A Cornucopia of Gripes

Gripe fans rejoice. I got three quickies that have been bugging me. I don't even know if there is such a thing as a gripe fan..but if you're out there, this is for you.

Gripe one: The workers at Gandolfos. Specifically the one by my house (800 N State St. in Orem). Gandolfos makes a nice sandwich. That is, when they don't load it up with that nasty cream cheese-like concoction. This, of course, can be easily avoided with careful sandwich selection...but that is a topic for another entry. What bothers me most is the complete and utter indifference the employees emanate towards you as you stand there, under the "Order Here" sign, in various states of hunger and/or haste. There is never anyone actually behind the counter when you arrive. They are all in the back "making sandwiches". And it's not like they don't see me. I usually make eye contact with 2 or 3 of them before someone finally takes upon them self the apparent chore of providing a little customer service. That is to say, their job. I can only imagine what is going through their minds as they are looking at me..."Hmm. There's some fidgety person under the 'Order Here' sign who has his wallet out and keeps looking at his watch...wonder what he wants?".

Oh silly me. They have a bell there. Clearly I should just ring it, right? Well, I've never been much of a bell ringer, to be honest, and I just don't see why my simple presence 2 feet from their point of sale isn't enough to spur them to action when they can see me. Perhaps they have a general Gandolfos loitering problem that I am unaware of...and hence company policy is that it takes both a body and a bell ring before service can be rendered?

And to add insult to injury...there is a freaking tips jar on the counter. A TIPS jar! I can't believe they have the audacity to place one of those bad boys there. A tip for what? Making my sandwich is what you get paid for. I guess it comes as no surprise there is only $1 ever in there when I look, probably placed there by a Gandolfos employee to "get the ball rolling".

Man oh man that place bugs. Maybe I'll try the Springville one close to my work...


Gripe two: Theater concession workers. Specifically the ones at the Provo Town Center, err, I mean, the Provoe Tonwe Centre. However it's spelled. :) If ever there were a minimum-wage making bunch, this is your group right here.

A typical encounter goes like this: "Yes, I'll take a small popcorn and a medium diet coke." "A large drink is only 25 cents more." "No thanks." "Are you sure?" "Yes, I'm sure, if I drink a large one then I have to pee really bad before the end of the movie." If you explain the pee thing then you don't get asked a third time. A little trick I learned, as well as the truth. ;) "Would you like butter on your popcorn?" "Yes." (worker gets small popcorn bag, fills with popcorn, and then turns around...7 seconds has passed) "I'm sorry, did you say you wanted butter on your popcorn?" "Yes." (worker proceeds to pour butter onto the popcorn at the top of the bag in such a way as to maximize the likelihood that hot liquid oil butter will get all over at least one side of the bag) "Here you go. That will be...$35 (or whatever the ripoff price of the day is)".

What happens next has always been a mystery to me. The concession worker, rather than just politely hand you your stuff, or at the very least give it a little push across the counter closer to you, instead places your stuff on the counter next to himself. That is to say, the far side of the counter from your perspective. And then begins to look off into space and pretend that you never existed. What the? You then have to reach over and get the stuff yourself. Can someone please explain this behavior to me? If you're lucky you'll get a "enjoy your show". But the norm is the spaced ignore look. Bizarre. All I can say is they're dang lucky there are suckers like me that will not only put up with that, but pay a premium to do so. :) I have no excuse for myself...


Gripe three: People filling up their fountain drinks. I'm not sure what it is about soda dispensing fountains at restaurants that brings out this strange sense of pompous entitlement in otherwise polite, decent folks. You all know what I'm talking about. :) You've finished your meal, and you just want a quick half-cup refill before you take off. You waltz up to the fountain all in a hurry like, only to find some lady filling up not only her drink, but 6 other cups as well. There's more than enough room for both people to fill their drinks, with a little shuffling of bodies. But it doesn't go down like that. Oh no. She's set up camp, baby, right smack in the middle of the fountain, and she's boxing any attempt on your part to encroach. It doesn't matter that you've tested the waters, so to speak, by temporarily invading her personal space to let her know of your desire, in the off chance she'd do the proper thing and move over a little. It simply doesn't happen. So there you stand with nary a thing to do, parched and anxious, your buddies at the door ready to leave...and just wait.

But it gets better (worse). This lady is not satisfied until the empty cup space to ice volume ratio in every cup meets a most demanding measure of precision. And she'd sooner be damned straight to hell than let so much as a 1/16th of an inch of space from the brim of the cup to the start of the soda exist. And so the charade goes. Fill, wait for bubbles to disperse. Fill, wait for bubbles to disperse. Fill, wait for bubbles to disperse. Slowly put on lid and set cup aside. Repeat. Times 6.

AHHHH!!! Maddening. Just maddening. I think I'm losing it. :)

Whew, that felt good. Cross three more gripes off the list. Okay, I'm off to bed...