Parrothead Ramblings

The Crime Dog Clan spent Memorial Day weekend with TFMCD's side of the family at Wally World...err...Disneyland. Actually, our niece got married in San Diego, so we went to the reception Saturday, then the beach Sunday, and Wally World on Monday. A whirlwind trip, to say the least, but a lot of laughs. It also included the single wost restaurant experience any of us could remember - including Bo, Mateo, and ZMan, all of whom are or have been in the food service biz.

Ever have an experience so bad, that was such a comedy of errors, that you finally just end up laughing your ass off at the incompetence and futility of it all? That was us. I doubt I can do it justice, but here goes:

It started off with us trying to find someplace to watch the Suns game. ESPN Zone had a 1.5 hour wait, and the only other sports bars we tried were closed. Closed? WTF? No wonder SoCal no longer even has an NFL team - sports is too far down the ladder of importance out there. Finally, we headed over to the Hooters right beside Angel Stadium. That's where the trouble really began......

The eight of us braved the cumulonimbus clouds of cigarette smoke from all the nicotine addicts out front and made our way into the restaurant. I was carrying Beemyr in her little car seat thing, and was told we had a 15-minute wait. Not bad, I thought, and Beemyr and I sat down on the bench they have there in the foyer. Obviously, the bench is there for folks to sit on when they're waiting for a table, right?

Wrong. The bench is there for absolutely no reason whatsoever. No sooner had we sat down when this jerk with a bottle of Windex dangling from his pocket shows up and orders everybody out of his foyer. Rudely. No explanation, no nothing, this guy is just barking out orders. The hostess chimed in, actually saying "If you're already on the freakin' list, then go outside and wait." I'm sitting there with a 4-month-old baby, and they're ordering us all back outside with the smokers. We ended up walking nearly all the way around the restaurant to escape the stench, and what did we find? The patio. Closed. "Short-staffed," they said. You can only get to this patio from inside Hooters, and somebody, maybe the same Windex-packing asshole, hadn't even bothered opening it for the waiting customers. I guess it was more fun to order us out of his foyer. So, we ended up watching the 3rd and part of the 4th quarters peering through their fence at the TVs on the completely empty patio.

At length, our table was ready. We got insdie and sat down, and waited for a server. And waited.
And waited.
And waited some more.

Finally, along comes a server. "I'm so-o-o-o sorry you guys! Can I get your drink orders?" We ordered a pitcher of beer and some soft drinks.

And waited.

Finally, the soft drinks and the cold beer glasses arrive. But no beer.

So we waited.
And waited again.

We had been in the restaurant for a good 30 minutes by the time the pitcher of beer arrived. Again, "I'm so -o-o-o sorry, you guys!"

The whole time, the sound system was playing at a level approximately three degrees above the threshhold of auditory pain. I asked the server if it could be turned down, because it was annoying everyone in the area. She politely turned it down, and we could finally speak in a relatively normal tone of voice. For a few minutes, anyway. That's when the this guy came along and turned the damned thing back up even louder than before. He must have liked the song, because I turned around and saw him doing some kind of boogie dance. I snapped,

Geez, man. We just got the server to turn that damned thing down and you go and turn it up even louder!!

Dude actually rolls his eyes like a 12-year-old and turns it back down. He says not a word. No, "sorry, I didn't realize that," no nothing. He just walked away.

We finished our pitcher, and along comes our server, asking if we want another. Of course, we did. so she took off and we waited.

And waited.
And waited
And waited.

About ten minutes later, the new but belated pitcher arrives. "I'm so-o-o-o sorry, you guys!"

Finally, the food shows up. Sort of. Out of seven orders, they managed to fuck up....lessee...how many was it?....Oh yeah, all seven. 100%, Hooters. Nicely done. I thought it was bad that I didn't get my fries, and that Mateo got potato salad instead of beans, and that ZMan was missing food as well, and none of us got the side salads we ordered, and Bo's grilled cheese was grilled on only one side. I thought all that was bad, until Miss J found a bug in her cheeseburger. Our other problems didn't seem so bad then, even when Mateo finally gave up on his Philly sandwich, pronouncing it "inedible." ZMan insisted on seeing the manager, who showed up moments later. Uh-oh, it was the same boogie dance guy who rolled his eyes and just walked away after turning the music down a while ago. We gave him the litany of food complaints. He actually seemed perturbed that we had the nerve to complain. He took Miss J's burger and dumped the entire plate of food into the garbage. When she got her new burger, they didn't give her any more beans. Oh, well. At least it was bug-free.

So, we finished our food. Along came a different server, our third of the evening. She looked up at me and asked "So, how was everything tonight?" OK, I'm thinking, you asked. So, I began telling her the litany of food complaints at our table. I got about 1/3 of the way when she simply walked away from me, went to the other end of the table, and told Bo, "I'd rather deal with some sober people."

Even after all the other poor service and food, you could have knocked me over with a feather. I was as sober as the proverbial judge. What the fuck is wrong with these people?

As if it would salvage this horrific dining experience, they cut the drinks and burgers off the tab. I would rather have had a nice experience and paid full price.

By this time, we're all laughing our collective ass off at the incompetence and insensitivity of this restaurant staff. I paid the tab, and asked to see our second server. She came over, obviously scared half to death that I would read her the riot act. Instead, I put a tip in her hand and told her that I appreciated that she at least apologized for the bad experience. She was really quite nice. I'm sure a restaurant, like any other business, is a reflection of its management. In the case of the Angel Stadium Hooters, as far as their management goes, Windex guy was rude, and the manager I dealt with was rude, incompetent, and completely unapologetic.

I've eaten at a lot of Hooters Restaurants all over The Valley of the Sun - Bell Road, Ahwatukee, Arrowhead, Mill Avenue - and they've all been good. Think The Crime Dog will ever set foot in another Hooters?

Unlikely.

We all piled into the van, laughing at the whole experience, and headed out. As if to place an exclamation on the whole affair, we came across this in the parking lot on the way out:

So, Hooters: Thanks for the laughs and memories (No I didn't say mammaries), thanks for the blog fodder, and have a nice life.
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