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I knew better than to go to the hippie restaurant; I've been there before, and I know what the service is like. But I was so hungry, and I had a wicked craving for a grilled cheese and veggie sandwich, and it (the restaurant) was right there in front of me. Also, they garnish their plates with caper berries, which are excellent.
So I went in and ordered, being sure to specify "No bean sprouts." Since it's a hippie restaurant, they put sprouts on everything; I despise them. I don't even consider them food, just an extremely efficient E. coli delivery system.
Seriously. They're like the unfiltered cigarettes of the vegetable kingdom. My best friend's master's thesis focused on contaminants in commercially-grown food, and one of the many disturbing nuggets of information she felt compelled to share with me is that sprouts are generally crawling with that shit. Avoid them at all costs. Besides, they taste like ass.
Then, I settled down with my book for a nice long wait, since everyone who works at the hippie restaurant has to go out back at least six or seven times an hour to get high.
Twenty-five minutes later, Slacker-Boy presented me with my plate. Sure enough, my sandwich had masses of big old nasty sperm-things hanging out all over the sides, looking like the goddamn Jolly Green Giant's pubic hair. Eeep.
"I asked for no sprouts," sez I.
"Ohh, right," said Slacker Boy, scratching his nascent dreads. "Could you, like, pick them off?"
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, and all the saints above. I channeled the Momzilla, who never put up with any bullshit.
"No," I said. "I paid six-ninety-five for this, and I want what I asked and paid for. Please." He sighed at my repressive, capitalist attitude, and slouched back to the grill, plate in hand.
Fortunately, the hippie restaurant has an open kitchen, and I was able to watch the surprisingly rapid re-making of my meal.
Slacker Boy brought my sandwich back with a notable lack of good grace (the poor thing hadn't gotten baked for at least half an hour), and I finally had my late lunch.
Never again.
*Begins to write on blackboard*: "I will not eat at..." 500 times
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