| rev:text
| - "With a group this large, someone is bound to get forgotten and left out. Bet you anything that person is going to be me."
Yeah. I know not to expect much from Boston Pizza. It's one of those "we like to cover our bland food with cheese, fat and garlic" places that I tend to avoid, because usually the only lactose-free dish I can get here is a big pile of lettuce-y yuck. But I came here, because I was invited to a Ladies Brunch with some very nice ladies. Fourteen, to be exact (and two little girls).
When we sat down, I ordered a V8, because I'm savvy enough to realize that I was probably going to get my food last and would need something to tide me over. Something about ordering food with things left out; tends to gets bored kitchen staff that is used to mechanically plopping ingredients on a plate all nonplussed. What do you mean you don't want cheese on your pizza? Crazy pills. You are on them. The V8 arrived insipidly warm, despite the ice that was thrown in the glass.
But, a cheeseless individual pizza and yam fries is what I ordered. The waitress told me that there was no lunch deal on Sundays for sides, but I asked if I could get fries anyway and just pay the extra $$$; she said, "sure, no problem."
Twenty minutes later, orders slowly started to come out, and when I looked up expectantly, the waitress apologized and told me that they had accidentally put cheese on my pizza and they were making me a new one. She said that it would be discounted on my bill, and in the meantime, I could "snack on the cheese." Er... pass. I told her that I was lactose intolerant (which, after years of being vegan, is true. My body no longer produces the enzymes necessary to break down dairy products), and she nodded and disappeared.
Meanwhile, my drink glass was empty and she never bothered to offer a refill (which I would have been fully aware was not free, but I think I should've been offered one anyway), or a glass of water. Five minutes later, she came back, and told me the pizza would be a few more minutes. Ten minutes later, a flavorless heap on dough arrived. A few minutes later, when the waitress came back with the water glass I had to ask for, I asked when my fries were coming out.
"You don't get fries. Remember? There's no deal today."
"I'm aware, but I asked if you could just add it on anyway, and that I would pay for it; you said that was fine."
*Insert frozen, awkward smile here*
A different waitress brought the fries fifteen minutes later; long after the sad pizza was now sitting uncomfortably in my belly, because I was taught that wasting food, even bad food, is a sin. I asked for hot sauce that never arrived.
If I hadn't been with company, I probably would've left after it was suggested that I "snack on the cheese."
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