photo by j0mamma [flickr]

Look, I know the Capitol Hill stalwarts have to be all reverential toward the B&O (especially in light of their impending, untimely demise and reincarnation) but is it ok to call out a neighborhood fixture when enough’s enough? I’ve been going to the B&O for over ten years (off and on) and there really aren’t very many places that have left me as disappointed as consistently as they have. Last night, bar none, was the worst. Relatively, it’s nothing, but as the final straw it was huge. The story is below the fold (along with some strong language and not a little bit a whinging).

A friend and I decided we wanted some coffee (to go) to end our night. It was a little past 10 PM on a Sunday and we agreed that the B&O was a much better bet than a Safeway Starbucks or driving to a suburb to find a 24-hour Bigfoot. Thinking this wouldn’t be an inordinately long adventure, she dropped me off at the front door and drove to the Starbucks parking lot to wait. I walked into a crowded waiting area but fortuitously found myself second in line for to-go orders. I waited about 5 minutes for the woman in front of me to get her order, pay, and leave when I spotted two young girls sneaking up on my right – I could tell they were aiming to slip in front me so I offered body language to the effect of “don’t even think about it you little shits”. Unfortunately, they didn’t speak body language, and the distracted and ADD-riddled B&O workers didn’t notice that I just got dicked. I thought to myself, “Be cool, it’s just coffee. Yeah, they knowingly screwed you over but, really, is it worth it to make a scene? Nah, I’ll chill – I’m not fighting terrorists.” So, I waited. And waited. And waited. And waited some more. The two girls ordered an entire cake and several miscellaneous items and while the hard-working B&O server raced to fill their order, the girl provided her card and paid ~$20 without tipping. Finally, 15 minutes later (20 minutes after I got in line) a dopey kid hopped behind the register to take my order. Sleepily he asked, “What do you want man?” Normally, I’m a pretty casual, relaxed guy. Normally, I wouldn’t skip a beat and respond politely to a question posed in that manner but at that moment I was seething. I looked at him incredulously and thought, “I’ve been waiting twenty fucking minutes to place an order for two espresso drinks and you seriously want to take that casual, dismissive tone with me? Don’t you pay attention to anything? Don’t you have at least a little sucking up to do right now? Fuck!” But instead of saying that, in my typical Seattle passive-aggressive manner, I politely placed my drink order. “One 16 oz soy chai latte and one 8 oz vanilla soy latte, please.” The dopey kid furiously pushed buttons on his screen. No, I mean seriously, he was pounding on that damned screen. 45 seconds and a 100 keystrokes later he looked up and asked me, slowly, “What is it that you wanted?” I repeated my order. Slowly. He pushed buttons again. “What size were those?” I stated my order again for the third time. He finally punched it in and asked me for $8.10. “What?” I asked. “There’s no way it’s $8.10 for a grande drink and a short drink.” I repeated my order again. He read off the charges making sure that I knew it was $0.50 extra for soy and another $0.50 extra for chai. “Ok, whatever,” I said and handed him a ten. I dropped the $0.90 in the tip jar and pocketed the dollar and stepped back from the register to wait for my drinks. It’d been 25 minutes since I walked in the door. I noted to myself that this was an unusual night. I’d probably been to the B&O 500 or more times over the years and never had I waited that long to place an order. But, since I had placed my order and paid, my mood lightened again – “I’m through the hard part,” I thought. “It’ll just be a couple minutes now.” My friend sent me a text: “Are you done yet?” I texted back: “5 minutes.”

“Ok.”

Ten minutes later and my drinks hadn’t been started. I was stewing again. “How long does it take to make two fucking drinks? I’ve been here almost 40 minutes! JESUS.” Of course, I didn’t say that out loud. Instead, I waited politely until the host noticed my desperate expression and asked if I’d been helped.

“Oh yeah, I was helped 45 minutes ago. Now I’m just waiting.”

“I’m sorry, we’re very busy right now.”

“I ordered two coffee drinks to go. That’s it.”

“Of course, let me check on them for you. … They’ll be right up.”

“Thanks.”

Another 10 minutes went by – it’d been over 45 minutes since I walked in the door and I was fucking furious. Finally, the woman making my drinks brought them to the counter and called them out. There was one 8 oz soy vanilla latte and one 16 oz iced soy chai latte. I laughed (because at that point it had become espresso-slapstick) and told her that the soy chai was supposed to be hot. I even tried to sympathize with her plight by shrugging my shoulders and offering her a friendly look (besides, her feet looked like they hurt). I stepped back with the 8 oz firmly in hand and waited. She quickly brought out a hot 12 oz soy chai. I paused. She paused. I smiled and decided not to point out that it still wasn’t the right drink (I ordered and paid for a 16 oz, not a 12 oz). However, as I went to grab the drink, she and I exchanged glances and before I could get a word out she said, “It’s ok.” And she didn’t say it as a value judgment. She wasn’t trying to say that my drink was “ok to drink”. She said “it’s ok” assuming that I was about to apologize for asking her to make the drink I ordered 20 minutes ago. The drink I paid over $4.00 for. The drink that she got wrong. Twice. I stopped cold and cocked my head hoping my brain didn’t ooze out of my ears. Then I grabbed the drink, smiled, and left.

At some point, atmosphere and great Eggs Benedict doesn’t cut it. I’m sorry B&O but your ass has been dumped. That was the singular worst experience I’ve had at a restaurant on Capitol Hill in the past ten years.