Eats Shit and Leaves
We’re violating our self-imposed prohibition on headline cursing because we couldn’t forgive ourselves if we let the opportunity slip by. And for our transgression you may blame our Oz correspondent CheapBoy, who inadvertently led us to the Story of the Century.
It begins with a visit by the Whyte family of Sydney to the posh Coogee Bay Hotel, “where every day’s a great day at the bay.” The Whytes were there to watch Grand Final Day, the culminating event of Australian Rules Football, which Wikipedia informs us involves “a ball in the shape of a prolate spheroid” — an apt description of what was to befall them.
Apparently the Whytes didn’t enjoy their day at the bay — they complained to the staff that their experience was less than idyllic.
And here we pause to marvel at the universality of certain rules of human existence. You don’t applaud the sexual prowess of somebody’s mother. You don’t question the beauty of a baby. And you never ever bitch about the service to the people who handle your food.
Vengeance towards the Whytes arrived in the form of a chocolate gelato, offered as a “goodwill gesture.” Mrs. Whyte dropped her spoon into the cup, put it to her lips, and—
“We were fed, as a family, shit, at someone’s pub,” explains Mr. Whyte.
Hotel management disputes the story, although the Whytes sent a sample of the offending dessert to a national laboratory for confirmation. The hotel’s head chef has offered to submit to DNA tests. And the Manly-Warringah Sea Eagles defeated the Melbourne Storm, 40-0.
‘Faeces in gelato’: chef offers to take DNA test [Sydney Morning Herald]
Heh. These guys must have bitched constantly to get that kind of, uh, soft serve. To be blunt, I hate that kind of people too because you can never satisfy them.
friend acquaintance of mine is an utter prick around waitresses. On more than one occasion I had a waitress come up to me and complain about him. Typical behavior was snapping his fingers at the waitress, pointing at the beer and not even looking at her face. Very imperial and, unfortunately, very typical of him.
I calmed the waitress down by apologizing for my friend and told her I would do what I could (I knew that getting him to apologize was next to impossible.) I mentioned this to him which he casually dismissed with a “They’re here to SERVE ME” reply.
The fact that I like this pub and I didn’t want spit in my beer (anymore) I told her that I would do something about it. Most cases that meant a 30 to 50% tip as an additional apology.
In part because of shit like that I stopped hanging out with him (and because when he ranted about politics, I really wanted to punch him out.)
wise advice nojo–never bitch at people handling your food.
i have personal experience confirming this from my cocktail waitress days. if some yahoo is taking up one of your blackjack seats with his cheap ass running you around and not tipping? well, we give them an hour and then they must be removed. this is accomplished by putting a few drops of visine into their drink, which has the immediate effect of nuclear ex-lax.
buh bye asshole.
i’ll be here all week. tip your servers.
Incredible this got into the paper! A restaurant sued Leo Scofield at SMH for disparaging the chicken in like 1989.
It is amazing that many folks don’t get the importance of saying please/thank you/hello and a decent tip.
the upside for these people is they grow a serious immune system against the body fluids of restaurant employees.
Wow. Two things jump out. First: the Sport connection, proving my contention that Sport is never good. Second: steer clear of Austrians, they play rough.
When I was a maitre d’ in a fancy restaurant in London we had an Arabian prince visit with his uncle and two chippies. I gave them the best table available and they dutifully ordered Dom Perignon. The manager insisted that only he knew how to serve champagne properly (he didn’t) and that he should serve said prince. The waitress whose table it was shook the bottle like crazy before handing it to him. So when he opened the champagne what looked like its entire contents erupted in a single column of angry foam which shot across the table, hit the prince in the forehead and soaked him, head to toe. I laughed so hard I couldn’t stand up. We got the worst of it dried up, he got in the Roller, went back to Claridge’s, put on another silk suit and returned. A very forgiving prince.
Of course the food there was like shit all the time. Literally. I wouldn’t eat it.
On the other hand, one evening my date (copy editor, Yale, BA, English) and I went to meet other Tribunistas at the college beer joint. For some reason, we thought a Coors would taste pretty good. The waitress, however, gave us a raft of shit for various political reasons which offended the hell out of us so we ran her around and didn’t tip. Only time I’ve done that. Lesson – copy editors are harsh, boy.
Speaking of eating shit:
This is what happens when you enter a battle of wits unarmed.
@redmanlaw: Copy desk: change last line to “don’t piss off a copy editor.”
Headline of the Year Nominee to Morning Herald:
Manager served disputed gelato
I have seen ugly babies, though. My cousin’s kid had a face like a foot.
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