The last time I cried
I almost cried last night. Because I am a giant fucking pussy.
I watched a movie with my buddy last night called L’auberge espagnole. It’s about a Frenchman studying abroad in Barcelona. There’s the inevitable scene at the end where he leaves the friends he’s gained in Barcelona and packs up his shit to head home. He’s walking down the street in tears, bawling, and I almost was too.
The last time I actually cried was a year and a half ago. It was December 2007 and I’d just arrived from studying in Rome. I met up with my friends, who I hadn’t seen since summer, at Applebee’s. At some point early in the night I ran to the bathroom, threw up and cried. And then I probably went back to my shitty, half-priced quesadilla.
Wait a minute—”shitty, half-priced quesadilla”? Our quesadillas are quite baller, I will have you know, so don’t let the symbiotic depressing and overly sentimental natures of your youth and a foreign film somehow be reflected in the quality of our food.
Or you could just grow up, grow a pair and send the food back.
Still, a post like this provides me with a great opportunity to offer a tip of my own to those of you who dine out: If you don’t tell us that something doesn’t taste good, we’re not going to fix it for you.
As simple as that sounds, you’d be amazed by the number of people who wait until the conclusion of the meal to voice their displeasure with the entree and seemingly justify to themselves why they will be tipping so poorly. Go ahead and roll like that if you want, just remember that even if I’m terrible with names, I’m great with faces and bad tips. So chances are if you return to my section, consider your last tip to be the first and foremost reason as to why I’m not making the effort to refill your glass the next time around.
The thing I love about my job is that I only have to work as hard for you as I really want to. Sure, most of the time I am a firm adovcate of “killing with kindness,” but the occasional dose of revenge is another perk of my job.
So if you were wondering, “Yes, I’m doing it on purpose.”
