AUTHOR: Beth TITLE: DATE: 9/13/2004 11:38:00 AM ----- BODY:

Angry Letter

(with apologies to Rebecca). Dear Friendly's on Montvale Ave, We've been down this road before. All the way back in February, as a matter of fact, I detailed all the ways in which you completely suck. In case you need review, they are:
1. The utter inability of waitstaff to respond to the doorbell conveniently installed at the entrance for the purposes of alerting them that patrons have entered the building and would like to be seated; 2. The utter inability of kitchen staff to prepare simple menu items such as hamburgers in under half an hour; 3. The utter inability of waitstaff to respond to indications of urgency, including but not limited to the request for a check with the meal, since the hamburger will take a half hour to cook, and the customer is in a rush; 4. General rudeness on the part of wait staff toward a party of one, as if it is their place to judge whether a companionless diner should be pitied or not--or maybe it's because fewer people = fewer tip, which isn't any better.
In the interim, while continuing to frequent your restaurant, I have encountered more issues with your service, which include:
1. Call-ahead takeout as a completely meaningless term: countless times in an effort to avoid the foibles of the dining room I've tried to expedite the process of ordering food over the phone, only to show up twenty full minutes later and be told it hasn't been prepared yet; 2. A request for ketchup in your restaurant seems to be akin to a request for donated blood. Have you noticed this? 3. Glares, stares and rudeness on the part of your takeout staff when tips are not left for them despite the fact that they still cannot prepare a simple order in under half an hour, or at least can't find it, since it usually turns out after a twenty-minute wait for call-ahead food to be cooked that the order was prepared and then misplaced, so they give it to you cold to boot; 4. Though this is probably not your fault, you have been known to play host to cadres of nasty Yankees fans.
But I kept coming back, because I really, really like the food. Seriously. It was worth all that hassle for me just to get my hands on one of the chicken parm sandwiches. No word of a lie. Now, my tolerance has come to an absolute end. This is no joke. I have had it with you, Friendly's on Montvale Ave, and I want you to know that you are a disgrace to the company you represent. What sparked this feeling on my part, you might ask? Well, it was last Thursday. Last Thursday, I developed a taste for one of those fine chicken parm sandwiches during the morning and decided to have one for lunch. I decided to take a gamble and see whether this was one of the times your take-out window staff had remembered to take their medication. I called. The phone line at your restaurant, which advertises phone-ahead and take-out service, was busy. For forty-five minutes. But I waited. I've put up with worse from you people. I waited. Finally, I got through--at least, the phone rang instead of sending back a busy signal. And then it rang. And it rang. And it rang. And it rang. It rang until a busy signal picked up again. I hung up. I counted to ten. I called back one more time. "Hello." someone answered. I thought I had a wrong number. I asked anyway, just be sure. "Yeah, this is Friendly's, whatchou want?" he replied irritably. Awesome. So he answers the phone like it's his house, and I've just woken him up at 5 am on a Saturday, when it's actually the restaurant I've meant to call--but I'm the moron. "I'd like to order some food for takeout," I told him as rationally as I could. "Kay hang on," he mumbled, and I heard a clatter as the phone dropped. I then listened to kitchen noise for--I timed this--fifteen minutes before I finally hung up. Now, at least, I knew why the phone had been busy. And I also knew that I would never, and I mean never, return to you again, Friendly's on Montvale Ave. Ever. Go screw yourself, Beth
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