Fool me twice

A couple of years ago, Michelangelo was visiting from Chicago and Karl was also here for the Wisconsin Cow Chip Festival. (What can I say?) We went to breakfast at a small place in a neighboring community that had been a Scharbach favorite and that Tom liked to take guests to see. We went with high expectations, but the place had changed hands. The service was incredibly slow and bad, and since we had to be somewhere else at noon, we eventually had to give up and leave without ever having been served anything except coffee. I guess we had sat there for forty-five minutes or an hour. Tom said he would never return. Never!

Recently a couple of the folks at the railway mentioned that they had eaten breakfast at this place and really liked it, although they did mention that the service was slow.

Today John, who remembered eating there, suggested we go for lunch. I told him I doubted Tom would be interested, but I was wrong. We went over and John ordered a basic breakfast (eggs, bacon, hash browns, toast), I ordered a sandwich and Tom had a regular hamburger. After a relatively normal wait -- the place was hardly full or overly busy -- the waitress came back and put a plate in front of me.

"There's your Rachel sandwich."

I looked down at scrambled eggs, rye toast, hash browns and slices of bacon.

"I think this is his breakfast, actually," I said, politely, I hope.

She looked at me, looked down at the plate and then realized the mistake. I handed over my plate and she disappeared, returning a few minutes later with my sandwich. It had chips rather than the promised fries, but I figured I'd let that pass.

John and I waited politely for Tom's meal to arrive, but nothing happened. After five minutes or so, he told us to go ahead and eat. About the time we did, his burger arrived. He got his fries, but the burger consisted of a patty and a bun -- no lettuce or tomato or anything else as advertised. Just bread and meat. We shrugged and ate.

Then it took forever to get the bill. Even after mentioning that we wanted the bill, again politely, I hope, the waitress made several trips back and forth, back and forth, back and forth before the bill appeared.

Then Tom went to pay it at the register, and John and I checked out various notices on the bulletin board. After a few minutes, we looked over and Tom was reading the newspaper at the counter while the waitress went about her business, never stopping for thirty seconds to take his money, with him standing there bill in hand right beside her. Again, the place was neither full nor busy, although she was the only one waiting tables.

Well, this time we all laughed about it, but John said it was the slowest service he had ever seen in his life.

I am not sure you could call it slow. Slow does imply some movement through space.

Anyway, I think that place -- which I will leave unnamed lest someone who likes it should stumble upon this review -- has seen us for the last time. Really, the last time.