I went out to Cipriano’s italian restaurant recently for the second time. The first time it has been so good, that I couldn’t wait to get back.
The food was great, and the service started a little cold though otherwise decent.
But this time, as the meal wound down, the strangest thing happened.
We were almost the only folks in the restaurant—and it was only 8:45 p.m. The waiter came to our table and asked us if we wanted dessert.
I said, do you have tiramisu? (It was what I’d ordered last time.) The waiter said, No.
I said, Oh, are you out? He said, yes, we’re out. Monique said, what do you have? The waiter said, spumoni ice cream, and coffee ice cream.
Neither sounded great, so we asked for the bill and for him to package up our leftovers, of which there were plenty—Cipriano’s has HUGE portions. He said he’d split the leftover bread between us. (Note: Yes, I’m being picky, but you’ll see why.)
The food came back, and we’re sitting there talking, waiting for the bill, and the music is switched from being an eclectic though nicely Italian mix, to being some ‘50s comedy lounge routine that’s hard to understand with a SUPER loud laugh track. And the restaurant is blaring it. Finally the bills comes back, and we pay it.
At this point, Monique and I have to yell to hear each other, I’m not kidding. We get frustrated and get up to leave, and as we walk over to get our coats from the coat rack, they turn off the music entirely, so now it’s dead silent in the restaurant. It’s now 8:58 p.m.
They basically drove us out of the restaurant. And when I got home and looked at my food, they’ve split the bread and given half to Monique and the other half is not in mine, it’s nowhere. So they screwed me out of the leftovers.
And I now believe they probably did have tiramisu. I mean, what Italian restaurant doesn’t have any? Come on. They just wanted to get the doors shut by 9 p.m. so they could go home and watch Law and Order or something.
“I’m not bitter about what happened to me as a child, and my mother was instrumental in keeping me from being so. ... She taught me to be grateful for my life regardless of what that entailed, and that’s directly related to the image of Christ on the cross and the example of sacrifice that he gave us. What she taught me is that the deliverance God offers you from pain is not no pain—it’s that the pain is actually a gift. What’s the option? God doesn’t really give you another choice.”
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