The slippery seeds are like a party in your mouth. I quite like it, well… any way, but I usually grill it.
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Except me, I’m an asshole!
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Unfortunately, this is what “flagged at Cracker Barrel” means:
Watley’s → 
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You’re a poet.
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Thanks for explaining that for us. In a similar vein, the priest, the rabbi, and the chicken crossing the road to enter a bar didn’t probably exist either.
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That’s the thing; this note is intended, very specifically, to shame the waitress’ “womanhood.” Assuming, as they always do, that the target of their righteousness is also their particular flavor of Xtian.
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Okrap. We get a good thread going and someone wants to fillet with their keen wit.
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It’s not hard to look for a ring on someone’s finger. But the Watley’s do seem to be extrapolating a whole lot.
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Seriously, it’s like nobody’s ever realized that simple, smart fact: “Don’t fuck with the people who handle your food.”
I always try to be a good customer. It’s easy, and you get better service, and having worked in retail before I know how much of a shitshow it can be. So I tip as generously as I can manage, order quickly, and say my pleases and thankyous, and if the wrong thing ends up on my plate? I just fucking eat it.
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Pshaw.
Just need a bit of market research,
a business plan,
and some venture capital. Eh, good luck with that last one.
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On the other hand:
I love this comment; until then I didn’t know about King Farouk: http://www.itsjerrytime.com/episode-1-whos-that-guy.html#comment-85
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Well, warning sign #1 “Who’s that guy” then getting hassled about the popcorn would probably be enough for me to realize I’m not welcome and they don’t want me there. So I’d have just left. Since I was being such an inconvenience.
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Oh, I do ask for the correct item, but I somehow manage to do so in a manner that allows me to be polite to my server. (Not saying that this isn’t the situation with you, of course, but it does seem to be something many people are somehow incapable of doing.) “I’m sorry to be a bother, but I’m diabetic and really can’t have sugar on this item” is a far cry from “this thing is wrong! Take it back and bring me something else.” Unfortunately, one of my partners seems to be in this last camp. Somehow that makes me a lot less likely to go out for diner with her, although when I do, I make sure to throw in a larger tip for my portion of the meal.
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I have long held the opinion that, rather than compulsory time in the military, everyone should be required to work in the retail or service industry for at least 6 months.
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I agree.
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Complaining about assholes is far better than, say, voting for them.
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One word: Plastics.
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Ten bucks says the waitress was black.
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Sadly this was at a Cracker Barrel, which has a pegboard game at every table for just that purpose. I can only assume it was too challenging for the poor dimwit.
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If “The Watley’s” were eating terrible food out at Cracker Barrel… why wasn’t Mrs. Watley in the kitchen cooking dinner that day?
Sanctimonious pricks.
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