Quote:
Originally Posted by NuclearFart
lol, please do tell the story. Did they accidentally put pickles in your pita?
That pita pit on 17th used to annoy me, because by the time I got there after a hard night of drinking, my bladder would be so full, but they never had any washrooms. I just about got exiled from there there too, for "finding a suitable alternative" washroom  |
I like pickles, that would have been an improvement.
There was nothing wrong with the pita, just something wrong with the night manager...
I went out drinking with my rec soccer team, and by this time of the night we had already racked up a good $1100 tab at the Yardhouse between 8 of us. Needless to say we were starving after consuming that much liquid gold.
There was a line-up for pitas. I had to 'go.' I ordered my late night snack, and then went off in search of relief. This part will be yada-yada'ed for legal reasons. I returned, and my food was curiously absent. I patiently waited in line once more. I again ordered my meal.
My attention was desperately requested elsewhere for a matter involving life and death.
This matter shall not be mentioned or my GF will kill me. It never happened. I never mentioned it. Needless to say, it's 'direness' was questionable at best, but at the time it seemed crucially important.
I once again returned to the counter, and once again my meal was remarkably lacking in presence.
I resumed my place in line, and thrice completed my order. My presence was once again commanded to a distant table. I told them to 'jog on' in less polite vernacular. I'm starving. The lady hands me my pita.
The night manager immediately arrives whilst frantically waving at me. He is some pissed off and holding a pita in either hand. He may as well have been screaming at me in Cantonese, because its late, I'm drunk, I finally got my hands on some food and I'm really not paying any attention to him.
He demands payment for two extraneously prepared pitas. With a mouthful of pita I am extremely polite and agree to pay him. I believe it might have come off as a sarcastic remark, for which he had very little patience.
At this exact moment, a soccer player with a mouthful of pita
who shall remain nameless for legal reasons, is un-ceremoniously body-checked through a window. A pita may or may not have hit a pedestrian, we didnt stick around to find out.
It was impolitely requested that I no longer patronize that particular establishment as we gradually made our stumbling and haphazard escape.
See if I buy a pita from you again Mr. Grumpy night manager. I was a perfect gentleman.