You’ve had a long day, you’re famished, and you’re too tired to cook. Amidst your dog-eared take-out menus you discover one that is relatively pristine. The restaurant specializes in exactly the type of food you want. Although the cuisine and menu choices are similar to those in your older menus, you find this glossier menu more appealing tonight. You glance at a reassuring Zagat rating and a flattering quote from a local newspaper review. In response to a close-up photograph of a specific entree, saliva gushes over your tongue. Yes, you think, perfect. You’re too hungry to wait for delivery and the restaurant is right around the corner. This was meant to be. Once there, you smile as your waiter approaches with a menu. “No need,” you say triumphantly, “I know exactly what I’d like.” You order and then reiterate that you’re requesting the dish pictured in the take-out menu, to which the waiter responds affirmatively, “I know which one you mean.” You also order a mixed drink. “Coming right up, sir!”
The only other patron in the dining room, an overweight elderly woman wearing too much make-up and a wrinkled rain coat, has a sullen demeanor and only a small bowl of iceberg lettuce in front of her which she is eating cautiously. You turn away, sip your drink, and conjure up images from the take out menu as you await your dinner.
When the entree arrives, it does not resemble the photo in the menu. Where are the flecks of seasoning? How did they make solid food appear spongy? Why do I smell hot detergent? The strangely small portion is dissolving in a puddle of water released by overcooked steamed vegetables that you did not order. You point this out to the waiter immediately, and though he apologizes and takes the plate away, when he returns, it is clear from the dripping edges that the vegetables and excess liquid have been crudely swept off the plate. The entree now appears even more diminutive and unappetizing on plate stained with vegetable residue.
You feel disoriented and an aching pressure mounting in the back of your throat. You felt you had turned a corner when you opted for a change. You want to stave off the rage building in you. You’re still hungry. You shake your head and let yourself believe that maybe you’ll be surprised to discover that the dish tastes better than its appearance implies. You take a bite. After chewing for five long seconds, you stop, raise your napkin to your mouth, and hastily remove the rancid contents.
You look up. Across the room, your waiter’s back is to you, but in response to him, a sneer slants across the face of his colleague who, upon making eye contact with you, looks away hastily in a clumsy attempt to conceal amusement. What is so funny? When your waiter turns to you, you witness his face’s transition from cynical exasperation to exaggerated concern. Before you know it, he is standing above you, a little too eagerly. “I am not paying for this entree. It is inedible.” He mumbles “I’m sorry, would you like something different?” but his eyes are shifting from one side of the room to the other. You want to leave immediately. “No,” you stammer. “Just the check.” “I understand, sir. Sorry, sir.” The waiter disappears with your plate. You finish your drink and put on your coat. But it is taking forever for him to return. You signal for his colleague. “Where is my check? I really need to leave.” “I’ll find out, sir.” After he is gone you notice that there are no waiters in the room. Five minutes later you are so angry that you’re sweating through your clothes. The look on the squinting face of the elderly woman squinting at you seems to pose the question, “You think you’re so special?”
You drop enough cash to cover the drink, tax, and a minimal tip on the table and head towards the exit. A third waiter rushes out of the back and catches up with you. “Sorry, sir. Your waiter’s shift ended and he left. Here is your check.” You open it; there is a six dollar charge for the drink, which you expected, but there is also a twenty-two dollar charge for the unacceptable entree. As you shake your head in disbelief you notice a large, muscular man standing with crossed arms between you and the exit. Where did he come from?
“Sir?” You turn to face a young woman approaching you. Her eyes are wide and her voice mostly monotone except for eerie volume changes that emphasize prepositions more than nouns or verbs. “Sir, I’m sorry to hear about your experience tonight. I want you to know that we’re going to do our very best to make sure that anything like that happens again.”
“I can assure you that this won’t happen again, at least not to me, because I have no intention of returning.”
“Sir, there is no need to be hostile. This restaurant has been a fixture in the community for generations. One of the streets in town is named after the original founder of this restaurant. We know that you and other patrons have been concerned about the quality of our food and service. We are addressing those concerns and believe we have turned a corner.” What was the date on that Zagat rating? When was this place last reviewed?
“I am glad you are aiming to improve, but, as a matter of fact, my entree was inedible.”
“There’s no need to be harsh, sir. Our improvements are well underway and—”
“If what I experienced tonight is an improvement, it’s a wonder this place hasn’t gone out of business. Now may I please leave?”
“The future is bright for this establishment. As a result of increases in our capital reserves resulting from a special joint project with local government whereby we serve food for free to the neediest among our community, we have recently hired new waiters, like the attentive young men who tried their best to satisfy you this evening, and we’ve also sent our head chef and his staff to Aix en Provence for a year-long workshop. “
“Who is preparing the food, then?”
“I assure you that everyone in our kitchen is certified and licensed. Their paperwork is current and up-to-date.”
“Paperwork? Are you serious? Look, I’m leaving, right now.”
“Sir, all that we require is that you pay your bill. After all, we wouldn’t want to have to call the authorities.”
•
{ 0 comments }
