I wrote a review of my experience at the Olive Garden and for what ever reason Google will not post it on "Google reviews" so needless to say my review of Google reviews has no stars lives in the poor house and to me at least encompasses all that is wrong in our world today.
Thoughts?
Here is the review I wrote;
Growing up in a small town in Italy I had never heard of the Olive Garden as there were none in my part of the world. When I was a teenager I saw on the comedy show Mad TV a skit about the Olive Garden that was a parody of one of their commercials. The skit seemed goofy but did not really imply that the Olive Garden was necessarily a bad place to eat. Later in my 20’s while living in Denver I would see commercials from them, the general tag line being “come try our soup, salad and breadsticks for only $6.99.” It seemed like a pretty good deal, I would say to myself “that sound’s great I’ll have to go try it sometime” although I never ended up going there because as before in Italy there were just none around. Why the commercials then? On June fifteenth while lounging in a hot tube filled with unexplainable content amongst pondering the topic for this blog I decided to find out.
A quick snap at my butler to google it for me and my answer was found. Apparently there was one in this place called Lakewood, “great, soup, salad and breadsticks by a woodland surrounded lake, it sounds delightful” I marveled. So with that I had my butler teddy call for reservations to which he came back with that they did not make reservations! I was astounded yet for god knows what reason decided to push forward with it and make a plan to go on Wednesday June eighteenth.
The lunch date to follow was to say the least extreme.
I arrived around eleven in the morning somewhat tired from a night of heavy drinking. Right away I was disappointed and confused by the scenery outside, not only was there no lake but there were no trees to be found either. There were however more than a six handicap parking spots, no valet and a thick pungent odor of what smelled of a poor man’s arm sweat.
Thank god for Teddy otherwise I may have had to walk more than ten feet through that muck resulting in a set of burnt nostrils.
Walking inside I’m surprised I did not faint as there was the worst smell of urine I have ever experienced, worse than a third world outhouse. The smell was absolutely astounding! There were two bloody ghoulish women at the hostess stand that greeted me with a prolonged blank stare as if they were a class of mentally challenged ape people being shown an algebra equation. Finally after the awkward pause one said “good morning” then looking at the other she stated “number ninety two.” Without telling me where in the devil’s hell she was going she proceeded to trample off into the restaurant. Reluctantly I followed as I could not help but notice the rather plain and boring décor. This place was more boring than a Friday night with cheap liquor.
After arriving at my table and being left alone I wondered why in the crazed gypsy I was still there. I thought about leaving however at that point after earlier in the morning consuming two mimosas, four bloody marys and my daily valium I simply could not bear the thought of walking out. In all sincerity I would have not made it out on my feet and god knows what might have been on the floors of this place, I simply could not bear to look.
Sitting there waiting I was appalled to see sitting across from me a man who bared a striking resemblance to the late Adolf Hitler. Stranger still he was there with what appeared to be a family, “who would marry Hitler” I thought.
After sitting for what seemed an eternity waiting on my waiter, a pudgy tired version of what looked to be Margret Thatcher came to take my order. She asked “Can I start you off with a drink?” Quickly thumbing through the drinks menu I surprisingly came across a margarita, an “Italian margarita.” “Is that racist?” I thought. I didn't care and ordered it anyway. The margarita was foul yet strong which in hindsight was a good thing because I was at that point a tad upset about my current position in that vile world of slum dinning. She asked me if I was ready to order, “Twenty dam minutes ago” I thought as I ordered their so called “famous soup, salad and bread sticks.” Then this monster of a woman came back with “I’ll have that right out for you babe.” Who the hell says that, Neanderthals?
Anyways, the food oddly came back rather quick which was a very good thing because I was beginning to feel a bit light headed from all that booze on too little food. I needed a good meal and a nap by my pool but what I got was an abundance of salt and a sad excuse for what they called “soup.” All I could think about as I begrudgingly force fed myself this crap was “how is this Italian?” and “how will I possibly survive this?”
The refill on my racist margarita was taking forever and just as I was about to leave I finally got a second. As she left the check with not even the slightest hint of an offer for desert, “barbarians” was the word of the day. Upon opening the tab book to see my check I found those bastards had charged me twenty two dam dollars! Apparently racism in margarita form comes at quite the cost.
