Thursday, August 21, 2008

Getting grilled at the Met

I just had another rousing experience at the Metropolitan Grill. Mark I. and I just had lunch there. We walked in and the place was pretty slammed. Almost all the tables were full. Saf's mental list of rules and regulations requires that we get there by 11:50am. If you get there after 12pm, the service can be atrocious. This is a direct result of the owner hiring/firing people as though it's a bodily function. Half the staff is new everytime you dine at the Met. Anyway, we blundered and arrived at 12:15pm. I'll take the heat on this one.
A portly male waiter with a well-kept multi-tiered ponytail and a large loop earing sat us at one of those standing tables off to the side but in direct full view of all the patrons. The first thing I noticed was that our table was off-kilter. I remarked, "This is going to bug me." I remedied the situation by removing both of my sandals and surrepticiously placed them beneath each leg. Problem solved as Mark gazed his approval. By the way, as most of you know, I usually dress like a homeless bum. Today this was not the case. I had a nice collared golf shirt on. However, I was wearing a ballcap. This will become relevant later in the story. A strange musical combination of Chaka Khan followed by a Lita Ford/Ozzy Osbourne was on the satellite radio. That song "When I close my eyes forever" is an example of poor dining music. There's good and there's not good. This was not good. Our waiter eventually returned to take our drink order. I had a water w/ lemon and Mark had an iced tea. Both arrived in tact a few minutes later. I remarked that I had serious doubts we'd get a complimentary baucket of bread, even though the "dipping plate" was already on the table. It was just a hunch since I'd never seen this particular waiter there in the past. He came back about 5 mintues later to take our order. I had the yellow fin tuna salad and Mark ordered a steak salad. About 35 minutes later our salads arrived, but with one exception. Mine didn't remotely resemble a salad. In actuality, it was the exact opposite of a salad. It was a plate of bow-tie pasta drenched in an alfredo cream sauce with 2 steak medallions in the middle. I remained silent. The last thing I was going to do was bitch and have it take another half hour to throw some greens on a plate. Mark looked at me and said, "I figured you wouldn't say anything." I repsonded, "Well, what the fuck, if I complain we'll never get the hell outta here. Just give me the food and they make me eat." - something to that affect.
Oddly enough, I was really hungry and the dish itself was pretty damn good. Still no bread though but I could cope with that. About 10 minutes later our waiter came over and discreetly leaned in. I was absolutely POSITIVE he was going to say something like, "I'm so sorry sir, did you order a salad?" Instead, he softly said, "Excuse me sir, you're going to have to put your shoes on." I look at him and replied, "I know, I know. But the table is really wobbly. I had to use the sandals to even it out." He looks back, and says, "Yes, but if the health inspector were to show up, we could all be in a heap of trouble." He looked at me with a slightly more forceful look and said, "Here, allow me. It's just a loose tile." He started lifting up the table so I could retrieve my sandals. And lo and behold, he was right. Problem solved. He said thank you and quickly exited. Mark noticed a guy with a disgusted frown in the distance. I was actually a little embarrased over the incident. But hey, we live in West Virginia, right?
I told Mark, "Jesus Christ, I really thought he was going to apologize for screwing up the order." That's what Mark thought he was going to say as well. I reflected back on the ordering miscue. Perhaps I should have said something. What if someone got a salad instead of a heavy pasta entree? They'd probably be more disappointed and less inclined to let it go. The bill came and Mark paid - probably because he felt I was a shoeless dirtbag and took pity upon my socio-economic standing. To be truthful, I think I got lunch last time.
In appreciation he received my two latest Top 10 t-shirts (Top 10 Vacation Destinations near Wheeling, WV & Top 10 Sex Moves in Wheeling, WV). If you read my blog, but don't read and would like to purchase either or both, just shoot me an email ( or post a comment and I'll send you paypal instructions. Perhaps my new arch nemesis blogger at the University of Pittsburgh might be intersted in some new attire. Well...., maybe not.
And we still never got any bread.


sonofsaf said...

I forgot to mention. After leaving the restaurant, I drop off Mark at work and am heading up the route 2 ramp back onto I-70. There's a Velotta Contruction mini-van carrying a hitch with about 20 wooden planks. He comes to complete on the interstate causing everyone to slam on their brakes. He makes a u-turn on I-70 in the eastbound lane and heads back toward the tunnel which has been under construction for about 2 years. He sticks his middle finger out the window at the line of cars. The mother fucker perched all of us. I guess the car behind him probably laid on his horn. This incident increases my suspicion of Columbus, Ohio based Velotta Construction. Maybe the Bush administration could sign up the Velotta Brothers for an Iraqi renconstruction project. In any event, just get them the fuck out of Wheeling.

G Max said...

You should've gone to the Greek Food Fest. Gyros as big as a horse's.........hoof.

sonofsaf said...

Yeah, those gyros are bad ass. I two to go today.