So we went into a Mexican place in San Juan last night. There were maybe 12 of us. I definitely got the feeling that they weren’t used to equipping groups our size. It felt more like a bar that served food, rather than an actual restaurant.
Mostly everyone had been drinking, some more than others. When they attempted to order more drinks, that’s where it got interesting.
The bar was out of some key elements of drinks and though they apologized, some of the people we were with were not so forgiving. I don’t think this was necessarily that they had too much to drink, but more of their personally traits.
One girl ordered a drink, they didn’t have mint, so she had to get a margarita. She was very vocal about how much she disliked it. Enough so that the whole table could hear. The waitress overheard and thought that she was talking about the water. She responded and I could tell by the attitude that she was really offended:
“You know it is safe to drink the water here. This isn’t like Mexico. We’re part of the US here. It’s not going to get you sick. I eat and drink this water everyday and I’m still alive.”
With a similar attitude the girl responded:
“Oh, I know. I’ve been drinking plenty of water since Thursday and I haven’t gotten sick.”
The other girl we were with ordered some mixed drink that needed rum. Unfortunately, they were out of rum. She ordered another drink that required mint, again this was something they were out of. Third time was the charm. The waitress came back and asked if she was happy with her drink and she replied that she would’ve been happy if she had her first drink.
It was at that point that I kind of wished I could just get up and leave, because giving the waitstaff an attitude really is never cool, but definitely not before you get your food.
I was worried the whole time I was waiting for my food. I had been sweet as pie, but that didn’t make me feel any better. One by one, the food started to come out. There was a mix up or two, but for the most part everyone was happy.
Everyone had gotten their food and I was sitting there with an empty place in from of me. I had ordered a before burrito and subbed out the mushrooms for guac. I was kind of hoping that they wouldn’t bring me anything, because I didn’t really trust it at this point.
Nearly everyone had finished eating by the time my food came out. I noticed that one of the chefs was standing by the kitchen, staring at me. It may have been in my head, but it still had my mind wondering. I cut my burrito in half and immediately noticed that it was drenched in sour cream. That’s something I genuinely hate and it was not listed as an ingredient on the menu, but I wouldn’t dare saying anything by this point. That didn’t make me feel better. I ate half of it and it was ok. I bit into the second half and noticed a texture that didn’t belong. I spit it onto my plate and realized that it was a hunk of meat. I was done eating at that point…
There really isn’t moral to this story. I was as nice as I could be and was pretty much the only one who got fucked over. Sometimes things just suck…