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Haven't posted this in a while. :D


A couple of weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little bastards.

It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment.

We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that evening, I tell you -- in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated. Perhaps a bit too much, however.

I had not really been feeling well all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble. There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble breathing. At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first, I thought it was only gas which could have been passed in batches right at the table without too much concern.

Unfortunately, that was not to be. After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make its way through your intestines far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress...

Entering, I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a good ****, but in this case, the door lock was broken and the only thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my toenails with a pair of diagonal wire cutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a ****. I went to the normal stall. In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the pressure on my ass was reaching Biblical proportions. I began "The Move."

For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to explain "The Move." Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances. There is a move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the body turn to
position ones ass toward said toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless expulsion of **** at the exact same second that ones ass is properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even
assures that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the piss stream lets loose at the same time; it is truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a ballet dancer.

I was about half-way into "The Move" when I looked down at the floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of those little bastards attending kids night; it was mounded up in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first walked into the stall. Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch. What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events are a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can.

In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crouched down to the toilet, pants pulled
down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming up my esophagus. Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precedence over **** no matter what is about to come slamming out of your ass. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since ******** will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus diverted. At that very split second, my ass exploded in what can only be described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper headline along the lines of "30,000 Killed in Wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something similar. In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of **** the consistency of thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my ass.

But remember, I was only half-way down on the toilet at that moment. The **** wave was of such force and of just such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initially hit the toilet seat. Then I sat down. Recall that when that event occurred, I was already half-way to sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point, you're going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to say, the **** wave, though of considerable force, was not so sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls, unlike what you would see when hitting a puddle with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a puddle. There was a significant amount of **** remaining on about one third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon. Now, back to the vomit...

While all the ******** was going on, the vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the macaroni and beef I had just consumed. OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting? One bends over. So I bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though. Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I mention that I was wearing not just pants, but sweat pants with elastic on the ankles. In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited in my pants...on the inside...with no ready exit at the bottom down by my feet.

In the next several seconds, there were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended, yet I was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered in **** that had bounced off the toilet, spattered on three ceramic tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force to come back at me, covering the back of my shirt with droplets of liquid ****. All while thick **** was spread all over my ass in a ring curiously in the shape of a toilet seat. And there was no ****ing toilet paper.

What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left. At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign.

About two minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help. Knowing that I had experienced some close calls in the past, she probably assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just needed to bring the car around so we could bolt immediately. Until I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks, new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers. And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing.

She began to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to handle damage control for the time being. She left.

The manager then came back in with a half dozen wet towels and a few dry ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned. Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks working at Ryan's making minimum wage of just slightly above.

At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose.
Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom. He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began cleaning myself up with the wet towels. Just as I was finishing, my wife got back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my wife. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed in the event I happened to be standing there naked and some little bastard kid walked in. At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a felony and intended to keep it that way.

When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done, but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out to the car where my wife was now waiting to pick me up by the front door. The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at Ryan's Steak House. They have, by far, the nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.

It has been a long time since I've laughed that hard.
 
Haven't posted this in a while. :D

I WAS sitting in my room on a nice red leather StressLess recliner, until I made it about 3/4 of the way through this story and just couldn't hold it any more. This is the first time in god knows how long that I actually pissed myself. In my pants. Full on. I just got out of the shower after that event. I literally ran to the bathroom, as I was grabbing my wiener and pissing. Thank you so much for making my night, I hope you don't mind if I share this story with some friends at high school. Greatest thing I've read in the longest time.
 
Sorry to threadjack with the story but I couldn't resist.

I found this on Usenet years ago and post it every so often. It's funny no matter how many times I've read it.
 
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I'm of the same mind as the OP, I am very forgiving when it comes to the customer service industry but I do not look kindly upon snobbish or careless service (and I mean careless as in "I don't care", not as in "oops, so sorry").

My worst restaurant story was a rude waitress at a chain Italian franchise where my brother and I ate with some friends. I ordered an appetizer with my meal. At the end when the bills came, my appetizer was charged on my brother's bill. I called the waitress over and pointed out the mistake, but in trying to be diplomatic about it I added "but that's OK, I don't really care too much because he's my brother and we can just work it out ourselves".

