By now my readers are aware of how much I hate sushi (hint: a lot) and how I’d rather be the City of Sweetwater’s comptroller than even look at sushi. I’m not even sure what a comptroller is, but I can only assume it’s the guy who controls who gets comped at restaurants.
Not only have I been to RA once, but I’ve been there twice. It’s like if Magic Johnson held a press conference telling the world he got HIV again. You’d be all like, “why, Magic? Couldn’t you have just protected yourself?” And Magic would just say, “I already had HIV, I figured I didn’t have to give a crap at this point.” That’s how I felt, minus the whole dying of a shitty disease thing. Except Magic doesn’t seem to fucking die, so I’m beginning to suspect he lied about having HIV because he’s an attention whore. Next we’re going to hear he was magically cured of HIV by God or something. Magic Johnson is like the Virgin Mary of AIDS patients.
The first time at RA I had a Guinness and gave everyone the evil “I don’t fucking trust you” eye. I was with a group of people I didn’t even know for an event I didn’t find out about until I was already sitting and shiftily drinking my beer.
What do the shifty eyes look like?
The second time was different, because I was hungrier than Magic Johnson’s HIV. I made a sacrifice for a girl who actually likes to eat raw fish and possibly other gross things like ceviche and Nicki Minaj songs. We ordered our food from what had to be the most inattentive waitress since whoever was in charge of catering at Auschwitz. First, it took entirely too long for anyone to come to us and we were seated smack dab in the middle near the hostess. Second, when she did come, it took a fortnight to receive our drinks. And third, my meal arrived about 15 minutes before her meal did. I may well be low-balling that number; it took a seriously long amount of time. I had to get her to comp the meal like a good comptroller does, but meanwhile mine had been sitting there collecting dust, which is dead skin cell particles and that’s gross as shit.
Magic Johnson is like the Virgin Mary of AIDS patients.
Why was the service so shitty? Was the waitress cooking the food as well? The place was at like 70% capacity, if that, so it’s not like it was an extremely busy night. There were plenty of other servers around, so it wasn’t a shortage of staff. She tried to blame it on the cooks, but you know what, I blame it on her and her inability to write shit down. I know all you hot shot servers think you can memorize everyone’s shitty order all the time and it’s such a fucking hassle to jot down a couple of things in chicken scratch. Most of the time you nail it, but every once in a while you fuck it up and miss an order. You know how you would go from a 99% success rate to a 100% success rate? By putting ink on a goddamn sheet of paper.
I really hate that about servers. One thing is to have the guy come back and go, “I’m sorry, I spaced on your order, what was it again?” That’s a minor annoyance, but not really an issue. But when the person forgets entirely, that’s punishable by death. I’m fairly certain there’s something in the Old Testament about that shit, but I can’t remember. I should’ve written it down.
I don’t recommend RA for two reasons: 1) Sushi sucks. 2) Still pissed about what happened that one time.
People who would enjoy it
People who would not enjoy it
- 5829 SW 73rd St
- Miami, FL 33143
- (305) 341-0092