Well, I name a lot of new things — like “Friday Bullshit!” What I’ve found is that I need to name a lot of things and come up with lots of ideas, most of which will fall by the wayside.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to surprise you with Bullshit! on a Friday.
But for right now, how about a random rant, finished off with some Led Zep?
Do you wanna know what I hate, right now? I Hate American styled customer non-service. We gotta be the worst in the world. Hell, I just sat through a totally boring rendition on non-service via AT&T as concerns my parents’ desire to ADD a TV to their existing “Uverse” install (I’ll save you the details: took more than a week of dealing with fucking idiots).
But my personal peeve, which I guard & cherish so I can fucking hate it, is restaurant servers. I always preserve special wrath. I eat out quite a lot and I think servers have gotta be the touchstone for what I’m talking about.
I should make this short: You know what, fuckers, servers? This isn’t about YOU. I don’t need you coming to my table every two minutes to assure yourself that you’re doing just fine, or even better, because I don’t give a runny shit. Chances are, you have little to do with it anyway, and moreover, are we not here to eat a meal? Or, is our purpose merely to affirm a decent meal, a decent service and you’re all set? Leave me the Fuck alone because if something isn’t right — so common as that is — I’m gonna let you know.
I was annoyed about it for years but Beatrice is the one who brought this to my attention, four years ago in our three week tour of Europe, and then again a month ago, affirmed.
Servers NEVER come to your table to ask you how everything is. Never happens, ever. Can you guess why?
And now, Led Zeppelin, Over The Hills and Far Away. Live.