I just noticed in the titles of my previous two posts on pet peeves, I used two different ways to abbreviate number. That is the reason for today’s double number entry. Okay, now with that out of the way, on to (where I was, and am, consistent with the abbreviation of number within the graphic throughout the series, I hope you’ll notice):
This pet peeve arises out of two different incidents at local establishments. I say “establishments” because one isn’t a restaurant per se as much as it is a donut shop and the other calls itself a diner even though you’ll see it is missing one of the key ingredients to bear that designation. I will not use names to protect the stupidity of said establishments, although if you’re a.) local, you probably can guess the name of the first one since it’s the only diner in town, and b.) a regular eater of donuts, or even if you’re not, you probably have heard of these “donut shops.”
The first part of this pet peeve involves this area diner. A few years ago, I had a problem similar to acid reflux in that I couldn’t swallow food or sometimes drink. The main food and drinks I could have were tortilla chips (usually the Crispy Lime Tostitos) and Mike’s Hard Lemonade. I also occasionally could have a milkshake. So The Wife and I went to this diner in our fair town (yes, continuing the use of the word “fair” today as yesterday, although I haven’t decided yet on whether or not to use “fair share”…although there I just did) and I thought I’d ordered a milkshake.
“We don’t have milkshakes.”
“You don’t have milkshakes? This is a diner, right?”
“We’ve never had milkshakes in the 30 years we’ve been here.”
“Well, I’ve never heard of a diner that doesn’t have milkshakes.”
“I will never return here again. Put that down on your pad, lady.”
That last quote, I think I said to the Wife in full-snark mode after she made her order for a burger, which they did have but which looked like a burger you would get in a high school cafeteria with the same kind of generic bun sans sesame seeds and good taste.
With our town being a tourist town, especially in the summer and fall, and this diner being in the center of town, it is often a place toward which tourists gravitate. If I happen to be walking on the same street as they are, and see them going toward the diner, I often tell them to steer clear, because the diner doesn’t even serve milkshakes. “What the fahrvergnügen kind of diner is that?” I ask them. Many of them being from New Jersey shake their heads and, in agreement with my assessment, walk the other way.
On those days, I feel I have done my part to help the human race.
The second part of this pet peeve involves an area “donut shop.” A couple of weeks ago, I went in to order my favorite donut: a maple cream donut. When I asked for it, the woman behind the counter looked at me blankly after looking at the selections behind the counter and said:
“We don’t carry that donut.”
“But I’ve had the donut several times here.”
“It must have been a manager’s special.”
“No, I had it here on several occasions.”
“We’ve not had that donut since I’ve worked here.”
“And you’ve worked here for how long? Two weeks, if that? I see ‘Help Wanted’ signs in the window here all the time. The turnover here is atrocious. Do they even pay minimum wage here? Or do you get paid with smiles from customers, which judging by the non-smile on my face means you’re probably getting paid NOTHING and you’re doing this because you’re sadomasochistic.”
Okay, I didn’t say that second to last quote, at least not out loud. I think it was just expressed in my non-smile. I ordered a peanut butter cream donut, which while I love peanut butter was not as good as the maple cream donut would have been if they had it.
Needless to say, I doubt I will return to the donut establishment either. I’m not much of a coffee drinker anyway and I don’t really have a burning desire to sit in a place with people over the age of 60 telling me about their latest surgery or how Obama is from Kenya and if we don’t protest vociferously, our country is going to become a socialist state right underneath our noses.
“You know, the Nazis had pieces of flair that they made the Jews wear.”