the ocean

Last week we went to brunch at the place we're pretty sure gave us the norovirus a year and a half ago, and the service was pretty much as one might expect. Our waitress kicked things off by taking half of our order and then interrupting us to tell us she needed to get her notepad, because our orders were "getting complicated." (There were three of us, all ordering standard menu items.) Then, after we had been waiting about twenty minutes for our food, she cruised by to tell us that "it wasn't her fault" because she "definitely put our appetizer in so it would come out first," but "the kitchen had been really screwed up lately" and all the food would come at once. 

Things from there were fairly uneventful until we had some empty plates, which she instructed us to help her clear. As in, she commanded us to stack the plates for her and pass them over, even going so far as to tell us we were "doing it wrong" and complain about how "you would think she could get some help." Then, when I gave her my credit card to pay, she shouted across the restaurant to ask me if she could also use her Banana Republic card to pay for things outside of Banana Republic. I did not venture a guess, though I wished her well. 

Our journey together ended when she told us to have a good night, and then spent five minutes explaining that she doesn't usually work days because they're really only open during the day on Saturdays and Sundays, and she usually doesn't work then, unless someone asks her to switch shifts, which she really doesn't like to do because... and you get the idea.

I'm not kidding when I say that this whole experience genuinely made my week.