I was however delighted to find four Andes chocolate mints in the tab book, I love Andes. Finally having survived, and slightly less drunk, it was back home to take a nap by my pool.
Thoughts?
Here is the review I wrote;
Growing up in a small town in Italy I had never heard of the Olive Garden as there were none in my part of the world. When I was a teenager I saw on the comedy show Mad TV a skit about the Olive Garden that was a parody of one of their commercials. The skit seemed goofy but did not really imply that the Olive Garden was necessarily a bad place to eat. Later in my 20’s while living in Denver I would see commercials from them, the general tag line being “come try our soup, salad and breadsticks for only $6.99.” It seemed like a pretty good deal, I would say to myself “that sound’s great I’ll have to go try it sometime” although I never ended up going there because as before in Italy there were just none around. Why the commercials then? On June fifteenth while lounging in a hot tube filled with unexplainable content amongst pondering the topic for this blog I decided to find out.
A quick snap at my butler to google it for me and my answer was found. Apparently there was one in this place called Lakewood, “great, soup, salad and breadsticks by a woodland surrounded lake, it sounds delightful” I marveled. So with that I had my butler teddy call for reservations to which he came back with that they did not make reservations! I was astounded yet for god knows what reason decided to push forward with it and make a plan to go on Wednesday June eighteenth.
The lunch date to follow was to say the least extreme.
I arrived around eleven in the morning somewhat tired from a night of heavy drinking. Right away I was disappointed and confused by the scenery outside, not only was there no lake but there were no trees to be found either. There were however more than a six handicap parking spots, no valet and a thick pungent odor of what smelled of a poor man’s arm sweat.
Thank god for Teddy otherwise I may have had to walk more than ten feet through that muck resulting in a set of burnt nostrils.
Walking inside I’m surprised I did not faint as there was the worst smell of urine I have ever experienced, worse than a third world outhouse. The smell was absolutely astounding! There were two bloody ghoulish women at the hostess stand that greeted me with a prolonged blank stare as if they were a class of mentally challenged ape people being shown an algebra equation. Finally after the awkward pause one said “good morning” then looking at the other she stated “number ninety two.” Without telling me where in the devil’s hell she was going she proceeded to trample off into the restaurant. Reluctantly I followed as I could not help but notice the rather plain and boring décor. This place was more boring than a Friday night with cheap liquor.
After arriving at my table and being left alone I wondered why in the crazed gypsy I was still there. I thought about leaving however at that point after earlier in the morning consuming two mimosas, four bloody marys and my daily valium I simply could not bear the thought of walking out. In all sincerity I would have not made it out on my feet and god knows what might have been on the floors of this place, I simply could not bear to look.
Sitting there waiting I was appalled to see sitting across from me a man who bared a striking resemblance to the late Adolf Hitler. Stranger still he was there with what appeared to be a family, “who would marry Hitler” I thought.
After sitting for what seemed an eternity waiting on my waiter, a pudgy tired version of what looked to be Margret Thatcher came to take my order. She asked “Can I start you off with a drink?” Quickly thumbing through the drinks menu I surprisingly came across a margarita, an “Italian margarita.” “Is that racist?” I thought. I didn't care and ordered it anyway. The margarita was foul yet strong which in hindsight was a good thing because I was at that point a tad upset about my current position in that vile world of slum dinning. She asked me if I was ready to order, “Twenty dam minutes ago” I thought as I ordered their so called “famous soup, salad and bread sticks.” Then this monster of a woman came back with “I’ll have that right out for you babe.” Who the hell says that, Neanderthals?
Anyways, the food oddly came back rather quick which was a very good thing because I was beginning to feel a bit light headed from all that booze on too little food. I needed a good meal and a nap by my pool but what I got was an abundance of salt and a sad excuse for what they called “soup.” All I could think about as I begrudgingly force fed myself this crap was “how is this Italian?” and “how will I possibly survive this?”
The refill on my racist margarita was taking forever and just as I was about to leave I finally got a second. As she left the check with not even the slightest hint of an offer for desert, “barbarians” was the word of the day. Upon opening the tab book to see my check I found those bastards had charged me twenty two dam dollars! Apparently racism in margarita form comes at quite the cost.
I was however delighted to find four Andes chocolate mints in the tab book, I love Andes. Finally having survived, and slightly less drunk, it was back home to take a nap by my pool.
