(thanks to my good friend Hubert for helping me sort this one out!)
Recently a couple of people stopped at Wilbur’s BBQ in Goldsboro for lunch on a Saturday. Most of the patrons were dressed in shorts or jeans and tee shirts. Margaret and Bob were dressed in very conservative dark suits. They entered the restaurant and seated themselves. They waited a few minutes and no one came to take their order. Bob noticed a stack of menus with a sign over then that said, “Do not take your own menu.” They waited a few more minutes with no attention given to them. Bob finally walked back to the front counter and grabbed two menus. Margaret quickly decided on a BBQ plate, as did Bob. Several waitresses had passed when Bob was able to stop one of them.
“Excuse me, could you tell me who our waitress is?” he asked politely.
She looked at the table where the menus lay, “you got your own menus didn’t you? You’re not supposed to do that. I’ll send someone over.”
Margaret and Bob were surprised at the rude attitude of the waitress, but decided it was just the Saturday lunch rush that had her in a foul mood. They continued to wait with no response.
“If we don’t get our food ordered soon we are not going to make our appointment,” commented Bob, looking at his watch.
Margaret nodded in agreement, “Look there’s the take out counter, I think we’d better get our lunch to go.”
At the counter they were able to place their order without incident until Margaret asked for artificial sweetener for her tea.
“I told you I would give you some, if you’ll just wait”, snapped the man at the cash register.
With plates in hand, Margaret and Bob return to the parking lot to eat in the car before heading on to Kinston for their appointment.
A young waitress named Kelly pressed her face to the window.
“Are they gone yet?”
“Who, those undertakers? They’re eating in the car.” replied the cashier.
The car was a black hearse carrying the remains of a dear saint to his interment. Poor Margaret and Bob have no clue as to why they were given such poor service at Wilbur’s BBQ.
Recently a couple of people stopped at Wilbur’s BBQ in Goldsboro for lunch on a Saturday. Most of the patrons were dressed in shorts or jeans and tee shirts. Margaret and Bob were dressed in very conservative dark suits. They entered the restaurant and seated themselves. They waited a few minutes and no one came to take their order. Bob noticed a stack of menus with a sign over then that said, “Do not take your own menu.” They waited a few more minutes with no attention given to them. Bob finally walked back to the front counter and grabbed two menus. Margaret quickly decided on a BBQ plate, as did Bob. Several waitresses had passed when Bob was able to stop one of them.
“Excuse me, could you tell me who our waitress is?” he asked politely.
She looked at the table where the menus lay, “you got your own menus didn’t you? You’re not supposed to do that. I’ll send someone over.”
Margaret and Bob were surprised at the rude attitude of the waitress, but decided it was just the Saturday lunch rush that had her in a foul mood. They continued to wait with no response.
“If we don’t get our food ordered soon we are not going to make our appointment,” commented Bob, looking at his watch.
Margaret nodded in agreement, “Look there’s the take out counter, I think we’d better get our lunch to go.”
At the counter they were able to place their order without incident until Margaret asked for artificial sweetener for her tea.
“I told you I would give you some, if you’ll just wait”, snapped the man at the cash register.
With plates in hand, Margaret and Bob return to the parking lot to eat in the car before heading on to Kinston for their appointment.
A young waitress named Kelly pressed her face to the window.
“Are they gone yet?”
“Who, those undertakers? They’re eating in the car.” replied the cashier.
The car was a black hearse carrying the remains of a dear saint to his interment. Poor Margaret and Bob have no clue as to why they were given such poor service at Wilbur’s BBQ.
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