me and my DSLR were chased out of a South Park district burger bar early Friday evening.
Mr. Manager, Juanenito, didn’t like the way I did things. Mind you, I was just waiting for my medium rare cheeseburger to come…
Yours truly took some well framed shots of the 3 day old restaurant, was finishing up the cream of broccoli soup and chatting up the hostess when Mr. Manager came over. He didn’t introduce himself, but insisted on asking who I was. Just the little ‘ol me I said. The gentle giant insisted next time – no dude, I don’ t think there’s gonna be a next time – I must identify/introduce myself before eating/clicking/sitting. I retorted I was merely diner, and seeing this is the only 3rd day of ops, they SORELY needed the business. Mr. Manager insisted I did things the wrong way.
After his huffing and puffing, I changed tactics and attempted to strike a friendlier conversation by asking if the restaurant has indeed only been only 3 days. He hums and haahs without looking at me, I ask again, he turns his back, walks away, goes behind the bar and starts gloating to the bartender(?): I knew he was a “blah blah blah.” Bartender replies with wonderment: how did you know! etc.
Hey, genius, I’m the ONLY patron in your main dining room on a Friday nite, grubbin’ solo, rockin’ an SLR camera, clicking away (no flash, NATCH).
Continuing on, Manager Jaunenitos mentions, all within ear shot, he knows how bloggers worked and apparently we should introduce ourselves before 1) eating 2) whipping out the cameras. The take home thought of the evening: He didn’t like “the way [I] did it”.
With that in my mind, I knew Manager Jaunenito simply didn’t like my blue motorcycle jacket. I mean, it’s not the fact that the rest of the diners were black, it’s not my messy hair, it’s not my cheap watch. Had to be motorcycle jacket… So I got up and left, all the while looking at the burger the server was about to bring out. Manager Jaunenito wanted to do me a favor by paying for my $5 cream of broccoli soup. Such a class act, brother!
PS. Apparently no one is important unless you write for the Los Angeles Times. It’s all quite a shame really, because the burger, which Jared, the uber nice waiter, mentioned was on the way, looked mighty lovely from afar.
836 S. Grand Ave
feel free to email Mr. “e. jaunenito pavon II” – general manager (all in lower case, ala e. e. cummins)
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