Goddamnit, I Have A Rant!

 I have a lot of pet peeves. A lot. But this one, my god. Apologies for extra foul language, I've had one peach of a day.

So, I'm sitting in this restaurant. I'm eating a shitty sandwich. I'll be honest, I was baked when I went in, and may or may not have misread the description on the menu as "sliced beef" to "ground beef". It was shit sandwich. But that's not the fucking point. I finished that goddamn sandwich- JESUS was that a fuckin' awful sandwich- and gulped down the rest of my soda. I waited until the waitress checked on me to ask for another Diet Pepsi (I know, it was one of those ghetto ass Pepsi restaurants. Get some fucking Coke Zero or some shit, I mean Jesus! I expect that the owner's think they're running a respectable establishment, but not when the Mug root beer tastes like jizz water) to get the taste of that fucking sandwich washed out of my system. 

Ok, let me just get the sandwich out of the way. At the beginning of the day, I wanted a Gonella's-type sandwich. I drove around, but I was in fucking piece-of-shit Brownstown Township (stupid name), and there are obviously no serious sandwich eaters like myself there, because all they have in the market for Italian subs is Jimmy Johns, and Subway. Not gonna cut it for this cold-cut loving bastard. 

Almost getting in a car crash with some stupid cunt is driving full speed at me in the goddamn turn lane, I decided I should at least die with a full stomach, so I pulled into a restaurant's parking lot that looked somewhat familiar. I got out. I was going to eat at this place, whether it be Mediterranean, middle eastern cuisine, or a goddamn Little Caeser's. Instead, it was a mom-and-pop place (I'm not going to name it, because no matter how upset I am at a restaurant, I won't want to drive business away from it. Maybe I didn't order the right thing, I don't know!), that looked like it got painted and decorated when it opened in 1978. I walk in, I get seated, I order. A Black Russian sandwich with a cup of Canadian Cheddar Soup. I know, maybe not the best combo, but I always get the soup of the day, no matter what it is if I'm in the mood for soup. If you're not familiar with a Black Russian (neither was I), here you go. I thought I was getting something along the lines of what the link says- but was sorely mistaken. 

Well, the food comes. I mistook "ground beef" for "sliced beef", and instead was met with a patty melt on pumpernickel, with some Russian dressing that was as thick as gravy poured on it. I wanted to stand up, and jam my butter knife into the waitress's eye, but instead, I smiled and said, "thank you". I should've known when the waitress asked me "how do you want it cooked?", and I had no answer. She gave the prompt- "medium rare, medium well?" but que sera sera. 

I picked at it, noting each and every detail. The crisp pumpernickel. The NOT medium well meat (l asked for medium well, and this shit was pink), the gooey dressing, the gross cheese. I decided: "Goddamnit, I paid $6.50 for this fucking sandwich, I'm eating this."

It took me at least 25 minutes to finish it. I picked at it, observed it, and chewed slowly. But the most egregious thing? The most egregious goddamn thing? They served it with CANTALOUPE. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SERVING FUCKING SANDWICHES WITH A SLICE OF MELON FOR? ARE YOU INSANE? JESUS CHRIST, IT'S MEAT! MEAT AND CANTALOUPE DON'T MIX, FOR CHRIST'S SAKES! 

But that's not even my pet peeve. I finished that piece of shit meal, still hungry. Even my goddamn stomach couldn't accept that sandwich as a meal. I walked up to pay my bill, begrudgingly. As I fumbled in my wallet to get some change for their tip jar (I always tip, I'm not a dildo like the Walton's) and the girl waited. And waited. I fished the change out of my wallet and finished paying. I stood there, waiting. She just said: "HAVE A GOOD DAY". 

A good day? How the hell can I have a good day, when I don't have my fucking receipt? I worked in the restaurant industry all through college, and you ALWAYS, ALWAYS ask "do you want your receipt?" I never want my goddamn receipt, but I want to say, "no thanks". I smiled, almost having a heart attack, and just said "you have a better one!"