| rev:text
| - I've visited Big Fat Greek Express a few times before. Their Tempe location is half counter-deli style, half open bar area. Generally, they have enticing daily specials, a good range of drinks to include teas, and the same general quality of food as the regular chain restaurant.
Today, however, was the last time I will step foot in that establishment. Upon entering from the arid desert heat, all I wanted was my usual: the lunch gyro with greek fries, olives, and a drink. This runs me $10, and leaves me a little fatter, a little happier, and ready to brave the desert sun for another few hours.
Approaching the counter, thankfully sans line, the petite young brunette behind the counter greeted me quietly. I repeated my normal order, assuming that I spoke the proper lingo to avoid any follow up questions. To my surprise, I was informed that I had not, in fact, been ordering a real menu item. Apparently, I have been dreaming the past few times I visited, because what I really wanted to order was a lunch order of gyro meat. Uhhh, no, miss, I just want my gyro wrap, please. She tapped the menu angrily, speaking down to me like I was a petulant child who did not understand how this process works.
Let me explain that I am about the least difficult customer a server can ask for. I usually grant any request that makes their life easier, since at the end of the day I want everyone to go home to their wife/husband/cat/dog/bird/fish happy. So, when restaurant denizens harass me over my greek fries, I am pretty taken aback.
I nearly walked out, but to be honest the idea of taking another step in the sun without some iced tea was not on the radar. I said "whatever, just give me what you kept tapping." To add insult to injury, she made me repeat back what SHE told me I was ordering, not what I wanted. Upon receiving my food, I found that I had received exactly six strips of gyro meat, two pita quarters, and a gigantic mound of greek fries. Arteries? Who needs arteries? For sissies, I always say.
Of course, where do I go to tell the world of my mistreatment? Yelp, of course! However, I needed the wifi password...from none other than the angry-eyed gatekeeper at the counter. After delicately extracting the information I needed, again being spoken to like I'm the chambermaid, I logged on to their gracious free Wi-Fi to share my tale.
In short, Big Fat, you have spectacular food, but I will never forget being mistreated, and for that reason I will not return.
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