The last two nights have been very good to me. If only I could take my money to the bank instead of the bar, I'd be happier in the mornings.
My only complaint: the cooks!
Why do they have to argue when they make an order wrong? I assume there is some confusion since we use handwritten checks/dupes but you would think they would understand my handwriting after four years. I hate when I pick up a sandwich on rye and say "this is supposed to be on wheat bread," and they fight with me until I dig up the ticket and shove it in their face, pointing at "on wheat." Then they grumble.
We've also got a little issue with random crankiness. The cooks generally like me. I'm not too difficult unless I have to put my bitch face on. But when I say 'Thanks, boo" or "You're the best," at least acknowledge my presence.