Good grief. My parents practically had a panic attack earlier this week because — gasp! — I hadn’t posted in over a week and I missed them once on IM. This spawned another spat of IM chatter and a phone call cut short by my stupid cell phone (I can turn the volume down but not up). This evening I had not one but two friends whine that I haven’t given them anything interesting to read when they’re “really bored.” Two things here: (1) yes, I do have two friends, and (2) yes, they only care about me when they’re really bored. In truth, I love this sort of attention, and even though it puts a small burden on me to have some type of output here on my blog, I consider it an easy and light burden because people care. So, this post is dedicated to my friends and family who demand some kind of blog productivity. Unfortunately, nothing has changed, and I don’t have much to write about. I guess I could talk briefly about part of my evening tonight.
Thursday nights are special nights for me. Thursday nights are precious to me. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that Thursday nights are probably the dearest nights to me out of the whole week. I might even go so far to say that I live for Thursday nights. Thursday nights are the nights I go out with The Guys, and we do our Guy Thing. I’ve managed through a remarkable display of charisma, charm, persuasion, and bribery to extricate most of my friends from the merciless yet wonderful clutches of their significant others for one night a week. These nights are almost invariably marked by cheer, laughter, camaraderie, beer (Guinness), and compelling conversation. These are the nights when I shirk my nerdiness, forget my loneliness and general boredom, and remember how good it is to be in the company of 3D people who have voices, faces, and smells. Normally, on these nights we go to McCormick’s and Schmick’s. We’re regulars there. Yes, they know my name. And even more creepily, I know their names. Tonight was no different . . . until we got there.
Tonight the McCormick’s B-Team was definitely being fielded. None of the regulars were there, which was disappointing and disorienting. Our favorite bartender was not there. Our favorite server was not there. Even the new — and cute! — server was not there. Maybe at some later point I’ll go into detail about how good it is for us that the regular employees are working at McCormick’s, but I’ll just sum it up in one word for now: mad-hook-ups. Anyway, it was not a deal breaker for us that the A-Team wasn’t working tonight, so we sat down and waited to be served. And we waited. And waited. And waited. Now, when you go to a bar, and 20 minutes go by and your drink order has not been taken, something is wrong. That’s a failure to provide good service. Nearly 20 minutes go by, and our server had not approached us since she cleared off our table. She started passing out happy hour menus to tables. By this time, I was watching her closely because I wanted a Guinness. I watched her hand out menus to the right of us. I watched her hand out menus to the left of us. I watched her walk out with menus away from us. Even tables that had nobody at them got menus. We got nothing. She didn’t even try to make eye contact. That’s when I gave up. In no uncertain terms, I made it clear to my buddies that I was fed up and we were to leave. So, we left in a huff.
I guess this story doesn’t have much significance to anybody besides my buddies and myself, but maybe I can help other readers to identify with this. Imagine Cheers, the bar where everybody knows your name. Now, imagine walking into Cheers and finding that not only does nobody know your name but also they don’t even treat you like a person who’s ready to drop a nice wad of cash into their pockets. It’s not a pleasant experience, and if too many of these experiences are experienced, then it will go a long ways towards destroying that special bond we had formed. I like McCormick’s, and I’m a loyal customer. However, my friends and I, as regular customers who tip heavily if treated well, deserved better.
Anyway, the moral of this story is that I don’t want this humble blog to treat my readers like how my friends and I were treated tonight. My posts are my service, and your comments and attention are your tips. By all of my own measurements, I’m tipped heavily. If there is ever a lapse in service it is because I suck, and you deserve better.
Today is St. Patty’s day. Steevak.com will be closed for business until sometime mid-afternoon on Saturday. Remember to
punch pinch anybody who isn’t wearing green. Drink a Guinness. Pretend you’re Irish. Thank the Lord you’re alive and can enjoy life.