Original article posted by ravenpaine:

Journal of a Night
Entry 34 – February 3

Come gather around dear readers, for I have a tell to tale tonight.

i have recently returned from a dinner, one of the final that I shall have, with Greg. We went to a local resteraunt/steak house. Our first mistake was in choosing the steak house portion of the establishment instead of being seated and served by The Malcovich (a man, oddly named John, who works as a waiter and acts deliberately and carefully at all times).

The waiteress that did eventually serve us was a sight to behold. She stooped slightly, a hump was on her back caused by the way she held her neck and shoulders. she plodded from place to place and could handle no more than one task in her action que at any time.

We arrived at 8:45. We placed our order at something close to 9:15.

I’m going to cut out on the physcial details of what happened and jump straight into the horror. And be warned, dear reader, horror you shall see.

Suffice it to say that she had issues from the start. Later we would be told that it was her first day.

Ah, yes. But her first day of what?

Perhaps she was a pod person, a prototype being field tested before mass production could be started. Perhaps she was an alien shape-shifter and we were part of an intricate experiment in human behavior. Perhaps also we were locked in a horrible Matrix style universe where camera angles made no sense and all of the dialogue and acting were broken down so Keanu could understand it. I don’t know, but what I do know I shall tell you. It was her first day, this is a fact.

She brought us some breaded mushrooms as an appetizer. We had ordered these and they had been delivered with some degree of prompt, the first time. The second serving would arrive a half hour later, this order we did not want and were perplexed to see filled. Also perplexing was our utter lack of salad plates which did not arrive whatsoever.

Did I mention the straw? The last straw that was contained in her apron pocket where straws are often kept? It was bent, krinkled, broken 3/4 along. I stared in disbelief at it. “It’s kind of kinky,” she said. I nodded, yes that did seem to be… Quite the innuendo there. She explained, after a long moment where gears or alien physiology churned, that it was a flexible straw; which it turned out it was.

The drinks would turn out be a different situation altogther. They were refilled, occasionaly, maybe twice, in the space of 1.5 hours. Yes in a total of 90 minutes this waitress, a product of advanced science from a distant world was able to return with a full glass of soda. Not that she could put that glass in front of the person it belonged too, including the once when two out of three people had a glass. She stopped, she stared, she considered, but somehow she could not determine where this thing should be placed.

The third plate of mushrooms appeared as mysteriously as the second, but somehow realising her error she veered suddenly to an adjacent table where two more hapless fools sat, victims of the same radical experiment that my companions and I were trapped in. They seemed as perplexed as we and denied the mushrooms, free or otherwise, demanding only their check. A check, a chance at escape from this stygian nightmare of a slow moving waitress and an endless piercing silence that hung about the room with teeth long and sharp.

They did not recieve their check, they recieved ours. But they did not recieve it quickly. First the waitress alien, pod, borg thing had to clear their table and carry her third erroneous plate of mushrooms back to the kitchen. Disaster struck and the piercing silence was shaken by the tumbling of the mushrooms and plates to the floor. She stared carefully at the mess and moved up and down, towards the kitchen and then back to the mess, never actually moving, never reaching any destination. She was certain that something must be done in this situation but knew not what, when, HOW?

We did know what should be done, We cringed at each mistake and tried to hold our faces stern. Attempts not to laugh at the horror of the situation were many and many were futile. The moments stretched forever onward but looking back now I see that it was all a dream, and you were there and you and you, and its oh so good to be back home.

Ps. The food was excellent.

Rodney TGAP
Bonne nuit, bonne nuit to you all.
And for today, may god have mercy that you don’t experience what I have, and may you never learn what I do know.

Orginal comments:

Nickname: Greg
Re: How Dinner Can Be Like the Divine Comedy
It defies explaination, really.

I read this and I cry with the tears of a soul who has seen damnation and it turns out to be an irish themed steakhouse.


Anyway. A good telling of the horror that was our dinner experience. I look forward to seeing what Ryan has to say.


Nickname: gandhi2
Re: How Dinner Can Be Like the Divine Comedy
“At every mouth he with his teeth was crunching
A sinner, in the manner of a brake,
So that he three of them tormented thus.”

if only the salad had arrived…..