Oh Canada…

Scenes from last night(ish): 

This past weekend, I went down to South Beach for a little stay-cation.

After a relaxing day of pool, cocktails, and sun, I decided to head home, but I was a little peckish, and wanted a little snack, so I pulled up my favorite app for when I’m on the road, Flavortown.

Yes, Flavortown.

It has never let me down; well, except for the night before, but that’s a whole different story.

Anyhoo, I see there’s a Triple D (Diners, Drive-Ins & Dive) restaurant 1/4 of a mile away, so off I go.

La Sandwicherie.

I’ve watched the episode where Guy visited this place a few times.

So, I walk up to the window, and I’m pretty sure it’s the owner who takes my order.

I order the Italian and the Frenchie, because, leftovers.

As I’m standing around, waiting for my order, I see the guy who was behind me paying with a Bank of Montreal credit card and speaking French with the owner.

(I should preface this by saying I’m wearing a red baseball hat with a white maple leaf on it)

So, I ask: Are you from Canada?

Man: I’m from Quebec.

Me: Well last time I checked…

Man: Well yes, I guess, if you put it that way. Let see guess, you’re from Ontario, but he says it in that French Canadian way “En-tarrrr-eeoo”.

Me: As a matter of fact, yes, I grew up in London.

Man: And when you’re in Montreal, do you say, “Je ne parle pas français, or I don’t speak French?” 

Me: I depends on who I speaking with. I’m nice to you until you’re not nice, then I’m not nice. 

Man: Are you going to go to the Olympics next year?

Me: No, I doubt it.

Man: Do you say “Paris” (he pronounced it like he was from Fargo, ND) or “Pah-reeeee” 

Me: I guess it depends on who I’m speaking with.

Man: You’re speaking with Stephane.

And I kid you not, the man behind the counter yells, “Stephanie” and we both turn our heads.

Man: Oh, is your name Stephanie

Me: Sometimes, but not today.

Man: (Getting upset with the little spanish guy behind the counter) My name is Stephane, not Stephanie

Me: Merci beaucoup, au revoir. 

So, I walk back to the hotel, and I go to grab my bag from the bellhop, and there are four or five guys standing there, and one of the younger guys comes up to me, and says, “Hi, how can I help you?”

Me: I just need to get my bag, as I hand him my ticket

Guy: Are you from Canada?

Me: Yes, I am? Where are you from?

Guy: Haiti

Me: Sak Pase (loosely means ‘What’s up/Hey’)

Guy: Just starts laughing and gave me a big High 5.

Moral of the story, just be nice.

Shrimp tacos…

Scenes from last night:

I had this table last night. They were a party of three, two women and a man, all in their seventies. They took a long time deciding on what they wanted to order, but they never once asked me a question about anything on the menu. 

The man and one of the women decided on the Shrimp Tacos, and the other woman had the fish sandwich.

Now they didn’t ask me about the dish, or any other dish on the menu, they just ordered the tacos. 

I bring the food out, do a couple of other things for my other tables and circle back to do a quick check to see if everything is okay.

Well, it’s not.

The man is pissed. Like seriously angry. He’s just poking at the shrimp on his tacos.

I see this as I’m walking up to the table so I try to take a friendly, casual approach.

Me: How we doing? Is everything okay?

Man: NO. Everything is not okay.

Me: What seems to be the problem?

Man: I can eat this!

Me: Why, is there something wrong?

Man: It’s not what I thought it was going to be.

Lady who also ordered the tacos: We were at lunch the other day and saw a dish go by and that’s what he thought he was ordering.

Me: Did you order that dish?

Lady: No, but it was definitely shrimp served in a bowl of some kind.

Now, regardless of what you may think of me after reading my stories, I honestly just want people to have a good time when they go out to dinner. 

But seriously, it’s people like this that make my job extremely difficult.

You want me to miraculously know what some dish that you saw at our lunch restaurant a few days ago is and help you order it without you even asking me a question about what it could possibly be.

Okay, got it.

Me: Would you like to order something else? Would you like me to bring you a menu?

Man: Yes.

Me: Would you like me to wrap this up to take home or take it away.

Lady: Yes.

Man: No.

I looked back and forth between the two, and the lady told me to box it up. 

So, I did.

Later when I was ringing up the check, I left the Tacos to the bill, and didn’t even think twice about it.

But then they got mad.

Lady: Excuse me, why did you charge us for the second Shrimp Taco dinner?

Me: Because when I asked you if you wanted it or not, you said you wanted to keep it.

Lady: But he didn’t like them!

Me: Was there anything wrong with them?

Lady: No.

Me: I gave you the option to keep them or not. I have to charge you if you keep them.

Lady: Well, I just thought you were going to throw them away.

Me: Yes, but I would have also taken them off of your check. 

Lady: Oh. Well, do I need to speak to the manager?

Me: Well, I’m the manager tonight.

We just stared at each other for an uncomfortable amount of time.

Lady: Okay, well, I don’t want to pay for them.

Me: No problem.

I reached down, picked up the box, and threw it straight into the garbage on my way to the cash register to re-ring their ticket.