As some of you may know I've been shut away from the public eye for the last several days due to my semi-annual case of death cough/bronchitis. I started the cough at a craft fair on the 9th (a few short days after my return from Vegas. My guess is my lungs don't like sudden changes in weather.) and have been wracked by a horrible cough, muscle aches, weakness, and congestion ever since. But mostly it's the cough. The cough is what kept me out of work for the better part of 3 days last week.
Anyway, I'm telling you that to set up what I'm going to tell you now: On Friday the 15th, having not left the house in nearly a week, Hubby invited me to go out for a late lunch when I was done with my work day. Not wanting to offend a fancier crowd, we chose "Fuzzy's" on Main Street in Waukesha. Fuzzy's may not look like much on the outside (or on the inside...it's not a pretty place) but the food they crank out there is really fantastic. Their breakfasts are hard to beat, and I really like their burgers.
Again, getting off track here.
Fuzzy's is split into two spaces. The bar is a place where locals pretty much park it at all times of the day. The other room is tables and chairs for patrons who want to eat food and maybe not spend their day staring at the people across the u-shaped bar. Again, we go there because the food is fantastic.
Last Friday we got there just before 2:30 and the parking lot was surprisingly full. I always forget that in Wisconsin Fish Fry Fridays aren't just a supper thing. They are an all day thing. We love our fish fry...all day Friday. Walking in, it was clear, the lunch rush had been something spectacular. A handful of regulars sat at the bar and the empty tables were still cluttered from previous diners. The whole place had the aura of the salty, sandy bits left behind by a tidal wave.
Hubby and I found a table that wasn't sticky and sat down. I've been really groggy lately, given my late nights coughing, so I thought a cup of coffee with my fish fry would get me through lunch and grocery shopping. These two outings, my first in a week, would be all I had the strength to do and I needed a little boost.
The waitress, the only one covering the tables (the other one covered the bar) looked harried and tired, but still cheerful. She wiped off our table, apologized for mess, mentioned that lunch had been huge and then she took our drink order. Hubby ordered a beer. I ordered a glass of ice water and a coffee.
The ice water and beer showed up within minutes and we placed our order for food, reminding her about my coffee order. She apologized. Then she went to the next table, took their drink order and food order and went back to the bar. A few moments later, she brought out their drink order.
Several minutes later, our food came out, as did the other table's. The waitress set our order in front of the other diners. We thought it amazing that they'd ordered the exact same thing we did, they thought it annoying that one got a burger instead of the French dip she wanted. Correction was made, many apologies from the waitress.
Hubby reminded the waitress about my coffee, and she apologized profusely. Then she walked past the coffee machine (which was about two feet from our table, at one point I suggested we just make me a cup of coffee since both of us knows how to run a Bunn machine and both of us knows how to make coffee to restaurant standards.) to wipe off a few tables.
That's when her son walked in with her sister. School was out for the day and sis dropped the kid off at mom's work so he could play his video game while she finished the last hour of her shift.
The video game didn't work. The boy, probably ten, spent the next ten minutes squawking, "It's not working MOM!"
I sort of wanted to say the same about my coffee order.
Now here's where it gets good, and we get to the point of it all. The waitress finally managed to pour me a cup of coffee and while I was sipping it, enjoying the rejuvenating effects of that beautiful, black, brew, a sort of floor show broke out in another part of the restaurant.
I guess they're different.
Anyway, while we were eating, and I was finally gaining some mental clarity with my coffee, the haggard, frazzled, child-tormented waitress emerged from the ladies' room, announcing, "the toilet's backed up!"
Now, frequent readers of this blog know that I would never, ever, share that information out loud. I would either 1) fix the problem myself and then leave, never to return to that bathroom ever again or 2) find the owner of the bathroom and murmur in the lowest of tones that I did NOT plug the toilet, but that the toilet now was experiencing issues.
But that's just me.
This lady was at the end of a long day, her kid was yelling about his video game, most of the tables still weren't cleared off and the dinner rush was about to start. All she wanted was to use the restroom in peace.
Instead...she got an overflow.
Now, I'm not sure if she was finished with her bathroom business or if she just wanted to wash her hands, but her next move was to go into the men's room. I mean, in this day and age, why not? There's a lock on the door for a reason, and honestly, in these small places, everyone should be able to use whatever room is open.
Unfortunately for her, the day got worse.
She opened the door and the next thing we all heard was, "Oh SH**! OH F***! I just saw Doug peeing!"
Well then. Dinner and a show. I would have paid extra for that!
Turns out, Doug is an older fella, a regular, who emerged from the restroom three seconds later to reclaim his seat at the bar.
"Did you even wash your hands?" The waitress demanded to know.
"No." Says Doug.
"Ew! Gross!" Yells both waitresses.
"Hey, I learned a long time ago not to pee on my hands."
That's his defense. "I don't pee on my hands."
"You didn't lock the door, Doug!" the harried waitress yells.
"Why were you walking in there anyway?"
"Because the ladies' room overflowed."
It's at this point Hubby shares the rule of the lock with me. Now, three days later, I'm still trying to figure out how all that equipment fits in that small a room with enough privacy at either the throne or the urinal to allow someone to NOT lock the door, but whatever. Guys are gross, I guess.
There's much chatter among the table diners about this, but nothing compared to the debate at the bar. Doug defends his position both for not locking the door and for not washing his hands. Some of the bar guys support him. The waitresses, and those of us at tables who can hear him , do not. At any rate, the discussion about hand washing and door locking continues for the rest of our time at Fuzzy's.
Whether or not the kid's video game got fixed, I don't know.
Whether or not the ladies' room got unplugged, I don't know.
This I do know: I'll go back to Fuzzy's because it's one of the best breakfast places in town and their burgers are awesome as is their fish fry. And hey, if they can promise more improv shows like this...I guess I can forgive a little delay in getting my coffee.
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