al ribbon cutting ceremony when that room will be unveiled? You’re understaffed? It’s a rule?

I DON’T CARE!

Don’t give me any spurious reasons that I can’t get what I want, right now. Don’t even imply that it’s closed for MY convenience, when it’s closed for yours.

Because, if you do, I’ll insist that you change the sign in the window to:

SORRY, WE’RE

Starved again—I still can’t shed that pesky hunger habit—I walked into a restaurant with great food, slightly stiff prices, and weird service.

Sometimes I’m hungry enough to put up with weirdness, but yesterday, was another matter. The sheer absurdity of the joint got to me.

Here’s the scene. It’s 4:45 on a Friday afternoon, and I haven’t eaten a thing all day. Nothing would be better than a nice piece of prime rib, a tangy thousand isle dressing, hot bread, garlic mashed potatoes, and a glass or two of St. Francis cabernet.

Hey, it’s Friday, okay!

I walk in and ask for a booth where I can stretch out. I’m 6-2, bundled up against the wind, you get the picture, and, the place is two-thirds empty.

In addition to the main dining area, where few patrons are congregated, there is a more delightful, adjacent room; replete with those old fashioned, overstuffed red booths you can still see in my hometown—Chicago—which I like for comfort and sentimental reasons.

Ok, I’m a big, bundled up, hungry, sentimental sap. No problem.

The waitress, doubling as hostess tries to put me in a mini-booth. My legs need a booth of their own. This one she wants to wedge me into, is that small.

I ask her if I can stretch out, pointing to the room not even five feet away.

“No, that’s closed,” she barks back, officiously.

Why is it closed? What’s your problem, laziness? You can’t walk a few extra feet for a regular customer? Are you waiting for that magical ribbon cutting ceremony when that room will be unveiled? You’re understaffed? It’s a rule?

I DON’T CARE!

Don’t give me any spurious reasons that I can’t get what I want, right now. Don’t even imply that it’s closed for MY convenience, when it’s closed for yours.

Because, if you do, I’ll insist that you change the sign in the window to:

SORRY, WE’RE

othing would be better than a nice piece of prime rib, a tangy thousand isle dressing, hot bread, garlic mashed potatoes, and a glass or two of St. Francis cabernet.

Hey, it’s Friday, okay!

I walk in and ask for a booth where I can stretch out. I’m 6-2, bundled up against the wind, you get the picture, and, the place is two-thirds empty.

In addition to the main dining area, where few patrons are congregated, there is a more delightful, adjacent room; replete with those old fashioned, overstuffed red booths you can still see in my hometown—Chicago—which I like for comfort and sentimental reasons.

Ok, I’m a big, bundled up, hungry, sentimental sap. No problem.

The waitress, doubling as hostess tries to put me in a mini-booth. My legs need a booth of their own. This one she wants to wedge me into, is that small.

I ask her if I can stretch out, pointing to the room not even five feet away.

“No, that’s closed,” she barks back, officiously.

Why is it closed? What’s your problem, laziness? You can’t walk a few extra feet for a regular customer? Are you waiting for that magical ribbon cutting ceremony when that room will be unveiled? You’re understaffed? It’s a rule?

I DON’T CARE!

Don’t give me any spurious reasons that I can’t get what I want, right now. Don’t even imply that it’s closed for MY convenience, when it’s closed for yours.

Because, if you do, I’ll insist that you change the sign in the window to:

SORRY, WE’RE

main dining area, where few patrons are congregated, there is a more delightful, adjacent room; replete with those old fashioned, overstuffed red booths you can still see in my hometown—Chicago—which I like for comfort and sentimental reasons.

Ok, I’m a big, bundled up, hungry, sentimental sap. No problem.

The waitress, doubling as hostess tries to put me in a mini-booth. My legs need a booth of their own. This one she wants to wedge me into, is that small.

I ask her if I can stretch out, pointing to the room not even five feet away.

“No, that’s closed,” she barks back, officiously.

Why is it closed? What’s your problem, laziness? You can’t walk a few extra feet for a regular customer? Are you waiting for that magical ribbon cutting ceremony when that room will be unveiled? You’re understaffed? It’s a rule?

I DON’T CARE!

Don’t give me any spurious reasons that I can’t get what I want, right now. Don’t even imply that it’s closed for MY convenience, when it’s closed for yours.

Because, if you do, I’ll insist that you change the sign in the window to:

SORRY, WE’RE

i-booth. My legs need a booth of their own. This one she wants to wedge me into, is that small.

I ask her if I can stretch out, pointing to the room not even five feet away.

“No, that’s closed,” she barks back, officiously.

Why is it closed? What’s your problem, laziness? You can’t walk a few extra feet for a regular customer? Are you waiting for that magical ribbon cutting ceremony when that room will be unveiled? You’re understaffed? It’s a rule?

I DON’T CARE!

Don’t give me any spurious reasons that I can’t get what I want, right now. Don’t even imply that it’s closed for MY convenience, when it’s closed for yours.

Because, if you do, I’ll insist that you change the sign in the window to:

SORRY, WE’RE

al ribbon cutting ceremony when that room will be unveiled? You’re understaffed? It’s a rule?

I DON’T CARE!

Don’t give me any spurious reasons that I can’t get what I want, right now. Don’t even imply that it’s closed for MY convenience, when it’s closed for yours.

Because, if you do, I’ll insist that you change the sign in the window to:

SORRY, WE’RE OPEN!