Meet Skippy

I am generally a patient man.  I can rise above bad service before I reach my breaking point.  So, when I am pressed to make comments about restaurant service, Christine knows to sit up and pay attention.

Skippy McWonderfuck is not a single person, but an amalgam of people – like Ted from the Dilbert cartoons.  Skippy McWonderfuck has many faces.  Tonight, Skippy McWonderfuck turned out to be a short British boffin unable to sort out what should be an appetizer and what should be a main course.  This, despite being told repeatedly and clearly when to bring each dish.  Skippy’s greater crime was bringing us a dessert menu and then disappearing for half a bloody hour.  Do not ever leave three tired, hot, weary travellers totally alone for that long.  Heaven only knows what Skippy was up to in that time – frankly, the amusement of imagining this ended long, long ago.

When we flagged down another waiter to bring us our desserts – NOW – Skippy did manage to reappear, plates in hand.  Too little, too late, Skippy my friend.  You’ve earned the title.