| rev:text
| - I just returned to my Youngstown home after a trip to Ray's, and my ears are still steaming.
In my 50+ years, I've never been treated as rudely, dismissively or flat-out scornfully by anyone representing "management."
I've endured a lot of grievances over the years to make regular pilgrimages to Ray's: the hour-long drive; terrible parking; an ear-splitting noise level; a no-reservation policy.
But I've remained a loyal patron for a good many years because I love the food: the pastrami sandwich, the fries, the bacon cheeseburger and most especially the ribs.
Everyone who knows me will tell you that I've raved about them in no uncertain terms, even going so far as to describe them as the best ribs I've ever eaten in a restaurant. (Coincidentally, quite a few of said acquaintances have made the trek to Ray's just to try them, solely because of my ringing endorsement.)
In all my years of devoted patronage, there were only two occasions prior to today that I complained to a server.
Once because my (full order) of ribs had arrived stone-cold.
The other because the kitchen had apparently forgotten my request to serve the ribs and fries on separate plates (or basket in the case of the fries).
Both times the corrections were made promptly, apologetically and with a smile.
Until today.
When I remarked to the server that the first two ribs of my half-rack were tough, stringy and dry, she offered to speak with a manager.
A man arrived who didn't bother identifying himself, but who clearly seemed to be suffering from anger management issues.
He insisted--in no uncertain terms--that the ribs were perfectly fine, and that there was nothing wrong with them. In other words, "You're an idiot; don't bother me." (I thought I was watching a "before" section on an episode of "Restaurant Impossible.")
When I tried to explain the issue I had with the sampled portion of meat, he blew me off, vanishing back to wherever he came from.
Since the fries remained untouched--all I'd eaten was the cole slaw and two (out of six) ribs, the server asked if I wanted to take them with me.
A carry-out container was quickly provided.
But when the bill arrived, I was puzzled to see that the uneaten (and now absent) ribs were still on the bill.
I told the server that, since I was paying for them, I might as well take the remaining portion home with me. At that point, I optimistically hoped that the remainder of the (half) rack would be up to Ray's usual high standards.
She once again offered to speak with a manager.
Shortly thereafter, the inconsolably rude gentlemen from earlier returned, this time even more obstinate and nasty than he was previously.
He accused me of being a chronic complainer who "always sends food back" (?), and asked repeatedly why I bother coming to Ray's at all since I clearly "don't like the food."
I'd say that my attempts to explain the situation--and my long-time enthusiasm for his restaurant and the food--fell on deaf ears, but that would be an exaggeration. He clearly wasn't listening to anything I had to say and walked off in an insolent huff.
The (corrected) bill was resubmitted, but nothing could take the vile taste of my two brief encounter(s) with the extraordinarily hostile manager out of my mouth.
I left feeling as if I'd lost a friend.
And in a sense I had, since I knew it would surely be a cold day in hell before I walked through the doors of Ray's again.
I'll definitely miss the food I grew to love, and the generally top-notch service.
But I'll never forget--how could I? how could anyone?--the disrespectful-bordering-on-contemptuous way I was treated.
What a horrible way to start the new year.
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)
![[cxml]](/fct/images/cxml_doc.png)
![[csv]](/fct/images/csv_doc.png)
![[text]](/fct/images/ntriples_doc.png)
![[turtle]](/fct/images/n3turtle_doc.png)
![[ld+json]](/fct/images/jsonld_doc.png)
![[rdf+json]](/fct/images/json_doc.png)
![[rdf+xml]](/fct/images/xml_doc.png)
![[atom+xml]](/fct/images/atom_doc.png)
![[html]](/fct/images/html_doc.png)