Now, I know I shouldn’t expect much from a food place at the mall, but this is a special occasion.
I’ve just paid nearly $9 for what is easily one of the worst Caesar Salads (plus 4 truly sad little strips of cold, rubbery chicken) I’ve ever tried to choke down. The culprit? ‘La Parrilla Argentina’, third floor food court, Plaza Las Americas. I get there, see the signs, and, hey, look, a Chicken Ceasar Salad, in combo with a drink and 2 side dishes, for $5.99! Not too bad, right? Too good to be true, as it turns out.
Things started out badly, as I stood in front of the cash register for nearly 3 minutes while the cashier bimbo stared off into space, perhaps considering wether to take my order, perhaps pondering the mysteries of the universe.. or perhaps trying to get her last two neurons to spark. Anyway, I finally place my order, and it turns out that the Chicken Ceasar Salad does *not* come in a combo, regardless of what the sign says… well, whatever, it looks like a big salad, right? Allright, gimme the salad and a large iced tea. Sure, that’ll be $8.something.
..
WTF? Yeah, turns out the large iced tea is $2.25 or so. Ouch. Well, at least it’s 32 ounces of refreshing and cold iced tea goodness, right? Sure, of course. Hold that thought, I’ll get back to the iced tea later. So, I overpay for the ‘meal’, and step to the side to wait for the order. As I wait, about 4 other people order, not to mention the 2 guys that were already waiting before me. The food was actually ready pretty quickly… the problem was actually getting it. The cook was doing a fine enough job of dispatching the orders… but the cashier bimbo who had to put the food on the trays and bring it to us was busy staring off into space and hitting the buttons on the cash register in a zombie-like stupor. A couple of guys tried to get her attention and point out that their food was rapidly growing cold behind her, but she gave them an annoyed look, waved them off, and pressed a few more buttons. Note, no one was ordering while she pushed the buttons.
So, I finally get my salad. Gah. The poster showed well-cooked, hot grilled chicken strip atop a lush green salad coated in thick Caesar dressing and chunky croutons. The thing on my plate bore about as much resemblance to that as I do to Dolly Parton. Rubbery, cold, undercooked chicken strips. Wilted lettuce. Caesar dressing that looked like motor oil. And those shady, tiny little croutons you buy in the supermarket for a buck a bag. Not appetizing in the least. But I just paid way too much money for this to just throw it away. So I sit down, and dig in.
Ugh. Even as I write this, my stomach’s grumbling ominously. I really shouldn’t have made myself eat that shit. At least I had my tall, frosty glass of iced tea to ease the pain, right? Right, if you change ‘tall and frosty’ to ‘warm and gag-inducing’, and ‘iced tea’ to ‘colored water with the faint taste of sugar somewhere in there’. Sigh…
The meal was so bad that I couldn’t wait to get home to write this up: I’m typing this up on Glitch at the same table where I was subjected to this vile meal, giving the place dirty looks all the while. And I’ll be posting this right away with the KatsuPhone. The world needs to know.
And, yes, in principle, I could have demanded my money back, or demanded a better, different meal.. but would it have made a difference, really? There was no manager in sight, the cook and the cashier zombie were clearly underage stoners, and I would have had to stand there for an hour or more making a scene just to get my money back. And then I would still have had to find another place to eat. I’m hard up for money, but not *that* hard up. But at least I can warn off my readers from that place. 