Usually when you go out to dinner, you don't expect a side of jerk with your order, but we're living in the future, and the future is a very scary place.
In something out of an episode of Kitchen Nightmares, a waiter goes wild. You see, what had happened was, Christine Duran, Christina Huerta and Isabel Robles went to Chilly D's Sports Lounge in Stockton, CA, to get some dinner and the check that accompanied their meal identified them as "fat girls". OK, alright, very clever, "JEFF".
The women demanded to see a manager, who then offered the ladies 25 % off their bill – a move that provoked further outrage.
"He had like a smirk on his face, like if it was funny, but he was trying not to laugh," Huerta said. "He was like ‘Well, I can do 50 percent,' and we were just like ‘Are you serious?'"
Finally, they were given a full refund, and an apology issued on the restaurants Facebook page. A little late, dudes.
I'm finding it hard to get that angry at the little idiot who wrote "fat chicks" on the check — he's obviously going to continue to have a tough time in life because of where he's at mentally — but I do take issue with how management handled it. You're supposed to be in management because you know how to manage shit. Get with it, dummies.
Keeping in mind that it's always easy to say how you would've handled something that didn't happen to you, here's how I ideally would've handled it. I'd have gone up to the manager and been like, "Yeah, I'm fat and attractive, and now you're gonna comp me all this stuff —- plus some cheesecakes and $1,000 in casino credits — or I'm gonna call start calling news stations and I'm not gonna stop until I hit Oprah Winfrey." Pause. "Let's roll, friendo."
Or something like that? It's just the first thing that came to me in my revenge plotting, but I'll definitely mull this one over for awhile. Get at me in about ten days when I've perfected my plan, and we'll talk.
*Or maybe I'm projecting? I just really hated waiting tables at Chevy's in Times Square. Don't even get me started on how many fucking sombreros I handled out whilst covered in margarita mix and flan residue.