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I went to the Gas Station today because I was out of gas in my car.  So, the gas station seems like a logical place to go.  This station has one of those pretentious “farm to table” restaurants right across the street from it.  Now, I live downtown, not the suburbs, not rural, DOWNTOWN.  No farms in sight, which I always wondered how these downtown “farm to table” restaurants pulled it off, but I think I know the answer now.  I’m gassing the car, zoning out, wondering what sweepstakes I am gonna win so I can pay all my bills, when I look over at the Restaurant.

I see a Chicken crossing the road (please hold your jokes) headed right toward me.  My tank isn’t full yet and the chicken walks right up to me.  I look down at her and start having a conversation with her.  “How’s your day going?  How are the children? Looks like you just busted out of chicken jail.”  The normal things that everyone says to passing chickens.  Then the chicken looks at me like I’M the crazy one, turns around, crosses a VERY busy road, successfully, and heads back to her restaurant.  I bet that place has really fresh chicken.

Then I get to work.  I walk in the front door, and there’s a trail of, I guess, sand, leading from the door down the idle of the Dining Room to a table with 4 adults and 3 screaming children at it.  The children are running around the table like it’s their own personal playground, and mom and dad are ignoring them.  Who could blame either one of them?

“OK, then,” I think to myself.  I ask a couple of employees to do their best to clean it up, but this sand is acting like glue, it won’t budge. The three children are running around tracking the sand/glue all over the dining room, as their parents ignore them.  Denial is a talent it seems.   Someone comes out with a mop and tries to get the glue/sand and there are a few servers standing in the corner discussing how on earth all this sand/glue got in here.  Well, I already followed the tracks, I know who the guilty party is/are, but that’s not important. I go over to the chattering servers and ask them to lower their voices and disperse from the area, but it’s too late.  “Dad” gets up from the table and screams, (direct quote, dad apparently missed his class on how to behave in public) directly at the unsuspecting servers:


Well, we WERE just really questioning where the trail of dirt started from, but if you, DAD, want to take responsibility for the mess that you and your children made, then go for it, but don’t blame us because you have no manners. I guess, there is nothing much I can do about the mess you caused with any certainty. So, if you want to cause a scene about it, then go ahead, dad, you’re only making yourself look stupid.

The manager comes out, apologizes the best he can, but dad is still playing the martyr role. Dad screams at my manager,

“YOUR STAFF IS A BUNCH OF Fucking Assholes; I HAVE NEVER BEEN TREATED SO RUDELY IN MY LIFE, WE BE LEAVING NOW!” (Yes, he said the words FUCKING ASSHOLES in that last sentence, some things I cannot makeup.) So dad and kids exit the restaurant, in a huff, leaving a trail of dirty sand as they go. BYE BYE

Now, after all the drama I get my first table. It’s a single gentleman, ok, but he turns this, seemingly benign visit, into a whole world of fun for me.

“Hi, I’m Josh, I’ll be taking care of you tonight.”

“JUST SO YOU KNOW, SON,” (I have explained earlier my reaction to people calling me this word) this guy exclaims, “I’m a nationally known restaurant critic, I have been on Food Network multiple times, and I own my own restaurant.”

Well, going through my mind is simply this,

“If you are REALLY a Food Critic, would you REALLY admit this to your server right off the bat?  So, I assume this guy is a tool, and treat him as such.  I am DYING to wait for this food critic du jour to pay his bill with a credit card, so I can GOOGLE his name and find out the truth about him.  Throughout his entire meal he keeps telling me about his TV appearances, his restaurant, how many times he has been on Food Network etc.  YOU FUCK, as much as I watch Food Network on a daily basis (at least 10 hours a day, ask anyone that knows me, I am actually watching it as I write this) I WOULD KNOW YOU IF YOU HAVE EVER EVEN APPEARED ON THAT NEWTWORK FOR EVEN A BRIEF SECOND!!

So, now douche bag pays his bill with a credit card.  SCORE!!  I write down his name as I deliver the check.  I run to the office to Google his name, but I am too late it seems.  The owner of this place has gotten wind that there is a “food critic” in the place, so, he takes it upon himself to go over and introduce himself to this poser.  Before I could Google his name and get back with his check, the owner has sat down with him, ordered a bottle of wine to split with him, and started telling this “critic” about his visions about the future for the restaurant.  To be nice would be telling you this owner has NO basis in reality, that’s all I have to say about that, for now.  I run the “critic’s” name on Google.  Here’s what I find out.  The only thing I find out under his name is that he has a TWITTER account, where he goes around and gives his personal reviews of restaurants he has been to.  I KNEW I NEVER SAW YOU ON TV, GO TRY AND PLAY THAT CRAP SOMEWHERE ELSE, ASS MUNCHER!

If Twitter makes him a food critic, I guess that makes me a Pulitzer Prize winning writer.

The owner bought him another bottle of wine, and then wondered why we never got nominated for a James Beard Award.  I turned down a job in sales for this nonsense?

This post first appeared on Fly In My Soup, please read the originial post: here

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