Don't Tread On Me

Me, Page, Lucy (Stephanie was asleep.)

Last night my sisters and I patched together a late night rendezvous downtown at a lounge. Provo has lounges, you know, this one in particular only serves virgin drinks but anyway and so forth.

So there I was sipping my mango mojito, eyes scrolling the menu for something I could enjoy. I have been to this lounge many times, but only twice successfully and one was the first month it opened when they had some of the best chefs in Utah back in the kitchen. After the chefs left, so did the excellence of the food and still, I continued to go back like the lounge monkey (that I am).

Indecision abounded. I asked our drink server for recommendations.

"Everyone likes the spicy chicken sandwich," he tells me.

I don't...know, it's just, chicken. first choice, but ok, so...I'll try it.

When our regular server showed up I ordered the chicken sandwich.

(My blog just went from lesbian erotica to chicken sandwiches.)

When it arrived I quickly discovered it wasn't a chicken sandwich but a bleached chunk of truck tire slathered with a melange of guacamole, pink sauce and a tomato with the texture of watermelon. About two bites in I discovered the tasteless bacon.

Tasteless bacon; if you'd have told me such thing existed before last night I would have laughed at you, but now I believe. Satan is real.

"This is awful," I blurted out, my mouth full of coated rubber. I may have come off a little loud, my ears could only hear the inner workings of my incisors taking task to an impossible mastication. It sounded like records being spun by little DJs in my ears.

Page had asked for the entree salad but was denied because apparently this lounge doesn't serve entrees after nine. But she COULD order the side salad, which is the SAME salad as the entree salad but smaller. Dear Geniuses of the world, I don't get that at all, please explain. Love, Me.

Lucy was just saving room for dessert. Look, it's her diet plan not mine.

So we carried on until this rubber sandwich was too much and I said; "I am not going to say anything, I'm not in a place," because Chup and I had recently had a conversation about how I need to really work on friendly exchanges with people who disappoint me. If I feel unsafe to say my truth, it boils up inside of me until I am a toxic volcano of emotion.  When I eventually explode, it can come across really angry or snarky when in general I'm a pretty affable person but more than anything at that point all I wanted was a glass of water.

My virgin mojito was downed, you see, and so was my mojo.

But Page is the kind of person who will do your dirty bidding for you, so when our server returned Page of the Side Salad said, "I like mine (side salad) but her's (mine) is not so good," and the server said; "Oh no! Is the chicken old?"

To which I responded; "What do you know about this chicken that you are not telling me?"

Is my chicken old?

"I mean, does it taste old?" she tried to clarify.

"Uh, it, well, it, just, sorta, why don't I show you?" and I took out my knife and tried to cut the bleached tire with my knife to which the tire didn't budge, not the slightest pierce of incision.

The server was great to apologize, "Let me see what we can do" and hurried herself back to the kitchen.  Not before I begged - for my throat- a glass of water.

And like a mirage in the desert, when she returned for Lucy's dessert order, there was no drink of water.

I was too parched to make it vocal.

(Did I mention we were the only ones there?)

Lucy ordered a trio of desserts which came in a cute little arrangement with cute little cups and cute little spoons for tasting--Lucy really is what she eats--wink.

When the dessert arrived Lucy asked for me (her voice was intact) for my drink of water and then we all started in on tasting the dessert. I got my water (EUREKA!) the same moment Lucy discovered a two inch piece of plastic bag in her mouth from the fruity cute little cup.

Oh yes.

Our poor server was apologetic and said; "Let me ask the owner what we can do for you," and so when our checks came back there was a 50% reduction on my bill and Lucy's bill (the side salad remained at full price).

50% off of a 100% inedible sandwich.

And 50% off of the plastic bag dessert, 100% tainted to begin with.

Plus, two coupons for next time we visit which MARK MY WORDS WILL BE NEVER.

When I got home, Chup and I debriefed and again, he tried to coach me on how to tweet about this experience without coming off too angry, but then he said; "You know, do what you got to do."

I'm not angry, but this lounge has disappointed me, my family, my friends and my community repeatedly and I feel a need to call it out publicly. I love downtown Provo, I've dedicated a lot of time to seeing the success of its economy and culture, so it pains me a little to do this.

It was Spark.

So there's that.

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