17 February 2014

Tiger Valentine

Went out for Indian Friday night. Nothing more lovely for Valentine's than waking up the next day than the old fart sack smelling like stale beer drool and curry stained pyjamas.

Sonja and I had made reservations so we were taken straight to our table. Did not take long before Sonja had a bottle of red and a long stemmed glass before her and I had a 500 ml bottle of Tiger in front of me.

We were hungry and ready to put in our order. A couple sitting nearby, sensing our impatience, began to chat with us. "Don't worry. You should not have to wait for more than a couple, maybe three, hours more," the scruffy male at the table told us. His wife/girlfriend laughed and said, "He did not have that beard when we got here."

"Beard, Hell," the gentleman said, "I had not even reached puberty yet."

The restaurant was, we noticed, understaffed on the front side and probably just as short of help on the backside. People kept coming in until all the tables were full and the phone rang off the hook like the place was the only whorehouse in town and a navy ship had just docked.

It was Valentine's Day, Sonja and I reasoned, bound to be delays. We drank and we drank. Those Tigers are not half bad.

Other customers, some people refuse to allow a table full of liquor to keep them happy when they are waiting, were getting right pissed off however. Table after table began expressing their anger with owner and her sole waitress and then leaving in a huff, the way Canuck fans did when the Bruins beat them in game seven a few years ago.

Soon Sonja was on her second bottle and I into my fourth Tiger. It was then we noticed the Indian customers who had come in well after we had were being served their food before us.

The cunts were discriminating against us. "It's like that old Johnny Thunders song," I told Sonja, "'Just  Because I'm White Doesn't Mean You Have To Treat Me Like A Nigger.'"

A fifth Tiger.

Then a sixth

I was not even hungry by the time our food finally arrived. It was splendid however. Worth every minute of the wait.

We did not tip which is exceedingly rare for us and we had a polite, if somewhat slurred, word with the owner, who we know, before we left.

Never going to spend another dime in that racist establishment.


Danneau said...

Erica and I went out for Valentine's evening supper, a rare foray, given that we both like to cook and the food at home is generally tastier, more nourishing and far less expensive than in any of the local eateries with the bonus that there's less mark up on the beverages and the ambience is always relaxed.But on this night, friend Dennis was going to be serenading on classical guitar and his stuff is worth the price of admission, so off we toddled. Now I've heard from various people in the restaurant trade that Valentines is the night they dread the most: lots of diners who come out once a year, want to make a big impression on their date and wish to do so on the cheap, so lots of work and skimpy on the tips. We encountered pretty much the same situation as you with staff being a little thin on the ground, the food showing signs of off-site preparation, long delays and a general lack of grace. Most people didn't seem too upset, but there were tables that waited over an hour for food. We left a nice tip because it was the wait staff that was bearing the burden of the establishment's cheapness and were really working very hard . Made sure to drop by and have a quick word with Dennis (music was as advertised. lovely, no breaks, and to leave some money for him as well. Erica remarked on the way out that it certainly reinforced the idea of dining at home. No racial profiling there, either.

Mr. Beer N. Hockey said...

If we'd been served by the waitress we would have still tipped. We were served by the owner. Valentine's Day table service, something we only might seek on a Friday or Saturday night, is just about always slow. But it is something of a buzzkill listening to table after table of people do every thing but threaten to nuke India if they do not eat soon.

motorcycleguy said...

I cooked at home. Kind of the opposite of diners who go out once a year, eaters who cook once a year. Turned out good. On-site preparation doesn't always mean timely. That's what you get with temporary workers. Seems my significant other had time for as many vodka/kool-aids as you did Tigers. Made for a good tip.