Suburban Princess

Going through some files on my computer and found this article I'd written about Rigby's and my experience at a local eatery.

Joey Tomato’s Coquitlam
May 11, 2005

This restaurant gets good reviews from men. Okay, the waitresses get good reviews from men. But let’s be real here. The food, the service, and the atmosphere, that’s what makes a restaurant, right? Right? No?

Well, we decided to give JT (as I like to call it) a shot. We went in, and the really saccharine hostess greeted us at the door and welcomed us very enthusiastically, and invited us to have an appetizer while we were waiting to be seated.

Now, excuse me for being a bit picky, but how long has this “appetizer” been sitting on this table by the door? Long enough to garner enough bacteria to make me sick? Long enough for someone else’s grubby fingers to touch it while they are grabbing a morsel for themselves? Long enough for all the germs from passersby to cough on and who knows what else? I mean, this is basically public food – it’s just – sitting there. Normally I wouldn’t touch something like this, but I was starving, so I popped a bit in my mouth. Spicy, yes, tasty…uh, no. Oh, well, strike one.

We are seated. Now to check out the décor. This restaurant is nicely decorated, don’t get me wrong, but my husband calls it “the best vibe and the best thing going in the Lower Mainland.” (Well, this is also coming from a guy that eats ground beef cooked up with rice and soy sauce, so we’re not talking restaurant critic here.) I’d like to say that that weird looking blown-glass thingy in the middle of the dining room is cool, but it’s just sorta freaky and dumb. Like somebody is trying to be artsy, but the whole thing reminds me of an ugly red and orange blown-glass ornament my mom used to have in our living room in the 70’s before my sister broke it.

But I digress.

Our server was nice. But am I the only person who is sick of going to a restaurant and feeling like the server thinks they are supposed to become our friend for the hour and a half they are serving us? I guess some people think this is what makes a place fun, trendy, welcoming, or whatever? I for one am just tired of the forced friendship. Come on, do you really care how my night is going? If it’s going badly, are you going to care? I doubt it. The worst is when the server squats down beside your table and starts really chatting. Oh boy. Now we have to make conversation.

I guess I should justify my disdain for perky, hyper-friendly, wanna-be-your-friend-for-the-hour behaviour in most "trendy" restaurants. I used to be a hostess and a server. Note the phrase "used to be". Not my bag, baby. I hated serving people with a heated passion. Do I care if you want a refill. Sorry, pal. I was a pleasant server, but I felt very fake doing that job. Not for me. I want real. I have had a couple of "real" servers who don't play the game but still give great service. It's a delicate balance not everyone can pull off.

But on this particular night, to her credit, our server was on top of things, got our appetizer right away since I told her we were starving, and she was pretty accommodating. The problem came later. We had just decided that the food was mediocre, (me, chicken souvlaki wrap with Caesar salad, she, some prawn bowl dish.) and overpriced, and the servers were sort of bimbos, we went to pay our bill and another server offered to help us, but on seeing our bill, she said, “Oh, I’ll have to find your server, where is …” and said the name of our server out loud, which was about the bimboest name I could have hoped for. Dear gawd. My friend turned around and looked at me and suppressed a laugh, and I couldn’t suppress the mutual feeling – I snickered out loud. Oh dear.

Our server took our bill payments and we said our obligatory thank yous, blah blah…and we walked past the hostesses who called out their friendly goodbyes: "Goodnight ladies!" We walked no more than 10 steps outside the front door when my brain reverted back to the Visa bill I'd just added a tip onto and signed. I stopped and said, “Wait a minute, how much was our bill?” My friend said, “About $45, why?” “Oh my gawd, they totally overcharged me! I was charged $44!” My friend checks her bill, and she was charged $44 as well.

Hmm…forty-five dollars…divided by two…is…not forty-four.

So we turned around and went back inside. The hostess looked at us and I saw her face brighten with the obligatory welcoming smile and…oh lord, here it comes…I’m trying to walk away fast before it hits…

”Hi there, is it for two?” (Sigh.)

My friend looks disgusted as she says, “Uh, we were just in here.”

We are met by our server, who has just discovered her gaffe on our bill and has come to rectify the error. We make the obligatory jokes and she voids out my Visa, and gives my friend cash to make up for the debit payment she made.

We leave again, and silence prevails for just a moment before my friend pipes up and says, “What the hell was with that girl at the door? We didn’t even get ten steps outside and she still doesn’t recognize us when we come back in! What the hell?”

“Oh my god, I know. And since when does 45 divided by two equal 44? What if I hadn’t noticed that? That was overpriced food as it was, let alone paying twice as much!”

Off we drive into the night. Hey, I don’t blame anyone for my bad night at JT, really. Okay, maybe the hostess who has the memory of a goldfish, but whatever. I always say I’m bad with recognizing faces, but come on. Working at a restaurant that makes the female staff members wear high-heeled leather boots to work, vericose veins ain't the only problem they've got.

Bex ended the show on Monday, November 07, 2005 at 12:44 PM | Permalink