Her response? "Well, I don't really care either as long as I get my money."

Wrong answer!

I don't think I ever went back. Luckily it wasn't too much longer before the place went out of business.

Another time, my family went to dinner at a pseudo-Italian seafood restaurant whose specialty was HUGE seafood platters: lobsters, shrimp, fish, mussels, you name it, piled high. As we were sitting down, the table next to us was arguing with the manager because they had brought in a newspaper ad from a month ago with a sale on the seafood platters, but that had expired. The manager was arguing that the price had gone up, the ad they were holding was no longer valid. Eventually he gave in, the family left, but not without making a scene.

And not leaving a tip. I know this because the manager, who I guess had a chip on his shoulder, turned around to face our table and just kept right on ranting! The seafood costs have gone up. He wasn't making any money on this deal. And that family didn't leave a tip, not a single penny. How hard their server had worked trying to keep them happy, all for nothing, and on and on and on...

Maybe he felt bad about that because we soon received a large cold-meats appetizer platter, compliments of the house. The food and the service were excellent after that and I left a healthy tip. On our way out, the manager stopped us at the door to thank us for eating there and inviting us to come back again.

Now is the time to mention that the cheapskate family was Asian, and so are we. I hope that I helped disillusion the manager of the stereotype...
 
Another time, my family went to dinner at a pseudo-Italian seafood restaurant whose specialty was HUGE seafood platters: lobsters, shrimp, fish, mussels, you name it, piled high. As we were sitting down, the table next to us was arguing with the manager because they had brought in a newspaper ad from a month ago with a sale on the seafood platters, but that had expired. The manager was arguing that the price had gone up, the ad they were holding was no longer valid. Eventually he gave in, the family left, but not without making a scene.

And not leaving a tip. I know this because the manager, who I guess had a chip on his shoulder, turned around to face our table and just kept right on ranting! The seafood costs have gone up. He wasn't making any money on this deal. And that family didn't leave a tip, not a single penny. How hard their server had worked trying to keep them happy, all for nothing, and on and on and on...

Maybe he felt bad about that because we soon received a large cold-meats appetizer platter, compliments of the house. The food and the service were excellent after that and I left a healthy tip. On our way out, the manager stopped us at the door to thank us for eating there and inviting us to come back again.

Now is the time to mention that the cheapskate family was Asian, and so are we. I hope that I helped disillusion the manager of the stereotype...

My mom and I went to some chain restaurant a few months back, and they were hosting a fundraiser for a local high school that night - a certain percentage of the bill was donated to their athletic team or something, I dunno, I didn't pay attention to the details. But they were busy as all hell, since all of the high school kids were there eating. And as you all know, most high school tweens are loud, obnoxious, and numerous. We debated going somewhere else but stayed.

Food was good, service was good. Our waitress was being kept busy by the kids at the table next to us. They were being a pain in the ass. They wanted separate checks (and neglected to tell her until she already brought out the bill) and were just being obnoxious. Since she took longer to get around to our table to give us the bill, she profusely apologized for the wait and I said no problem, I could tell those kids over there were being a pain in the ass and it's not her fault. She said "Yeah, these kids have been keeping us busy all night. They're obnoxious and stiffing me on tips"

At that point, I had two thoughts. The first one being that it seems inappropriate for a waitress to be complaining about other customers' behavior and lack of tipping. The second thought I had was that I too was in high school not too long ago and know how obnoxious and ignorant kids that age can be, and our waitress appeared to be college-aged, and also having been a college student, I know how tough it is working and just getting by, so we left her a healthy tip to hopefully make up for what the kids didn't leave.
 
One time I walked to Wendy's across the street from my school and ordered a couple burgers and a frosty.

In the middle of my order, the cashier, an African American woman, interrupted me, zapped in Z formation, and pronounced in heavy ebonics," Sir, I ain't yo dogg, get yo order right and quit snappin' at me."

