Grumpy Parisian Bastard Waiters
In October 2004 I was lucky enough to take part in my school's annual jolly to Paris. It was the second year in a row I'd been and I loved the place. One night me and three of the other guys who came as well went out to get a meal in the Latin Quarter, just a stone's throw away from Notre Dame cathedral.

We were on a fairly tight budget so most nights it was the restaurants with a set menu (usually costing about €8 or €9) that took our fancy. Anyway this particular evening we chose a place with what I remember being an €8 menu advertised outside through the medium of a board and a friendly waiter (later dubbed 'con man #1') beckoning us in.

The first tell-tale sign that this was a complete disaster was the fact that the menus on the tables showed a €12 set menu. We complained to our waiter ('con man #2') about this in perfect French only for him to literally write with his filth-encrusted fingernail a number 8 on the laminated menu while mumbling some shit excuse under his breath.

This guy had obviously taken an instant dislike to us. First of all, we were tourists. Secondly, we were young, and therefore irresponsible and probably thieving. Thirdly, we spoke French and therefore could've understood what he was saying if he'd decided to yell "four plates of shit to these cunts" across the dining area to the half-arsed excuse for a chef located some distance away in the 'cuisine' when we placed our orders.

We ordered our food and to drink we politely requested a pitcher of water as we were impoverished tourist/student types, which made him hate us even more as he couldn't make a few vital Euros off us on wine or beer.

Anyway, the starter came. I'd ordered soup, and received a filthy bowl with run-of-the-mill (most likely tinned) soup inside. Not being one to complain I chose to ignore the soup stain running down one side of the outside of the bowl. It had dried on as well so it's not as if the waiter had slopped it while walking to my table.

For main course I'd ordered the 'turkey escalope' which I seem to remember being a giant turkey dinosaur, tough as fuck, served alongside a pile of freezing cold twelve-day-old spaghetti and the most disgustingly sweet tomato sauce you've ever tasted chucked on top. Yummy.

I can't remember what I had for pudding even if I had anything at all, but we promptly left the money for the meal, without a tip of course, and fucked off as soon as we could. And that was the worst restaurant I've ever been in. Ever.

Apologies for length, but you can forget having a tip.
(SJH, Thu 27 Apr 2006, 17:11, Reply)