So I’m sitting in a restaurant the other night, in the bar area, since the dining room is absolutely packed wall to wall with people eager for the Bennigan’s experience (me, I was fucking starving, and this was the closest place).

I’m not bothering anyone, enjoying my monte cristo sandwich (deep fried heart attack) while reading “The Last Samurai” by Helen Dewitt (unrelated to the movie of the same name starring Tom Cruise out in theaters soon), when this woman tromps over to the bar and starts complaining to the bartender and the manager.

Now I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, however, my table was no more than three feet away from the conversation, and this woman’s bitching was distracting me from this book (which I am enjoying immensely and would highly recommend).

Now I don’t know about you, but when I go to a generic restaurant like Bennigan’s, I expect generic food, and generic service. It’s not bad, you see, but it’s hardly exemplary. It’s no two-star bistro, I’ll tell you that.

Anyway, back to the action. I was finding it increasingly difficult to pay attention to the novel as this woman in her forties was yammering away about someone misplacing her take-out order.

Apparently, in her infinite wisdom, she phoned in her dinner order, around noon-ish, and said she’d be picking it up on the way home from work. It’s hardly a surprise that the restaurant lost her order, a full seven hours before it had to be ready. Not only that, but it was placed during the lunch rush. Jeez.

After the manager, a college co-ed with an unfortunate lack of people skills (she began philosophizing as to why this may not be entirely Bennigan’s fault. Man, in a situation like this, you apologize, and always agree with the customer, and keep your mouth shut.) offered her apologies, the woman started complaining that every time she places a take-out order (every time!) Bennigan’s forgets to place plastic silverware along with the order, even when she specifically asks for it.

Are plastic forks that detrimental to enjoying your take-out chicken fingers? What’s wrong with your silverware, lady? I’m not saying you need to break out the fine china, but I’m sure you already have a fucking fork lying around. (Ah, the wonders of grammar. I am not referring to a special fork used during sex.)

The manager apologized again, and offered her an extra half order of chicken fingers. The lady said rather smugly, “That will be fine.”

Man, I smell a scam.

Why do people complain in restaurants? What’s the point? Why get all upset if your food is cooked wrong, or if it’s not what you ordered? Do you feel better about having bitched out the poor server? It’s usually not their fault anyway.

Is it that difficult to pull your server aside and quietly explain to her why you are unhappy? I am sure they will try their best to accommodate you and not have to get all defensive because you are screaming down their throat.

Anyway, I hardly ever complain in a restaurant. And I would certainly never bitch out the staff. That’s just obnoxious. That’s how you end up with boogers in your food.

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