7 August 2011
Today it rained.
I don’t immediately know what I mean by “it.” I suppose I mean the gathering of clouds creating precipitation.
Yesterday, GF and I went shopping. We went at 8:30 PM because we thought we would beat the crowds. We soon learned that Virginia’s tax-free weekend (for back-to-school supplies) hit the corporate box store hard at night.
After a botched Tuna Helper dish (perhaps due to old butter), we both were hungry and ready to get Applebee’s before hitting the 24-hour box store behemoth. The restaurant’s music was so loud the speakers seemed to be blown, producing a wheezy rattling like a cloying pop star dying but trying to be upbeat about it. Two staff had to put their heads together to find us a booth when at least three booths contained no other patrons. Once seated, we chose the Dinner for 2 for $20. Our appetizer was spinach artichoke dip, of which we had an excessively large portion that makes me wonder why starvation is an issue at all on this planet. We could not finish the dish.
I ordered the chicken finger basket and GF ordered some sort of chicken pasta. After a long time, our food arrived at the table of the family of six or more behind us and they were about to take our food even though they had not even ordered and still had menus when I spoke up and claimed our food and the staff member went to the back to verify our possession where I am sure she had someone ejaculate into my honey mustard before bringing THE EXACT SAME FOOD back to us and I believe a little kid at the family table already touched it (the food, not the clouds) with his disgusting pre-adolescent biotic afflictions.
I ordered a second honey mustard which arrived looking like it still needed to pasteurization and skimming. I could see each component liquid floating separately in that dirty little cup.
I was pleased to take the food from the kid (like taking chicken fingers from a baby). He should get used to disappointment. It’s chicken fingers now kid, but one day you’ll lose bigger dreams, too.
We all have to give up some dreams at some time. Even the dream of eatin’ something edible, much less ” good in the neighborhood.”
2 thoughts on “Doesn’t cut the (honey) mustard”
What a too sad commentary on our food service quality.