Illustration by Bob AulWe took a bike ride last weekend. Around lunch, we stopped at your restaurant, where economic times are apparently so great you can treat customers like panhandlers. We hung around the PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED sign for 10 minutes. When seated, we ordered tuna sandwiches and asked about the soup of the day. Your waitress scrunched up her face and said, "It's clam chowder, but you don't want to order that." We took her advice. After 20 minutes, the sandwiches finally came. It was instantly clear that you hadn't spent the 20 minutes catching fresh fish. The tuna tasted rancid. I'm no expert on the dead, but the stuff smelled like an open grave. We flagged down our waitress and told her the problem. Could we get grilled cheese instead? After a long pause, she took the sandwiches away. Two minutes later, you emerged from the kitchen —red-faced and pissed-off. We thought you might apologize. We were wrong. "THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT TUNA!" you shouted so everybody in your restaurant could hear you make an ass of yourself. "I JUST ATE A WHOLE SANDWICH MYSELF, AND IT'S FRESH!"
"So the customer is always wrong?" we asked.
Your reply: "Yes."
Your apology to us was a bill for $11.05.
They say one unsatisfied customer multiplies into several. We've begun doing our part.
Send anonymous thanks, confessions or accusations—changing or deleting the names of the guilty and innocent—to "Hey, You!" c/oOC Weekly, P.O. Box 10788, Costa Mesa, CA 92627-0247, or e-mail us at firstname.lastname@example.org.
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