| rev:text
| - Sauce, I wanted to like you. You never gave me a chance.
I had heard of your happy hour specials. After work, my energy had been too drained to make the trip to the north parking lot of the Galleria Mall. Yesterday I had the chance to give you a try. I had just voted in the Galleria Mall and when I was in the bottom level of Kohl's sneaker hunting, I looked out the door to lay eyes on you a few hundred feet away. It was time to take a hiatus from shopping to give you a try. The walk from Kohl's is a beeline to your door. Some malls like the one in St. George, Utah would consider you a mall tenant. As I neared closer to the door that faces the mall (not Galleria Drive), I saw the Happy Hour specials. That could be for another time. It was 2 pm on a Friday afternoon. As I made it nearer to the door, I noticed that the parking lot was barron. This was an oman to the infinitesimal amount of customers inside.
Now inside, I am standing inside a colossal lifeless building that reminded me of a monastery. I'd gaze at an unoccupied host station to my right, empty bar in the middle, and monastery spaces to my left and right. I'd gaze and gaze and gaze for ten minutes. I was feeling like an unwanted bull. My left foot was bothering me and I did not want to resume sneaker shopping just yet. There seemed to be a want of a seating policy. To me, your policy is sauce. Was I supposed to walk deeper into the monastery rooms? Was an employee (there are employees here?) going to venture toward the entrance where there might just be a slight possibility that an individual could of walked inside with an intention of like eating here? Why wasn't there a buzzer that informs an employee that somebody is here? Finally, a waitress acknowledged me. She apologized for the long delay on account of a blind spot where she did not see me. That is a bunch of sauce because she should of occasionally walked past this blind spot to the waiting area where customers are waiting to be seated.
I followed the waitress (no hostess here at 2 pm on this Friday). we walked deep into the recesses of the monastery to the left. For whatever reason I am one of the couple of people in this restaurant, and she seats me out of the way. Why not nearer the kitchen where I would be nearby instead of some Bull seated way out in the boondocks of the monastery. The waitress gave me the menu. This is the last I'd see of her.
Spending some time in your lifeless place, I had trouble believing that you are this energetic bar slash Italian restaurant in the later hours of the day. I just couldn't fathom it. As I looked at the menu, it was dawning on me that I was better off transforming from an unwanted Bull to royalty at a different place. This is Las Vegas after all and not Siberia. The menu just wasn't the kind of sauce that is my flavor. I saw relatively few lunch specials. But my love for eggplant parmesan with provolone cheese topped with pasta and a glass of Coke turned a blind eye to the fact that there was zero mention of coming with a soup or salad. If only you gave me a chance I would of exchanged $20 of my hard earned money for it. I remained an ignored bull. I had had enough. I was now in the mood to be appreciated in either Miller's Ale House or Cafe Zupas. It was time to leave the lifeless spaces of the monastery.
Sauce, I wanted to like you. But you barely acknowledged me and in reality should open at 4 pm, if you treat customers like this as 2 pm. I don't like going to a restaurant to feel like an unwanted bull. To me that is just bull sauce.
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