↑ that's a permalink! visit the full archive
Dear Pizza Hut:
I am writing to explain certain grievances as have occurred in my short (well, long) stay within your brown and orange brick walls.
First off, where is the hut? This building doesn't much look like a hut to me. Where's all the grass? Where's the sod? Where's the bare-breasted matriarch? I was not impressed right off the bat. I thought you had one of those bead drapes, but it turns out that it was a troupe of trick flies pulling a joke. It turns out that the flies out number the patrons by about 95 times. I wonder what attracts so many of them? Maybe it's the underlying urine smell.
The waitress, after a good, healthy pause, came over to our table. I guess she wanted us to think about what we wanted before she bothered us with menus. "Are you ready to order?" Uh, you just gave us the menus. "I'll come back later then." It turns out that what she meant was, "I'll leave now make you find me later. Just don't peek out back!"
Well, we found her - mark it up to good ol' South Dakota schoolin', but she was no match for us. We ordered our food, and again we sat waiting. Why doesn't our fan spin? Why is the TV off even though it's facing us? Why does the radio keep going out? And honestly, since when is Canadian bacon not a pork product? Did this just happen? When did Pizza Hut decide they could re categorize meats? "What's in 'pork ingredients'?" "That would be pork sausage and Italian sausage with a little spicing." "So, that's Canadian Bacon then?" No, Adam, it's not.
Well, we found the waitress again. "We ordered bread sticks, didn't we?" Oh, yes you did. I don't think they're ready, but I can check on them. Thanks, that's what I meant. I didn't actually want them. I wanted their status. While you're checking the status, maybe you turn that radio knob one tic one way or the other instead of getting 65% of "How You Remind Me" by Nickelback, which is 10 years old anyway. And check on those plants - I think they're either dead or fake or both.
She brings us our bread sticks. Actually, for seven people, she brings six plates and five bread sticks. And all within a shade of a century. Gee, thanks. I was a virgin before I came here, but it seems I couldn't wait anymore. Say hello to Miles Junior. He has his mother's eyes, and half her bread stick.
About now, I can't take my eyes off the shroom picture you have on the wall. It speaks to me. Maybe it's the hunger, but I could eat that painting. Maybe I'd get the power it harbors. Ok - I'm losing it. Oh, good the pizza's done. In fact, it almost beat the bread sticks here.
It's at this point that I think, who's running this joint? There is only one girl for 200 tables, and, let's not kid ourselves. She's not exactly the best and brightest that this franchise has to offer. She would blame most of the problems on the "computer" they have in the "back room." Apparently they put orders into this "computer" and it seems to have "crashed" so she had to use her "notebook" instead. That's a lot of quotes - I don't believe her.
The food was mostly good. The soda was excellent. And there weren't a lot of people there, so we had excellent privacy. I'm sorry if this letter is too long for your attention spans or if it contains words too big for your vocabulary, but I felt like I had to say what had to say.
Have a great day.
Miles Rausch should get his money back.