Death of a Restaurant

No setup necessary.

g: Hi there!
n: Hello.
g: There used to be a restaurant in here called the Du*** ****. Is it still here?
n: No. I'm sorry. It's been gone for about ten years, now.
g (simultaneously): Ten years, now (Gord! I hate when people do that to me).
g2: F*ck! That's f*cking wack. Ten years, really?!? I told you, man (walks away)!
g: Sorry about all the epitaphs (walks away).
n to c: Umm...wait. Did he just say 'epitaphs'?
c: Yeah.
n: I don't think he meant. That. Let me double-check (checks). Yeah. I think he meant epithet. What an @ss-hat. He just said, "Sorry for all the tombstone writings."

Laughter is had by all (both of us).

Excuse me...your self-esteem is showing

Slow down there sister, any more work to your face and you're going to beat Joan Rivers in the, "Most Plastic Surgeries EVER," category by the age of 29...AND, if your dress gets any shorter, everyone's going to be able to see your cooter. Also, tub-tops are out and have been since 1983, ESPECIALLY in prison stripes.

g: Hi. We want a restaurant that has atmosphere, we don't care about the food. It's gotta be FUN!
n: In that case I'd probably take a taxicab to A1X (marks on map).
g: OK. Thank you (walks away to go talk to mom who is casually dressed and looks as though she wants no part of the slut-capade that's about to ensue in the Marina).
g mom: And, what type of food is it?
n: It's Italian.
g: What's the atmosphere like? Is it fun? Young?
n: Yes. It's EXACTLY what you're looking for.

Now...who on Earth has zero care about the food at a restaurant and only wants to go and be seen? With her MOM, nonetheless! I mean...REALLY?! C'mon. You're barely cute, let alone hot and no one is going to want to score with you with your mom in tow and I bet, dollars-to-donuts she sure as sh!t does not want to watch you get eye-f*cked by all the douche-nozzles in the Marina. Good luck and Godspeed...I hope you get herpes, you freaking Mensa candidate.

Can't you read?!?

This one's pretty self-explanatory...especially to anyone who's been in even a Motel 6, a carpark or even on a street corner.

g: Hey, when I get off the elevator, which way's 248X?
n: When you get off the elevator there will be signs straight ahead.
g: Well which way do I turn?
n: I'd guess you'd follow the signs that will lead you to 248X.
g: Is that right or left?
n (pulling a smart-ass answer out of his ass; shrugs shoulders): Umm...left?

Seriously...I'm in the middle of helping other guests and you and your daypack, fannypack, and BK Knights interrupt my paying guests so that you can go visit your buddy who got in on a Expedia rate just so you two washed-up hippies can go blaze a fatty in a room with a view. Gimme a break guy, and get a job.

Strawberries and Cigars

Interior: Guest walks up to my desk, Pac Sun bag slung over his shoulder, teetering and wreaking of the cigar that he's somehow managed to salivate ALL OVER and make look like the aftermath of an exploding cigar.

n: Good evening, sir.
g: Hey.
n: How may I help you?
g: Yeah...umm...how are the strawberries?
n: Excuse me?
g: Yeah...the strawberries...how are they today?
n: I'm sorry, sir, I'm not following.
g: You know...the straaawwwberries.
n (Creeped out and confused as all Hell): Sir...I have no idea what you're talking about.
g: The strawberries you're going to send up to my room (wink wink).
n (thoroughly irritated at this drunk douche-nozzle holding up my line): Sir, do you have a pending order for strawberries to be delivered to your room or would you like me to have them delivered and billed to your room?
g: Yeah.
n: Sooooo...you'd like me to have them delivered and billed to your room? Sure. What's your room number?
g: 23XX, the last name should be ...
n: OK. I'll have them delivered and billed to your room.

...Really? I mean REEEAAALLLY? I know you're on vacation, guy, but WTF?!? You're killing me here; breathing on me with your Budweiser and cheap cigar breath. Look asshat, the next time that you want to stay at a 5 star hotel and act like a half star human...think again. You're here on an Expedia rate...show some class, mouth-breather.

Do I look like 411?

(ring ring)
n: Good Evening Concierge, ..., this is ..., how may I help you?
c: Yes, do you have the number for the Best Western on 9th Street?
n: Sure, what is your room number?
c: What?
n: What is your room number please?
c: I can barely hear you, what?
n: Are you a registered guest in the hotel?
c: No, but my friend is.
n: (I've heard this one before). Sir, my services are for registered guests of the ... only. I suggest calling 411.

...how many hoops did this guy jump through in order to get my number? Why didn't he just dial 411 in the first place? Is that $1.29 charge on your cell phone bill really going to break the bank at the end of the month, guy?

iHole

g: Where's the Apple Store?
n: Stockton and Market Streets, they're open until 9 tonight.
g: Are there any that are open 24 hours?
n: No (winces and shakes head)...absolutely not.
g: Well in New York they are.

...There is 1 count them...ONE Apple store open 24 hours in New York. One does not qualify as "They" doucher...go back to New York to your Apple store that's open 24 hours and looks like a clear version of the cube from Hellraiser don't ever come back.