Sometimes you walk into a new restaurant and right away you just know that it’s not going to be a good experience. Here are a couple of disqualifiers:
Strong smell of urinal cakes throughout the restaurant
Gum-chewing, huffy maitresse d’
Display card on the table promoting luridly-colored, trendy mixed drinks with silly names
Lots of unbussed, dirty tables
Any more?
A few select tables of loud, obnoxious diners who are oblivious to other diners. Bad.
Smoke–not much of a problem any more in most states. In states where smoking is still allowed in restaurants, cigs are bad. Cigars are bad, bad, BAD.
Waitstaff who don’t know or care you’re waiting to give your order. If it’s a yuppie-hellhole and the waitstaff acts like you’ve just walked into the Louvre with a struggling chicken impaled on your dick. BAD.
If people are on cellphones while eating, that’s a bad sign. If they’re talking business, that’s bad. If they’re socializing on the phone, that’s unforgivable.
The lurid display card isn’t always a giveaway. (Seattle area) Red Robins and T.S. McHughs restaurants have 'em and I’ve had fairly good times at those places. Maybe it’s a case of lowered expectations.
Waitstaff and/or food prep staff with large skin infections on their hands and arms. That put me off the McDonald’s downstairs from my office.
–sublight.
With me its spotted silverware or lipstick on cups and glasses.
If I get that I leave, no matter what point it is, before or after I order. I just leave, don’t try to stop me. And don’t bother to argue with the help, since they are blind to dirt.
Waiters who sit down at your table to take your order. Happened once. Never set foot in the place again.
Dijon Warlock, I hate that too - some people find it homey, I guess, but I loathe it. I want them to take my food order, not be my friend. Sitting at my table is way, way too familiar for me.
Anyway, visible cockroaches always turn me off. Yes, it has actually happened.
How about walking in the door and getting smacked in the face with the smell of old chicken grease. You could just about see the thin coating of it on the walls and furniture. We got two steps into the place, then turned around and left.
Loud blaring country music will turn me back out the door every time.
When you walk into the joint and are not acknowledged.
Like you’re invisible or something. No “Hello, I’ll be right with you.”. Nothing. No eye contact, no acknowledgement, no greeting.
Especially when you’re the only people in the joint, or the first table of the evening and can clearly see the staff.
No excuse for this behaviour.
Another thing,
Dirty grubby menus. Yuck.
Walked into a deli at 3:30 p.m. yesterday. One table with customers, nobody else other than staff in there. Looked like they hadn’t cleared from the lunch rush. I can understand a little disorder during a rush, but you have time to clean now, how about it?
Same reaction - when I’m out with hubby or friends, I DO NOT want the party increased by the server. And if I’m alone, it’s because I want to be alone. sheesh!!
the host/hostess sports some appetite killing piercing or feature.
OrcaChow – that chicken line is too funny. Can I use it, can I huh?
More peeves:
The hostess/waitress/waiter is wearing some nauseating cologne.
There are clusters of dead flies on the windowsills.
They keep the cleaning equipment (dirty mops, buckets, etc.) in the bathroom.
{steps into the thread; looks around; blinks; shakes head, smiling weakly, at the maitre’d; slowly backs out}
“Hi, I’m Bambi! I’ll be your server this evening!”
Thanks, Bambi. If you hadn’t told me, I never would have figured out that the woman standing by my table wearing the identical shirt and apron to all of the other servers, holding a small pad and asking us whether we wanted something from the bar was our server.
Sometimes I’ll respond: “Hi, I’m Bill. I’ll be your customer this evening.” This utterly befuddles about half of the “hi I’m Bambi” servers out there. It’s fun to watch the look of utter confusion creeping over their perky faces.
I like to see a restaurant which has been well maintained.
If the tyres are all cut up and flat or of they haven’t been through the car wash for some time I sometimes walk away.
I do have my standards.
Loud, shrieking children running from table to table.
Cobwebs.
Service people who glare at you for daring to interrupt their converations with a request to be seated, and who pointedly ignore your attempts to signal them from the table.
Dirty, smelly bathrooms.
Sticky tables.
Service people who touch the buisness-side of your plate with their hands.
Not too long ago, I stayed at a nice hotel that supposedly had a great resturant. It was a little after 11:00 A.M when Hubby and I arrived, so we pretty much had the place to ourselves. I was annoyed by the shouted conversation between my waitress and som unseen person in the kitchen. Even as she took our order, she hollered responses back to her friend, and while we ate, I learned much about the people who worked there . . . who was sleeping with whom, who made more on tips, and many unflattering things about “that bitch Theresa.” We had an appointment that was coming up shortly, or I would have insisted that we go eleswhere to have our lunch. We did leave when I heard someone from the kitchen call our waitress to “cumm’ere and see this!” She went into the kitchen and shouted “OH MY GOD!! THAT IS SOOOOO GROSS!!!” I sort of lost my appetite after that.
An experience…when I was an undergraduate, I went with some friends to an italian restaurant-rumored to be the “best in the city”.
We sat down, and waited, and waited…finally a decrepit waiter shuffled out, and asked if we wanted drinks. he disappeared, returned with the drinks, and took our order.
He then went into the kitchen, and started haranguing the chef…this was followed by 5 minutes of the most hideous tuburcular coughing that i ever heard.
I didn’t enjoy eating my pizza after that!
Any bad smell puts me off a restaurant right away. We went to one recently that smelled like rancid milk. I said something to my brother about it and he said he thought it was the peanut shells. (It’s one of those places where you’re supposed to eat peanuts and throw the shells on the floor.)
The meal was a complete disaster. I think my brother’s nose must have been stuffed up. That smell was not peanut shells.
My brother once went to a well known, well thought of local restaurant with a friend. While they were there the cook and waitress started arguing. After a little screaming they started throwing plates at each other. He finally decided they were married. Of course, he’s never been back.
Thick cigarette smoke. Thick enough that you just know even if you sit in no smoking you’re still going to be hit by it. Easily. If I get passed that, several things similar to what has also been already mentioned.
Eric