it so badly.
We walked in, and rather than the delightful scents of (not common but not unheard of subcontinental cuisine) we got incense and B.O., a combination that made my tummy (it was 7 and I hadn’t had anything to eat since noon) contract like a beercan idly squeezed by the Hulk.
Mike responded in the affirmative when I said, “Can you smell that?”
A two top and a four top came in while we were waiting.
In the brief time we were in there the server, who might have held some other position in the establishment, did the following:
stayed behind the counter fooling around with the touch screen cash register for about 7 minutes. I know, because when Mike said, “Do you want to bail?” I said, “Let’s give him five minutes,” and more than that went by.
Left half a dozen menus on our table and used it as his source for menus as other people came in. I have never in my entire life had the table I was sitting at be used as a menu holder. I wanted to say something but I saw the expression on the guy’s face and I was concerned that I’d be scolded for commenting.
Brought round glasses of water en masse for everyone.
Served precisely one bowl of soup. Every top was loaded and in seven minutes he served one customer.
Disappeared into the kitchen, once for quite a while, only reappearing with food the once.
Was short with anyone who asked him to take their order. (Mike and I didn’t even try. EVEN THOUGH WE KNEW EXACTLY WHAT WE WANTED BEFORE WE SET FOOT IN THE RESTAURANT.)
Yeah. I stopped being appalled after a minute or two, I was just trying to give everyone a chance, while ambiance soaked in.
When, a couple of minutes after we got the water we still hadn’t had our order taken, we bailed. I am pretty sure the B.O. belonged to the customer closest to the door; I’m very tolerant of body odour, but this was the smell of a guy who lives on fenugreek and then marinates in his clothes in the hot sun for a couple of days in a row.
To round out the glory of this experience, a three year old child was actively crying or grizzling the entire time in the corner, yeah Allegra do please backspace over something if you’re going to say something insensitive and racist so I’m skipping that little observation, and some of the worst music ever recorded and not sung in English was crapping out of the speakers.
So we up and flew away and went to Indian Bombay Bistro instead, where the chicken tikka masala and mogo and chickpeas and pilau rice were amazing.
Mike wanted his Cards against Humanity deck so we briefly dropped by Planet Bachelor and grabbed them, then back to Geekhaus for the mandolin (Edith, not Otto), and I offered some body work and pummelled Mike’s calves (still messed from the Beach, haw) and upper back until my hands got tired and then Mike went home about 9.
Shoot, I should take down the table so Jeff can exercise. Welp, gotta go!