Thats not queso, or how to get a tip by not being an asshole

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Okay, where did I leave off? Oh, that’s right. I saw a squirrel and got distracted so I never began.

I don’t have ADD. You know what would be good right now? NACHOS!*

Last week was just a bad week. Every day of it sucked. But then I met Leslie for drinks at a restaurant across the street from our new office building (and work sucked, too). So that was going to be fun, right?

I walked in and looked around for Leslie and the hostess asked me if I was ready to be seated. I said, “I’m looking for my friend. Is she here?” Which was funny because she doesn’t know me, but she didn’t get it. Then she turned her back on me. I should have left right then, because that’s when it started. I could feel my blood pressure kicking up a notch. She turned back around after a brief conversation with her friend and looked surprised that I hadn’t moved. She said, “Oh, did you want to be seated?”  No. I’d like to be served in the waiting area. But I didn’t say anything, I just smiled.

She took me to a booth which had deep seats and a high table.  I’m short. Basically my chin was on the table, but the hostess didn’t know that because as soon as I set my purse on the seat, she left. Then Leslie arrived, so we moved to a table. We ordered soft pretzels with queso. What arrived was the restaurants version of queso, which was not what I was expecting. Someone today told me it was beer cheese. WTF? So I looked that up and found that it is a spread found only in Kentucky and if that’s the case, they can keep it. So I kept looking and found Wiesslacker, which I think is what I had. And I didn’t like it. It’s a German cheese, so it makes sense to serve it with a soft pretzel, but don’t call it queso because that’s not what it is. (Leslie tried to make me think I was crazy and kept saying “It’s queso!” like that explained everything. All cheese melts, Leslie).

Seriously, I don’t have ADD, but now I really want nachos.

So I told the waitress I didn’t like it and asked if she had any other cheese. I believe at that point, both Leslie and the waitress told me it was queso (NO IT WAS NOT), and I had to say, “Great. But I don’t want it.” So I ordered something else and the waitress flounced off. She came back with my turkey melt on a pretzel bun and kind of tossed the plate at me and then walked off. Strike 2. Then I took a bite of the turkey melt. And it had a sweet sauce on it that was … disconcerting. Leslie told me it was the pretzel bun. So I made her try the sauce and she said, “Oh. Yeah. That is kind of sweet.” Talk about a hollow victory. I didn’t tell the waitress I didn’t like the sandwich either because A) it wasn’t her fault and B) she was useless and she would have said something like, “It’s turkey” and I would have gone to jail.

It took three flag-downs to get a second drink from her. And by the end of it, I’d had enough.  I never would have done this had I been paying with my card, but I had cash. And a pen.

I put one penny on the ticket and circled it. Then I wrote:

HAD YOUR ATTITUDE BEEN BETTER, THIS PENNY WOULD HAVE BEEN $4. IN OTHER WORDS, IT COST YOU A 25% TIP.

Since it’s so close to work, I know I’ll end up there again. Let’s just hope she’s gotten a new job by then. Or at least that my note, one penny tip, short stature and distinctive salt and pepper hair didn’t make any kind of impression on her.

*I saw that line on another blog a long, long time ago and I remembered it because I thought it was really funny. I did not think it was funny enough to remember the blog, so I can’t credit it here. Sorry, anonymous funny person. I’m an asshole.

 

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