When the air conditioner popped another circuit breaker this afternoon, the chef decided to close his restaurant this evening.
Tonight's reservation, a party of four, wasn't happy. Let's just say it sounded like the customer needed to choke down a giant chill pill.
"I was just trying to tell him that the restaurant would be too hot for anyone in his party to enjoy their dinners," the chef said. "My job is to provide food and atmospherics. I don't want to make people sweat."
And yet customers get all hot and bothered over ... well, just about anything.
As someone who scribbles commentary about what is served and how well it is served, I'm guiltier than any paying customer when it comes to griping about bad service.
But you know what really cheesed me off lately?
Bad customers. Or at least one dude at a new Lakewood casino.
Get this scene, at Macau a couple of Saturday nights back. To say the bartender and the servers lacked cleavage would be like saying the casino lacked advantage. As I ate middling Mongolian beef and drank Miller High Life at the bar, the guy to my right drank Bud and played the long odds.
"You haven't seen me around lately because I've been working a lot," he said to a server. "It's all about the money for the honey. Too bad I don't got no one to spend it on."
Next, he said to the bartender:
"Yeah, a hot tub sure'll feel good tonight."
I don't gamble, but I'll wager this: bartenders and servers -- no matter what kind of uniforms they're made to wear -- don't enjoy being treated like strippers.
Anyone else got good tales about bad customers?