A nice restaurant = disappointment

I took myself out for lunch the other day, to a restaurant I’d been wanting to try for some time.
“Provence”, it was called.

I waltzed in and was taken to a very nice seat by the window and waited to order a drink.
And waited.
And waited.


(still waiting…)

FINALLY, the waiter came by and took my drink and lunch order.
“I’ll have a cold beer and the cannelloni, please.”
“Yes ma’am.” He took off towards the back.

What? Did I say cannelloni?? Why did I do that!?
I actually wanted the ravioli.
Drat.

The restaurant was very nice.
Small and elegant…taupe walls, accented by long, heavy and elegant drapery in a darker chocolate brown held back from the wood encased floor to ceiling french windows with gold ties.
While the view was only of a street, the restaurant had put in a raised outside patio and sumptuous amounts of flowers and trailing greens to detract from the less than ideal view.

They were playing a slightly overdone version of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, which I love, but it has been pla...

“YEAH, so like, I said to the guy, give him a head butt, man! That’ll take care of him!”

A man’s voice rang out over the carefully selected background music with an apparent word to the wise.

What the HELL was that?

Looking around surprised, I could see a young waiter titillating his feminine co-worker with tales of virility.

Which, you know, obviously went very well with the calm décor and carefully chosen wall hangings.

“’Cus you know, if there’s going to blood spilt, you don’t want it to be yours.”

Uh huh.
Thanks for that.
That little old woman sipping tea in the corner will be sure to know exactly what to do the next time she's in the ring with the 'Undertaker' (which may come in handy for her sooner than later, judging by her frail appearance.)

Another waiter circled the empty dining room with a great, gawping open mouthed yawn, giving me pause to reflect on how proud I am of the excellent dental service afforded to all Canadian citizens.

Oh look, here comes my tomato based cannelloni and a side salad.

I had to wonder what the side salad did to deserve its’ sad fate, however.
Poor, poor salad.
What did those innocuous little greens do to deserve death by drowning in a balsamic dressing?

It wouldn’t be fair to judge the cannelloni, as I’ve never been a big fan, but I guess it was okay.
The pasta was al dente, the tomato sauce fresh and the melted cheese good.

Despite the palatability of the cannelloni, a head butt may have been a better overall experience.

And here's why.
I’m a customer that enjoys service at my finger tips.
I like it when my waiter comes to me and asks how I am, if I need anything, if I’m done with my cannelloni and would like to get it wrapped.

I enjoy being doted on.

There was no fear of that, however, in this empty little restaurant.

I was put in a corner and pretty much left to fend for myself against gaping jaws, bad manners, and a violent sounding waiter.
And it looked as if I would have to wrap my own lunch, too.

And no…I didn’t take the salad…it was WAY past resuscitation, thank you very much.

But oh my, weren’t they quick as bunnies with the bill!

I was left to question if I did offend somehow, the poor service, the average food slapped down in front of me, a bill brought to quickly...and then I reconsidered...they'd all been exposed to one to many headbutts.