Attaching the electrodes of knowledge to the nipples of ignorance.

Today we went to a friends birthday lunch at the new Lone Star location in the Byward market on the corner of Dalhousie and George Street. We arrived a couple of minutes before noon today, but they didn’t have room for the eight of us at any one table, so they split us into two separate booths.

We were seated, when the waitress came over to take our drink orders (why is it that *all* the waitresses there had pony tails or pigtails?), we were pretty much ready to place our lunch order, but she ran off to get our drinks. Our table got our drinks before the other table got to place an order for their drinks.

Now, look at the date – mid-December, so *all* restaurants are busy with parties and like goings on, so they should have plenty of extra staff on – for a restaurant that recently opened, it is certainly more important to make a good impression during this period.

All that said, we waited just over an hour for our lunch. I don’t mean fifty minutes, I mean sixty three minutes. The obsessive watch-checking habit does come in handy from time to time, I’ll admit.

Originally, the plan was to be heading back to work around one, but we didn’t get out of there until around one thirty.

As on of the others at lunch said “There is a first time I go to Lone Star in the market and there is a last time.”

I couldn’t agree more.