Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to remember those souls we have lost on this, the first day of February in the 2019th year of our lord. So many of these cherished souls withered up and blew away in the wind like old Doritos dust on the stubby fingers of a famished clopener. And why did so many perish on this sad, sad day? What catastrophic event could possibly occur that would cause such vast human suffering?
Applebee’s is selling $1.00 Hurricane’s for the entire month of February in an effort to drum up excitement about Mardi Gras, and also in the process, make every server and bartender who works at Applebee’s to question their very existence. Hordes and whores of people will show up to their local Applebee’s with a crisp five-dollar bills in their sweaty palms ready to get their drank on by buying four watered down cocktails and tipping a quarter each time.
“The Hurricane cocktail is a classic rum drink with close ties to New Orleans and Mardi Gras,” said Patrick Kirk, vice president of beverage innovation at Applebee’s, in a press release. “A DOLLAR HURRICANE is a great reason to celebrate the season and from now until March 5, Applebee’s is going to ‘party like it’s Mardi.’” He goes on to say, “Our customers deserve the very finest of ingredients, but in the case we’ve decided to just give them a glass of whatever the fuck we had the most of, call it a ‘hurricane’ and sell it for a dollar. It’s a great way for us to clean out our inventory and also give the appearance that we are doing something special for our customers. It’s a win-win.”
Any Applebee’s employee who survives this month long promotion can look forward to April where the next promotion will be for a drink called the “April Fool.” The cocktail will consist of carbonated water, lemon seeds, a dash of bitterness with an apathy float and will cost fifty cents each or two for a dollar. As for the employees who, upon learning of the $1.00 Hurricane, fell to the floor and never got up again: rest in peace, bitches.
My husband and I went out to dinner to a restaurant we’d never been to, but a place that calls itself “Redacted Because I Feel Kinda Bad” sounds like an open invitation for decadence, so we went. Upon hearing they had a happy hour, we were even more intrigued. We sat at the bar as we always do and within minutes, I knew I had to write a blog post about our bartender because he was like a walking advertisement of everything you should not do as a bartender. I really didn’t like him and I tried to, I really did. He just gave me so many reasons dislike him.
And here they are:
He didn’t say hello to us. At least pretend like you want to be there. I mean, I know you don’t, because who the fuck wants to be at work, but come on. Fake it. That’s what we do in the service industry.
He was clearly aggravated that I couldn’t read the happy hour menu. It was a tiny sign posted on the bar wall way too far away for my 51-year-old eyes to read. When I asked him what it said, he handed me a table tent that had the same info on it. His irritation was obvious. His eyes may be twenty-five years younger than mine, but my attitude is twenty five years older than his, so this bish needs to watch it.
Giving us menus seemed like it was a pain in the ass for him. Yes, we wanted to eat, so yes we needed menus. The menus were not carved in granite tablets so I could have done without the audible sigh when he placed them before us as if it took every last ounce of strength he had in his body to move them from one shelf to the bar.
He didn’t pour us water. I don’t expect water to automatically appear, but when we asked for water, making sure to say please, he hurriedly placed two empty glasses before us and returned thirty seconds later with a full bottle for us. This bottle, he placed on the edge of his side of that bar and walked away without so much as a look in our general direction. If you’re not going to pour it, at least put the bottle close enough for me to reach it without having to sprawl across the bar to do it myself.
He never asked how our food or drinks were. It’s. Your. Job. The food and drinks were all more than fine, but if there had been an issue, I would have had to flag him down and pull him away from his own reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He cleared our dirty plates without even talking to us.
He wasn’t personable at all. I don’t need to become best friends with my server or bartender, but if you’re a bartender, you should expect to have to make at least a little bit of fucking small talk to your customers. You’re literally standing directly in front of me for 90% of the time I’m eating, so to avoid all conversation seems like more trouble than it’s worth. If you don’t want to talk to your customers too much, be a server so you can hide in the side stand or the kitchen. As a bartender, you don’t get that option. Suck it up, buttercup.
He was in no hurry to run my credit card. I placed it on the check immediately upon receiving it, but then he ignored it for at least five minutes, which was weird because the whole time we were there it seemed like he couldn’t wait for us to get the fuck out. And then the second he had the opportunity to get us out of his bar, he ignored us. I watched him walk past it at least four times, but I guess checking out his hair and talking to his co-workers was more important than running our credit card.
He didn’t say goodbye or thank you as we left. I said both of them. Totally fine. It’s clear this guy either hates being at work or hates us. If he wasn’t gay, I’d have thought he was a big ol’ homophobe, but he was flamier than a fire at a Yankee Candle Outlet Store, so maybe he just doesn’t like older gay men. Or maybe he just sucks at his job and is a miserable person.
