Angry? Mad as hell and you can't take it anymore? Get something off your chest and it could be published online and/or in print. Bitches are anonymous and may be edited for length, grammar, spelling and our lenient standards of propriety.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
I came to your hotel pub for brunch Sunday, to eat with some friends. A wedding party was taking up the three booths on the lower level of your pub. To get up the three steps the hostess called for 2 volunteers, one from the kitchen and one from the hotel, to assist me, in my wheelchair up the three steps. At no point was there any heavy lifting, as the back tires of the chair remained in contact with the 3 wide steps. The two guys did a great job, I thanked them for their help.
Three hours later, after our party of 7 regaled each other with tales of whatever-the-hell, we paid our bills, added our tips (I know, okay! Write your own Tips Bitch!). The hostess said she would call for 2 guys again. Would be but a moment. 20 minutes later, the restaurant deserted, two guys show up. As a sidebar- the kitchen guy had skulked out 15 mins before, not making eye contact. Klassy!
Before you got my money I got assistance right away, but after I'm all paid, I'm on my own, is that it?
That, my hostessfriend, is a load of bullshit. Hey, kitchen guy: when I was 20 I moved to Toronto (pre-injury). My bar/restaurant wasn't accessible. Whenever I heard there was someone who needed help up our 3 steps, I made it a point of pride in my job to help with a smile, and said when they leave to ask their waitress for me by name, and I would complete the job.
I wasn't going to fill out a comment card because I was pretty angry at the time. I am however writing a letter to the pub manager, cc'ing both the hotel manager and the gentleman who owns the hotel, the apartment I live in next door, and a bunch of other buildings in town.
While you're at it, put in a permanent ramp to the 4 inch step to the doorway to the lobby. Having to track down a doorman just to go in the front door is getting tired for me. Thanks! —Wheels, Side of Bacon
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