A Tale of 2 Jacks – Part 2

13 07 2010

A mere 85 kilometres from Mississauga is another Jack Astor’s (although I am sure there are many in between).  Sadly, my second Jack Astor’s experience was a horror movie complete with lots of boring plot build up and extremely shocking scenes during the extended climax, as well a dénouement in the pouring rain.  Classic.

My aforementioned West Indian friend and I arrived at the Jack Astor’s in Kitchener right after work.  The two teenage maitre d’s greeted us and we explained that we were there as two of a total party of 5 people.  One of the girls’ eyes lit up: “I think your party is already here!” she said.  My friend and I cast sideways glances at each other, fully aware that it was unlikely others had already arrived, but proceeded to follow the teen.  She led us through the bar area and pointed to a large table where some other girls were sitting.  The two girls were Indian or West Indian but that was all they had in common with us.  I started to giggle and my friend said flatly “No, that’s NOT our party”.  The teen turned around and I saw that she was slightly confused.  Then she started to look embarrassed.  Finally, she apologized for the gaff and slowly led us to another table on the opposite side of the restaurant, apologizing again.  We sat down and broke into peals of laughter.  Every once in a while we would look at each other and recall what had just happened which caused even more laughter.  We had just experienced racial stereotyping at its worst!  As it turned out, that incident ended up being only one of several lows we hit that night.

When our (also teenaged) waitress arrived she introduced herself while writing the time of our arrival on the (all-too-common) brown paper tablecloth.  I made a mental note of this since I had only seen the time note take place during lunches when restaurants were more likely to be busy; this night was definitely the opposite.  She asked us our drink orders and then went off.  We then ordered a starter of pita bread with hot spinach and cheese dip once she was back with our drinks.  It was standard fare and tasted like every other spinach and cheese dip, but we were famished so it worked to control our hunger.  About halfway through our app, two other friends arrived and ordered some drinks (the beer list was spewed at us by our “friendly” waitress like machine gun fire) as well as spring rolls to start.  At this point, we were still waiting for the fifth member of our party – the birthday girl – so we did not want to order our full meals.  An hour later, the waitress started hovering at our table so we went ahead and ordered our meals.  I really don’t remember the meals so they must have been less than stellar.  Don’t you hate it when you realize (as you are eating your perfectly boring meal) that you are going to be paying at least $15 plus many taxes for something that was likely premade and then heated up in a microwave?   Thank goodness we have the HST to bring it all together now.  Phew!  What I do remember was looking at the decorations around us and noting the Elvis booth nearby.  The crowning glory of this booth was a giant toilet seat with a picture of The King in the centre.  It was funny for two minutes if one knew their Rock ‘n’ Roll history (for those not in the know, Elvis apparently died whilst using the bathroom) but it contrasted greatly with the classier version of the Jack’s we had seen just one week ago.  The other surprise of the night was the fact that our meals were delivered at different times and by different waiters and waitresses.  Was our teenage waitress annoyed at us, scared of us or all of the above?  In addition to this, it was impossible to get the attention of the waitress to ask for additional napkins or forks or drinks since she was busy flirting with various co-workers.  Incredibly, no one came to ask how we were enjoying our meals (which at this point, we definitely weren’t).  Finally, the birthday girl arrived and she sat down at our table.  When our oh-so-awesome waitress suddenly showed up to take her drink order and the thought of ordering a meal came out of the birthday girls’ mouth, the waitress practically rolled her eyes.  Her body language said it all, so the birthday girl opted out of eating and simply sipped her drink.  When I mentioned the occasion for our meeting, a free birthday cake-type thing arrived in the same annoyed fashion.  Then we were being hovered over once again.  Secretly emanating from the staff of Jack Astor’s were two simple words: GET OUT!

Needless to say, none of us tipped.  I realize there may be some backlash for not tipping but one of the main skill sets required of a waiter or waitress is a strong knowledge and understanding of customer service.  This was completely void on the night of our visit.  And oh yes, I almost forgot the dénouement:  as we were leaving the restaurant it started to pour.  The sky was stormy and gray, much like the faces of the staff at Jacks.  A perfect ending to a perfectly horrifying experience. 

Here’ s a quick recap of what happened and didn’t happen (there will be a quiz):

–          Racial stereotyping

–          Inability to get the attention of staff

–          Delivery of beer list occurred in machine-gun-fire fashion

–          Constantly changing staff overseeing our meal

–          Food mediocre at best and delivered at different times

–          Implied and/or obvious eye rolling

–          Hovering

–          The Brown Paper Tablecloth

Moral of the story:  This restaurant definitely lived up to its name.