Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks
Monday, February 02, 2004 Where Are the Comment Cards?
There’s a saying here in New Orleans: If you like it, tell everyone. If you don’t like it, don’t tell no one. The diner we had brunch at today makes it difficult to obey the spirit of that rule, but fortunately the double-negative gives an English major like myself exactly the loophole he needs.
The “hostess” told us to sit anywhere, but she neglected to mention the fact that the booth we chose was equipped with a cloaking device. That’s the only explanation for the fact that while we sat there for ten minutes dragging our newspaper pages through drifts of powdered condiments, three restaurant employees five feet away were fussing over how best to push three tables together for the party of six that came in behind us. They had their drinks and were giving their food orders before our presence was even acknowledged. We’d probably still be waiting if Trash hadn’t winged a saltshaker at a waiter’s head.
At this point, we figure that he’d already kissed his tip good-bye, because to call the service minimal would be an insult to minimalists, people named Minnie, and indeed minutes. He took our order, brought our food, and two minutes later threw the bill on our table and said, “they’ll take care of you up front.”
“Everything tastes fine, thanks,” we called out to his retreating back.
A few minutes later, Trash’s coffee cup was empty. “We can get you some more at the Dunkin’ Donuts on the way back to the hotel,” I suggested, “because we’re never going to see our waiter here again.”
As it turned out , I was wrong because the waiter passed nearby to refill the party of six’s cups, and all we had to do to get his attention was set fire to his pants. He turned around and filled Trash’s mug, saying magnanimously, “As long as I have the coffee pot out…”
“You’re a lucky girl,” I told Trash. “The stars have aligned just right for you this morning, that’s for damn sure. He had the pot out, otherwise you’d have had to go pound sand.”
Maybe we were just on the wrong side of Canal Street, because we had the opposite experience service-wise at a place in the French Quarter this evening. Our team of three—count them, three—waitrons had a way of popping up out of the floor at our elbow whenever we needed them. So we really came out even.
* * *
I was backstage at the show at New Orleans’ Saenger Theater last night, working and listening to the show. My boss talked about a bookstore here, just off Jackson Square, called Faulkner House Books.
Today, Trash and I were wandering around the Quarter, and we just happened to walk past Faulkner House Books.
“Should we go in?”
“Yeah, let’s go in.”
We went in, just in time to hear my boss’s voice on the store radio, talking about the store we had just entered. What are the odds of somebody from the show walking into a store that was mentioned on the show, at the exact moment in the show’s Sunday rebroadcast when the store is mentioned? On the show, I mean?
Would that question make any more sense if I didn’t have big ol’ frozen Bourbon Street frozen hurricane in me?
Maybe I’ll answer that question after I go get another one.
Today’s best search phrase: “GTA Vice City stretched Hummer for Vice City.” Either way, I approve. posted by M. Giant 7:30 PM 0 comments