A Fitting End to Restaurant Week

It was the last car of the night, and the last car of Restaurant Week. Thank goodness.  I was relieved as I brought it up, but the interaction with the owners of the car became the cherry on top of my restaurant week.

“Check the trunk.” The Asian girl said loud enough for me to hear.

“What?” Her boyfriend asked.

“I want to check the trunk.”

“I’m sure it’s still there.”

“Just check okay? He looks like the kind of person who would steal.” She meant me.

He was embarrassed but checked the trunk anyway.

“See it’s all there.”

“Okay, good.” She turned and smiled at me as if I hadn’t just heard the entire thing. “Thanks.”

Then her red-faced boyfriend came around to the door I stood holding.  I wished him a goodnight.  He didn’t even attempt to tip me.

Not only was I accused of being a likely thief, I was also stiffed.

And that is Restaurant Week in a nutshell.

What is Restaurant Week you ask?

Ah, Restaurant Week. It happens too many times a year. It was a good idea, but the groupon, coupon, free meal crowd has ruined it. What started out as a great way to get people to try new restaurants, has become a gluttonous whirlwind of the cheapest and stingiest people. I don’t know what hole these people crawl out of every four months, but now after having experienced so many of them, you come to expect the same faces each time. Instead of cultivating regular guests to the restaurant, we now just have Restaurant Week regulars.

These are the people who would never step foot inside the restaurant if they weren’t giving away a ridiculous amount of food for a small price. You normally couldn’t get one entrée and an appetizer for the price of a three course meal for two people. It almost makes you want to bid them adieu with “See you next Restaurant Week.”

False advertising, whoever put the picture out should replace the wine glasses with water glasses, and add extra baskets of bread on the table.

We just deal with the vehicles of these people, but that’s usually more than enough interaction. Judging by how these people tip on the way out, I’m glad I’m not a server.

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