Overall, the whole meal was lacking. While the food was good and the drinks were more than fine, we never felt like anyone was happy we were there. As servers and bartenders, it’s part of our job to contribute to the overall dining experience of our customers. If a restaurant has great service and decent food I am much more willing to go back than if a place has bad service and decent food. Too many restaurants forget how much the service affects the likelihood of a customer returning.
Yes, I still tipped this bartender 20% and even though he had his back to us far too often, his ass was beautiful so that was alright.
There’s a hot dog place in downtown Chicago called Portillo’s that’s making waves and not because of their famous wieners, but because of the number of roaches they allegedly have crawling all the hell around. Former employee Antwoine Johnson shared video of the cockroaches to WGN9 in Chicago.
Johnson says he was fired after excessive absences while he was dealing with the death of his mother and his brother over the Christmas holidays. A Portillo’s spokesperson claims that Johnson threw a chair when he was told he was being fired. Whatever happened, we know two things: the guy was fired and the restaurant has roaches.
Now look, we’ve all seen the occasional roach at our restaurant. It ain’t no big thing, right? We do our best to keep them away, but those bitches are as persistent as a senior citizen with an expired coupon. We call the exterminator and hope for the best. However, this video looks pretty bad. The roaches are walking around without a care in the world, brazenly crawling across the milkshake machine like they’re taking a stroll in Central Park.
Merle the Cockroach: Hey, Edna, wanna crawl out from our nest and go see what’s happening on the countertop today?
Edna the Cockroach: Oh, honey I would love to, but I’m about to lay 100 eggs and then I was gonna go poop all over the hot dog buns afterwards, can I take a rain check?
Merle the Cockroach: No worries, I’ll see if Charlie and Frankie wanna go with me. Maybe we can meet later at the to-go lids?
Edna the Cockroach: Perfect! I’ll see if Annie wants to join us. She loves the to-go lid area. That’s where she always lays her eggs.
Johnson says he is not a disgruntled employee and he had seen the roaches many times before. “We reported it to the managers and some were like, ‘Just brush it along and to keep on going.’ I thought it was a problem and I reported it every time, but there was nothing done about it.” When asked how often he saw them, he replied “Every day that I worked, at least three or four times a day.” Again, he says he’s not a disgruntled employee.
I do find it suspect that it wasn’t until after he was fired that he felt the need to suddenly share this video with the news. I mean, if he was so bothered by it, why didn’t he give them the video while he still worked there? Uh huh, Antwoine. Shady as fuck.
There are so many lessons to be learned here:
If you see roaches in your restaurant, tell management so the problem can be handled.
Video the roaches so they can know how big the problem is.
Save that video so that you can use it to get yourself 15 minutes of fame and drag your former employer down into the gutter in case they ever fire your ass.
I do not want your diaper poop. I do not want it near the soup. I do not like the stinky smell. I do not like it, can’t you tell?
Throw that diaper in the trash. Throw that diaper in a flash. That diaper’s gross and so are you. That diaper’s mostly stinky poo.
You should not leave it lying there. You should not leave it on a chair. Not in a box or with some socks Or on some rocks or under locks. You should not leave it lying there. You should not leave it anywhere.
I do not want your diaper, bitch. Toss it in a muddy ditch. Put it in the can of trash Or wear it as a fucking sash.
Just do not leave your diaper here. I want to make this very clear: Not on your seat or in the street I’ll say it loud and then repeat. A dirty diaper full of poop Does not belong inside the soup.
A restaurant here in New York City is feeling the heat for allegedly telling a single woman she wasn’t allowed to eat at the bar alone because the restaurant was trying to avoid having prostitutes sit there preying on decent, law-abiding, (male) customers. Yes, basically they assumed she was a lady of the night and made her move to a table back by the bathrooms.
The restaurant is called Nello and the not-a-hooker is named Clementine Crawford. Nello is a pretty pricey restaurant on the Upper East Side that Crawford likes to go to whenever she’s in Manhattan. When she called the restaurant owner to complain about her treatment, he pretty much told her it’s his business and he can run it however he wants. She also claims that while she was sitting at a table not being a hooker, she watched a man sit at the bar and dine alone. (Does Nello not know what a gigilo is?)
Crawford wrote an essay about her experience and then it went viral because everybody wants to read about the plight of paid sex workers and those who are mistakenly thought to be one. It is important to note that Crawford was not upset about being mistaken for a call girl. She’s upset because of the blatant sexism and the assumption that any woman sitting alone at a bar must be up to no good.
The restaurant fucked up in so many ways. First off, you can never assume a woman is a hooker unless she’s wearing booty shorts and hanging her tits in your car window while you’re waiting for a red light and she’s telling you she’ll give you a handy for $10. If that happens, yeah, she’s probably either a hooker or someone applying for a job as a FOX News commentator. (Hi, Britt!)However, if a woman is sitting alone at a bar having a cocktail and enjoying the company of herself, chances are she’s just a woman who wants some time time alone so she can think about how shitty so many men are. Secondly, so what if she was a prostitute? Lets give props to a woman who knows what she wants and goes after it. Thirdly, if a woman complains about the fact that you basically called her a whore, you don’t come back with the “it’s my restaurant and I run it how I want” defense. You apologize profusely for your sexist assumption and offer a complimentary order of Grilled Chicken Wonton Tacos. (Well, at least that’s what the Applebee’s managerial handbook tells you do.)
