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| - How do I semi-like thee? Let me count thy ways:
For starters: no possum on the menu! That's right. Not a possum steak, fried possum leg, nor breaded possum nuggets could be had. That's the only reason I agreed to make my premiere appearance at a D-Vegas restaurant in 2014. How do you justify naming your restaurant after a delectable rodent named Didelphis virginiana without overcharging customers to chow into a morsel of said critter? (Reminder: Didelphis virginiana is the scientific name of the ugly American beast that is really an opossum. My fellow countrymen delete the "o" at the beginning of the term as if it were some sort of prefix, thereby confusing residents of Australia, which is home to the real possum, i.e., Trichosurus vulpecula.)
I digress. I won't harp much longer, but not a single employee could be ogled doing a trot. Not a fox trot, nor even like a horse, was attempted by my waiter. Even after I politely asked. I casually suggested a bigger tip, but he declined and walked away wordlessly. Rude! (Despite the waiter's earlier bad boy behavior and tendency to ignore me, I graciously tipped him at the end of the meal with my phone number. Stupid wishful thinking on my part. He won't call.)
My main contention is this: I try to judge eateries by the appearance of the clientele sitting within earshot. Customers make the place, causing our collective emotions to rise as if in a den of iniquity, or plummet to boredom with serious abandonment issues. We all like being witnessed as we do fun stuff, and being around the right crowd can turn the worst establishment into a haven of bliss.
I felt few hedonistic vibes by whom I noticed. To the left of me were elderly people, a few of whom seemed to have adult diapers on. With tight clothes comes great responsibility.
They were clean with the scent of expensive perfume and cologne. Not that I could smell much with the grapey bottle of wine they sipped on all evening. The thought of their undergarments shouldn't have been allowed to pop into my mind. Now it's all I can think about.
The silverware looked as if it were shoplifted at Dollar General. I thought the plates were high quality until I shattered one by accident. If I had known they wouldn't bill me, I would have broken another one. Live and learn.
After much discussion with my "friend," I ordered a filet mignon-- rare-- with a side of succotash and marmalade. I always eat my filets with grapefruit marmalade, which I mash out before canning, all by myself, on my days off. To my chagrin, I had to settle for orange. Either way, the pectin in the sweet spreadable fruit brings out the extra oomph that no bloody piece of meat can sustain on its own.
All in all, the food tasted like it had been frozen all year. Everything had the succor of a manufactured nature. I might as well have gone to the McDonald's drive up for all the good it did me. One must remember this is D-Vegas. At all times it is D-Vegas.
Kudos to the furniture buyer! The chair I sat in was quite comfortable. The previous customer left it warm for me, and as I always go commando on my nights out, this feeling was phenomenal. I gently spread my thighs as I wrapped my Achilles tendons and ankles around the chair legs. I must give credit where credit is due. Every time someone walked behind me, I assumed the worst. Despite my prejudices, not a single person tried pulling the chair out from under me or pushing me into the table. Not even the greaser in the torn jeans who strolled by as I dumped ketchup on my succotash. That left a far greater impression on me than I'm use to. I still had my legs locked in place, but for once it was unnecessary.
My final thought as I left was this: The parking lot was salted as much as the food. It was salt overload. You don't need that much. It's wasteful and it wasn't icy enough to justify the quantities. It's a pet peeve of mine. I don't know why they do it. I had to hose off my tires after getting home. It was that bad. Doing labor to fix a bad meal experience shouldn't even be an option. It could also explain why the prices were so high. Maybe they could hire better waiters who are skilled at moving their mouth muscles into a smile on a regular basis. Not occasionally, I need it regularly with the mood I'm always in. Improper budgeting on salt and poor parking lot maintenance seems to be the cause of so much chaos in the world. Just lower the expenditures outside and pay attention to your customer's inner needs. That's all I'm saying.
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