The Things in My Head hate morning TV. I am really sick of Crossing Jordan about now.
Depression is not the laugh a minute state that I thought it was.
Though the manic parts of it are pretty interesting.
And I am really hating the fact that I woke up an hour earlier than I needed to because I forgot to change the alarm before I went to bed last night.
I am not happy.
Namaste.
And here I go taking on the coporate giants once again. Though the first time I talked about a major corporation I was being very positive in my assessment of their product.
Of course, I happened to be going for the all important suck-up-send-me-some-free-stuff side of the issue.
It didn’t work.
Now, though. This time I am pissed off yet once again.
The story….
Here in the Great State of Pennsylvania we have this quaint law that states that every car on the road has to be annually inspected. Whether it needs it or not. This is to, ostensibly, guarantee the all of the cars on Pennsylvania roads are safe to operate. All of the lights work, the brakes work, and that they have adequate tread on their tires.
Yeah right. In reality it is to keep the shoddy garage mechanics in a job. Case in point.
My truck needed tires to pass inspection. I called Sears and ordered the tires I needed, and arranged for an appointment. I was told that no appointment was needed. Just show up at 7:30. I did, signed all of the paperwork needed, and went back to a waiting room with crappy tv reception, no clock, and tool sales literature to read. After a couple of hours spent walking with geriatrics (you can read about it here) I was told that my tires would not come off. Thinking that the tire guys were nuts, I took my truck and new tires home and started trying to get a local mechanic to deal with this. So that I can get my inspection sticker so that I don’t get a ticket for not having one.
Tell me that all the state agencies don’t get a swig at this trough.
I have a garage up the street from me. Called them and arranged a day and time. Went to the garage at the appointed day and time, and found out that they were closed. Called them later that afternoon to find out the next time I could come in, and all I got was “sorry, something came up”.
I did finally get my tires on, so today I went back to the garage that told me that I needed tires so that they could complete my inspection. And the reason I didn’t have the original garage do the tires is that they don’t do tires.
I can understand that.
Tires seem to be a real pain in the heinie for everyone in Pennsylvania. Especially those of us who need new tires, and have to look for some poor fool that will actually put them on the vehicle.
All of this in the spirit of keeping the residents of Pennsylvania safe from one another. Because given our druthers, we all would drive around in rusted out heaps that would endanger not only the surrounding populace, but ourselves.
Because that is the way we roll.
Namaste.
You know what fubar means don’t you?
F@@@ed Up Beyond All Recall.
Fubar.
Started with trying to get the remaining 2 tires put on my truck. Which I have been working on for the past 3 weeks. Went to drop the truck off this morning, and found that the garage was closed until noon. WTF??
Then I had to run something to the school for The Princess. Now I am going to go to the Dr to have a mole taken off of the back of my head.
Because I am tired of trying to shave my head around it. I tag it way too many times and it bleeds like a stuck pig. So, it is time to get it taken off. The only concern I have is that I hope that it doesn’t leave a divot in my head. That would make it as difficult to shave as it is now.
I am not about difficult. I am all about easy.
And all of this has thrown off my grocery shopping that was supposed to happen today.
Bitch, bitch, bitch.
Going now to have my head cut into.
Namaste.
the various mis-spellings forgiven. I hope that I made it very apparent that the food at the restaurant mentioned in the previous post was absolutely wonderful. I had a dish called chesapeke chicken that looked like a crab cake, and tasted like heaven.
It was just the service that sucked. And that is what makes me the maddest. It was like we were stuck in a vortex of suckiness that no one could save us from. We just kept whirling around and around. And that is not acceptable to me. We were apologized to, but nothing changed. An apology means nothing if you don’t make sure that you change the behavior that resulted in needing to apologize.
That seems simple.
So what about you? What has been your worst restaurant experience? Let us know about it, would you?
Thanks,
Namaste.
As I have directed a bunch of people over here to read this.
Like “this” is an actual place and not a graphic representation of a bunch of electric impulses. Sheesh.
Whatever….
Last week Saturday MLW and I along with some friends, and some of their friends all went to a brew pub in Harrisburg called Appalachian Brewing Company. Our friends, not to be mistaken for THEIR friends, (who MLW and I know and like quite a bit….) had made reservations for our large party of 10.
Did I mention that there were 10 of us? Hungry, thirsty guys and gals. Just keep that in mind.
So we get to the Brewery, which also has a restaurant, only to find that they had messed up our reservations. Pretty much forgot about them. So they put us at a couple of different tables seperated by a wall. One that you could talk over. You know what I mean.
So there we sat. Us, and our friends. Waiting for the remaining 6 to join us. Waited. Thirsty. 4 of said friends came in and sat at the table that was seperated from us by the talking overable wall. And we did talk. And my table watched as a waitress came to their table and took their drink orders.
Have I mentioned that we haven’t seen a waitress yet? Very thirsty. And this is a Brew Pub.
Then their waitress took their appetizer order. And my table is getting thirstier.
When their appetizers came, I had had enough. I went up to the Manager and introduced myself. Reminded him that our reservations had been screwed up, and that he had us seated in an area where there is no waitress. Asked him if he wanted our busines, or should we go up the street. Said Manager assured me that he wanted our business, and got a waitress to come to our table.
A surly waitress. You know the kind. You wonder if they are spitting into your drinks before they bring said drinks. Which we hadn’t gotten to yet.
Moving on. Said waitress took our drink orders. FINALLY!! And we were momentarily happy. MLW and the her wife counter part had ordered water, and wc ordered root beer, while MLW ordered ginger beer. Both brewed on the premises with the beer. My husband counterpart and I ordered a sampler of the house beers. 8 different beers. Keep that in mind, as it will come into play here in a few sentences.
The wives drinks arrived. Well, 3/4’s of them. The water was their, and so was the root beer for WC. But no ginger beer for MLW. Not good. MLW inquired where her ginger beer was and surly waitress says, “we are out of it. And you probably wouldn’t have liked it to begin with.”
Not a good move. MLW does not like it when people presume to know what she does, and doesn’t want. Especially when she doesn’t even know the person. And she informed the surly wench of such, and ordered a root beer.
Surly wench drug her knuckles back to her lair of despair.
She came back with MLW’s root beer, and our sampler of beer. Or should I say 3/4’s of our sampler. Yes, you guessed it. 6 out of 8 beers. When asked where the other two glasses were, she said that “they have run out of glasses.”
I asked how could a pub run out of glasses, and got a shrug for my trouble.
At which time I told her that maybe she could go to the front of the restuarant and get 2 glasses out of the case where they are selling the glasses to the public, wash them, and get my the rest of my fricking beer!! It was bad enough to have screwed up out reservations, seated us in a waitress-less section, and then give us a knuckle dragger as a stand in, mess up MLW’s drink order, and finally mess up a beer order.
Have I mentioned that this is a Brew Pub? Inside a working brewery?
With all of that said and done. The food was excellent. Top notch.
The beer, not so much. I was not thrilled but by one called a zoileg lager. It was really good.
And that was the story of our Big Saturday Night Out. We went to see Steve Earle which is another story.
Namaste.
I messed something up with my code and had to restore this site, which resulted in losing a crap load of stuff. Bummer. Now I have to figure out what was lost and redo it.
Wish me luck.
Namaste.
