I don't really feel like explaining all the layers of rage that I felt last Saturday, but I'll try to do a highlights version. Basically, I was led to believe by the Belgian's marketing that it would be an excellent place to watch the Kentucky Derby. So I donned a pretty dress, strappy sandals and hat and enlisted L. to come with me to partake in the lead up to the actual race. By this I mean, the commentary; the personal interest stories; the full televised pomp and circumstance of the thing. But that was not to be. Nope. Tried their breakfast pasta: tagliatelle with dill cream sauce, smoked salmon and two eggs. The eggs could have been a little runnier to allow the yolk to mix in with the cream. The pasta was a little too al dente. In fact, it seemed too stuck together. Like it had been cold and got clammy and then they reheated it in the microwave. Great idea, not so great execution. I had a beer and then I had a bloody mary. Whatever.
It's just like, if the bar isn't that busy, you have a customer who expresses clear interest in watching an event you advertised yourself as showing then you should probably consider allowing them to listen to it. Or, if they suggest captions as a compromise, you should ACTUALLY PUT THE CAPTIONS ON. You know, instead of waiting 20 minutes until the customer is so annoyed that they ask for the check and then putting the captions on. Rage. Full blown rage.
The Bloody Mary wasn't even that good, though I drank it quickly in order to get out as soon as possible. Thank you to L. for her willingness to humor me in all my rage-filled stupidity. Rage.