I kind of was shocked at all of this. I've ordered from fast food restaurants plenty of times. I kind of just looked at her for a couple seconds with a blank stare then proceeded to continue with my order.

Me and my friends still joke at how incomprehensible she spoke.
 
Since so many of you have asked, here are the names of the restaurants:

  • The French restaurant is Le Petit Restaurant
  • The Greek restaurant is The Great Greek

Both are located on Ventura blvd. in Sherman Oaks, CA.

Blarg.... Valley.. :mad:
 
So 20 minutes goes by, and at this point I'm staring at the host with my arms crossed. He walks in our general direction, and when he passes, he says it'll be a few more minutes. I remind him that he told us it would only be 10 minutes and that at this point it's already been 20. He shrugs and sort of says sorry, and walks away.
Yeah, staring at the host will get you your table faster, he'll probably be scared enough to chase the seated customers away or give an earlier booked table to you..

Finally, it appears that we're next, and a nice booth for two is being cleared (presumably for us). The only other people waiting is a couple who just arrived (at around 8:55pm). The table is ready and......he directs the newly arrived couple to that table. WTF?

When he comes back, I ask him why he gave them our table.

Him: "Their reservation was before yours."
Me: "No it wasn't. Ours was at 8:30, and they just got here. We've been waiting for 30 minutes already."
Did you know for a fact their reservation was 8:30 or later? What if they had a booking at 8:20 and just arrived late?


Me: "I don't care if they're regulars. We have a reservation. Why do you take reservations? And, anyway, how do you know that we weren't going to become regulars? Is their money better than ours?"
Money isn't everything, and I assume he felt that friends/regulars were more important than a first time booking where the man is staring with his arms crossed because he had to wait ten minutes.

I think that the only way we would have stayed at the French restaurant would have been if the owner had apologized and admitted he made a mistake, and if he offered to comp our entire meal. But of course, that didn't happen, and I'm glad that we have the integrity to not take crap like that from anyone. Obviously, we will not be going back there.
Comp your entire meal? Because you had to wait 25 minutes? Haha :D

Even though our night was salvaged, it still really bothered us that we were treated that way. So that kind of hung over the entire night. We know it wasn't anything personal, it just sucks to be on the receiving end of that.
How do you think the personnel that was being stared at by you because they didn't chase away their customers fast enough for you felt? They were probably quite glad that you left.

you don't seat other people who clearly arrived after the new customers.
You seat people according to their bookings, not their time of arrival. Also, a table for two is easier to produce (I think you said you were there with a crowd, ignore the comment if not).

Don't take this as me defending them, I wasn't there so I can't really say anything. But having worked in the business, I've been in similar situations before and I just wanted to point out that there are other ways to look at what you wrote.

Also, I've left my fair share of restaurants because of lack of service. But staring at someone, starting an argument? You just don't do that, it puts you at the same low level as you think they're at. If I've waited too long, I just ask them if the table is ready yet. If not, I leave. If the waiter is taking too long to take our order, I get up and ask for him, any attitude and I'm gone. If the food is bad, it goes back, and if nothing is offered for free, tip is out of the question. Getting in a bad mood just worsens the situation because I get worked up, the people I'm with get uncomfortable and so on. Not worth it. You should have just gone to the other place instead of starting a staring competition. In my opinion, that is ;)
 
Did you know for a fact their reservation was 8:30 or later? What if they had a booking at 8:20 and just arrived late?

You seat people according to their bookings, not their time of arrival.


Sorry, but that's a load of crap. If one should expect a restaurant to hold up their end of the reservation by having a table ready on time, then the customer should hold up their end of the reservation and show up on time.
 
Sorry, but that's a load of crap. If one should expect a restaurant to hold up their end of the reservation by having a table ready on time, then the customer should hold up their end of the reservation and show up on time.

Maybe they called to say they were late, or they had been in earlier and noticed there would be a long wait.

When I've been working, I called people when ten minutes late and gave the table away when 20 minutes late unless they said that they're a few minutes away, otherwise they'll just have to wait. Meaning, if the story the OP gave is accurate, and their table would fit the OP's crew, the OP would get the table in my restaurant.

