Welcome to Fuck Joe Biden's America, where nothing works and no one gives a fuck.
Welcome to Fuck Joe Biden's America, where nothing works and no one gives a fuck.
Took the day off to relax, and every activity relying upon humans was a parade of fucktardery.
Went to a wings place for lunch. Who doesn't like wings? Ordered a Yuengling. "What's that?" asked the waitress. I point at the menu and repeat myself. "Y-yi-ok the weird beer" says the waitress. Whatever, I dont need her to be able to pronounce it. Waitress comes back about ten minutes later. Apparently they're out. No big deal, I order something else. Another ten minutes go by. Waitress comes back. Tard sense tingles. "We're out of that too." Repeat until I discover they're out of 7 of their 11 draft beers, so they have light OR light. That'll be a no, I'll stick with water. The water I ordered FORTY MINUTES ago and still havent seen. Thankfully my spouse is a dear and lets me share or I'd go thirsty.
Buddy orders a sandwich. Sandwich arrives with the toppings missing. "They fell off onto the floor" says the waitress Slow-blink. At this point we're committed to finding out how retarded this establishment is. Waitress shows up ten minutes later with new ones so he can assemble his own sad-wich.
My wings finally arrive. I visit the bathroom to wash my hands before eating. The soap dispenser appears to have been smashed at some indeterminate point and left unrepaired. Heckin gross. I try to flag down the waitress to pay so I can bounce. She's disappeared into Narnia. The manager is watching the clusterfuck unfold and does nothing. We chuck some cash on the table and leave.
Whatever, sometimes you encounter a retarded restaurant and never come back.
I go running for a couple hours on the beach and then finish a book. Goes great, because I'm not reliant upon any other humans.
Spouse suggests we get cocktails and a snack at an italian place tonight. Cool, I've worked up an appetite. Specialty cocktails on the menu? Why not? They're out of bourbon. Um...ok? Order a salad. "We're out of tomatoes". AT AN ITALIAN RESTAURANT. How many people in the restaurant industry have been fucking their cousin for this level of ineptitude? Order a flatbread pizza. Surely they can manage to dump cheese on dough. They burn it. My fucktard meter is now up to eleven. Eff it, I want to leave and go home to wine and a bag of chips because at least inbred restaurant flunkies cant screw that up.
Took the day off to relax, and every activity relying upon humans was a parade of fucktardery.
Went to a wings place for lunch. Who doesn't like wings? Ordered a Yuengling. "What's that?" asked the waitress. I point at the menu and repeat myself. "Y-yi-ok the weird beer" says the waitress. Whatever, I dont need her to be able to pronounce it. Waitress comes back about ten minutes later. Apparently they're out. No big deal, I order something else. Another ten minutes go by. Waitress comes back. Tard sense tingles. "We're out of that too." Repeat until I discover they're out of 7 of their 11 draft beers, so they have light OR light. That'll be a no, I'll stick with water. The water I ordered FORTY MINUTES ago and still havent seen. Thankfully my spouse is a dear and lets me share or I'd go thirsty.
Buddy orders a sandwich. Sandwich arrives with the toppings missing. "They fell off onto the floor" says the waitress Slow-blink. At this point we're committed to finding out how retarded this establishment is. Waitress shows up ten minutes later with new ones so he can assemble his own sad-wich.
My wings finally arrive. I visit the bathroom to wash my hands before eating. The soap dispenser appears to have been smashed at some indeterminate point and left unrepaired. Heckin gross. I try to flag down the waitress to pay so I can bounce. She's disappeared into Narnia. The manager is watching the clusterfuck unfold and does nothing. We chuck some cash on the table and leave.
Whatever, sometimes you encounter a retarded restaurant and never come back.
I go running for a couple hours on the beach and then finish a book. Goes great, because I'm not reliant upon any other humans.
Spouse suggests we get cocktails and a snack at an italian place tonight. Cool, I've worked up an appetite. Specialty cocktails on the menu? Why not? They're out of bourbon. Um...ok? Order a salad. "We're out of tomatoes". AT AN ITALIAN RESTAURANT. How many people in the restaurant industry have been fucking their cousin for this level of ineptitude? Order a flatbread pizza. Surely they can manage to dump cheese on dough. They burn it. My fucktard meter is now up to eleven. Eff it, I want to leave and go home to wine and a bag of chips *because at least inbred restaurant flunkies cant screw that up*.
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