If you own a restaurant and you don’t want hookers all up in there, you need to figure out a way to do it without assuming any woman who comes in alone is a streetwalker. Maybe put up a sign that says “No Shoes, No Shirt, No Service. And No Hookers.” Or simply just mind your own fucking business. If a man is at a restaurant and is approached by a working girl and he ultimately decides he’d rather have a tart for dessert instead of the creme brûlée, who cares? Let him pay his check and then then pay the woman. The restaurant got their money, the call girl got her money and the man finally got laid. It’s a win-win-win.
As for Clementine Crawford, I’m sorry you had to go through that. Hopefully, the restaurant will come to their senses and publicly apologize to you and give you their equivalent to a Grilled Chicken Wonton Taco, which, coincidentally, is exactly the same thing a hooker would give to a John that she meets at Nello.
Once upon a time, there was beautiful princess who was the envy of all the land. The only thing more lovely than her her flowing blond hair and perfectly sculpted nose was her sparkling personality which made everyone who met her immediately love her. This princess was also very, very intelligent and all of her subjects trusted what she had to say whenever she spoke. This story isn’t about the princess though, it’s about a troll that lives under the bridge right past the moat of the princess’s castle. That troll is named Britt McHenry.
You may recall Britt from a few years ago when she was working at ESPN and then had a nasty, run-in with a tow truck company where she said such troll-like things as “I’m in the news sweetheart. I will fucking sue this place” and “Do you feel good about your job? So I could be a college dropout and do the same thing” and “I have a brain and you don’t” and “Lose some weigh baby girl.”
That winning performance got her suspended from ESPN and she was eventually fired from the network for being “white and paid too much.” (Yes, she actually said that.) Now she works for FOX Nation as a commentator, because when you’re a blond troll with warped ideas and sensibilities, it’s a requirement that all trolls eventually must leave the safety of their bridge and do some time at FOX News.
Anywho, you may be wondering why I have focused my attention on Britt who is not much more than a hemorrhoid on the ass of life, but I do have a reason. A little bird who lived in the castle of the beautiful princess told me that not only does Britt have great disdain for women who happen to work at tow truck companies, she has also come after some of us in the food service industry. That’s when I pull out my soap box, stand on it and say, “Nope!”
It seems that Britt McTroll has a beef with a woman named Jen Royle who was once a MLB reporter in Boston but gave up that career to follow her dream of cooking for a living. Jen appeared on Season 3 of “The Taste” on ABC and made it to the final round. She ended up working for Mario Batali and then started her own private cooking company. One thing led to another, and now Jen is about to open her own restaurant in Boston. It’s called Table and it’s set to open later this month. I checked out the menu and it sounds amazing, by the way.
The news of Jen opening a restaurant set Britt McTroll into action and she Tweeted to Jen several times, insulting her and her career of choice. Trolls will be trolls, right? Like this (now deleted) Tweet:
For people like her? What does that even mean? Oh, wait I know what it means. It means that Britt McTroll thinks she’s better than people who do anything for a living other than be on television. She said it to the tow truck employee and now she’s saying it to a restaurant owner.
And what about this (also now deleted) Tweet:
Wait, so now she’s insulting Jen because she’s a caterer and bragging about how much more money she makes than her? Yes, Troll, TV “news” personalities definitely make more than caterers, but that doesn’t mean that you’re better then them. It just means that you have scratched and clawed your way to the top at ESPN and then slid back down a few notches to work at FOX Nation streaming video. Calm your ass down.
And then she Tweeted this (and deleted it) about Jen’s new restaurant:
Yes, a restaurant that serves family style is still called a restaurant. The concept of Table is that people all sit together and break bread, getting to know one another over the course of a wonderful meal. It’s understandable why Britt McTroll may not like the idea of sitting with others because she’s used to eating tin cans and kale under her bridge all alone except for the occasional company of a billy goat named Sean who is the only one who can tolerate the sight of her trying to ascertain how much gluten is in a serving of her own fecal matter.
I realize that calling out a troll is basically troll behavior, but I’m okay with that. What I am not okay with is people attempting to demean someone that they see as beneath them. And if the person they are trying to demean is in the restaurant industry, I am even less okay with it. People like Britt McHenry need to understand that this world is full of all kinds of people and no one is better than someone else. This troll should take lesson from the Princess in the castle and understand that in order to be liked by all, you have to have humility, grace, wisdom and self-awareness. If you don’t have those things, you can spend the rest of your life underneath a bridge wondering why nobody but a billy got named Sean likes you.