But in general, time of booking (not when it was done ;)) trumps time of arrival in my book.
 
Sorry, but that's a load of crap. If one should expect a restaurant to hold up their end of the reservation by having a table ready on time, then the customer should hold up their end of the reservation and show up on time.

Exactly.

Maybe they called to say they were late, or they had been in earlier and noticed there would be a long wait.

When I've been working, I called people when ten minutes late and gave the table away when 20 minutes late unless they said that they're a few minutes away, otherwise they'll just have to wait. Meaning, if the story the OP gave is accurate, and their table would fit the OP's crew, the OP would get the table in my restaurant.

But in general, time of booking (not when it was done ;)) trumps time of arrival in my book.

Why? So you expect a restaurant to keep a table empty waiting for someone who has missed their reservation who may or may not show up? That's ridiculous. If someone has a reservation and arrives late they should absolutely lose their place in line - especially in a situation where the restaurant is busy and there are other people waiting. Especially if those waiting showed up for their reservations early/on time.
 
But in general, time of booking (not when it was done ;)) trumps time of arrival in my book.

Only if they called to let the restaurant know they would be late would that be ok with me. If they were late without calling, they lost their priority and the OP should have been seated first.
 
Why? So you expect a restaurant to keep a table empty waiting for someone who has missed their reservation who may or may not show up? That's ridiculous. If someone has a reservation and arrives late they should absolutely lose their place in line - especially in a situation where the restaurant is busy and there are other people waiting. Especially if those waiting showed up for their reservations early/on time.

I reckon 20 minutes is a fair time to wait for a booking to arrive, yes. If you want to have first come, first served in your restaurant, don't even take bookings, or open a fast food joint.

Would you really be pleased with arriving a minute late to a restaurant just to find your table has been given away to a couple that just dropped in, and there will be at least an hours wait for you?

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Only if they called to let the restaurant know they would be late would that be ok with me. If they were late without calling, they lost their priority and the OP should have been seated first.

For how long would you wait before giving away their table? Have you ever worked in a restaurant?
 
I reckon 20 minutes is a fair time to wait for a booking to arrive, yes. If you want to have first come, first served in your restaurant, don't even take bookings, or open a fast food joint.

Would you really be pleased with arriving a minute late to a restaurant just to find your table has been given away to a couple that just dropped in, and there will be at least an hours wait for you?

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For how long would you wait before giving away their table? Have you ever worked in a restaurant?

So you would let someone who arrived on time for their reservation wait 20 minutes for a table because someone was late for theirs?

I'm not talking about walk-ins - I'm talking about people that have reservations and I'm not exactly talking about a minute or two.

If you have a reservation for 8:00 and I have a reservation for 8:30 - are you saying that if you show up at 8:30, you should get the table before me? Why piss me off when I've arrived on time? If the people with the earlier reservation don't understand why they have to wait than that is their problem.
 
So you would let someone who arrived on time for their reservation wait 20 minutes for a table because someone was late for theirs?
Unless I knew for a fact that I could handle it, for instance being able to have another table ready in a decent time for the late booking - yes. If two bookings are made within ten minutes of each other, it's doable (unless you have really slow guests).

I'm not talking about walk-ins - I'm talking about people that have reservations and I'm not exactly talking about a minute or two.
So how many minutes are you talking about?

If you have a reservation for 8:00 and I have a reservation for 8:30 - are you saying that if you show up at 8:30, you should get the table before me? Why piss me off when I've arrived on time? If the people with the earlier reservation don't understand why they have to wait than that is their problem.
Did you not read what I wrote or did you not understand it?
 
Unless I knew for a fact that I could handle it, for instance being able to have another table ready in a decent time for the late booking - yes. If two bookings are made within ten minutes of each other, it's doable (unless you have really slow guests).


So how many minutes are you talking about?


Did you not read what I wrote or did you not understand it?

I didn't understand it obviously. It was too complicated and well written for me to follow. Maybe you can provide pictures to better help little ol' me? :rolleyes:

Obviously we're talking about different situations. My original response was about people with reservations and your response was about walk-ins. Soooo.....
 
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