When a place you frequent is having a bad night, you can tell. When you look behind the bar toward the kitchen there's a tension you can see. I'm not sure if the place was short staffed, or simply not prepared. It was busy, I've been there when it was busy and I'm still not sure what was different.
It took a long time for our order to be placed. We ordered guacomole dip to go with our chips and salsa. It never showed up, and we asked about it. There was nothing wrong with the food but it took its time in arriving. In the meantime, the Barcelona/Real Madrid match was on, and it was entertaining to see there was one Madrid fan watching. He cheered when they tied it up, then got sad when Messi scored the game winner. Then the game got all thuggish, a bunch of men waving their purses at each other and it was all over.
We waited at least fifteen minutes for the bill to arrive, and the guacomole dip, which we never did receive, was on it.
I rarely do not tip, and last night was one of those times. The establishment had an off night, as can happen, so we're not going to dismiss it.
A fine return to Writers' Block last night. Chet Peters strafed the stage with F-Bombs during his feature. Rose Smith wowed us with a poem celebrating her daughters. Marshall cam back from exile and gave us some Meta-Five! The Race War continued. Some time soon I may even post some pictures. Hell, I still have not talked about Theresa Davis' first draft feature!
Next week is the last qualifying slam for IWPS. Since I will not be in the country for finals (assuming I get in, and it looks like I would be) I'm treating this like the last official slam of the year. Take that as you will.