About every 6 months I get the strange desire to venture to our very, very large Olive Garden for some soup, salad and breadsticks. Hans usually jumps at my showing interest because that means he can get his monthly intake of fried foods in one sitting by ordering the appetizer sampler platter with three choices. It is also getting to be that point where it is becoming increasingly more difficult to take Leif to restaurants. He is just way too busy. We have to time it just right and it has to be quick in, quick service and a quick out.
We arrived at Olive Garden on Saturday at about noon. Quick in? Ha. The restaurant is humongous, yet there was a good 15 minute wait. This is apparently THE gathering place of the area. We turn the flashing beeper into the hostess, and Leif starts wailing at the thought of surrendering this most fantastic toy.
We sit down at our table and the waitress finally shows up, taking no less than 5 minutes to explain her situation. She is a sub, our waitress is on lunch, she will be taking care of us until our waitress finishes eating, then she will be off to relieve another server, so when there is a switch she will let us know ahead of time... yadda yadda yadda. I mean seriously, was that really necessary? Just do your freakin' job, it's 100 degrees out, I would like some water. We wait seriously 10 minutes, I am parched, finally she shows up with ONE, yes ONE, glass of water for the three of us. Umm thanks.
We place our order and I ask for at least one more glass of water. She inquires, would we like the water before the soup, or after? Umm, how about you just go get a glass of water, will it take you more than 60 seconds to fill up a glass? Whatever, we tell her, just bring our food and bring our water.
Hans opts for a glass of sangria, berry Sangria, which tastes like white zin with cherry syrup and red food coloring. Kind of gross. But it is cold and wet, he is unimpressed yet it satisfies his thirst in the absence of H2O.
We were dolling out Cheerios for Leif and we got our soup, salad and breadsticks for an army. Always ironic since we don't care for their breadsticks, I wanted one for Leif. Leif apparently didn't really care for them either and was far more happy with my Pasta Faggiole soup. Which yes, I really, really, do like. (Water is nowhere in site.)
Dingdong waitress arrives to tell us that she will be rotating to another section and that our waitress will be available to help us now. She DID bring the water with her. Gee thanks.
Our waitress refills Hans soup for him and then asks if we already ate our appetizer? Umm no, haven't gotten it yet. So she goes to check on it.
Despite the fact that this restaurant is really huge, they pack the tables in. Everytime someone goes past me they squeeze between my chair and the one occupied by a man behind me. I have trays of food going over my head, and I have been bumped enough to jostle the soup off my spoon umpteen times. Our waitress was rather large, and the only way she could get past was to put her hands on my chair and push gently. Now really, is this completely necessary? (Apparently it was.)
I would have moved except that I wanted to be by Leif. And I did NOT want him in the position where I was in order to accomplish this. And putting Hans in my spot would have only made things worse.
Finally the appetizer comes. By the time Leif's chicken finger is there he is completely stuffed on Pasta Faggiole and eats maybe a bite. Hans relished his fried appetizers. I am sitting there thinking he better be enjoying this because it will be a cold day in hell before we come back. I say that everytime, but in 6 months we will be back I am quite sure.
Finally we ask for a box for the remainder of the chicken fingers for Leif and our check. Leif is at his breaking point and is trying to rock the high chair. Our server notes this but it takes another 5 minutes for the box and another 5 minutes on top of that for the check. :-/ At which point, Leif is in full meltdown. I got up and held him standing up, hoping that would draw attention to the server that we needed to get a move on.
She walked by every so slowly. Talks to the other table. Then wanders back over to our table where she opens up her bill holder onto the table and sorts through the tickets right there and then. Hans hands her the credit card after taking a brief glance to make sure it was correct. Another 5 minutes to run the card.
Hans inquires as to the proper tip amount. I tell him 15% is awfully generous IMO. So he goes with 20% given "the Leifer factor" i.e., two whole cherrios and a small piece of bread on the floor, soup residue on the table (that must be wiped anyways).
Oy vay.
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