Last evening Rob and I went to a jazz concert in a park. Before the concert, though, we stopped for dinner at a burger place that just recently moved in. Neither Rob nor I had ever eaten at this place or any other franchise belonging to this burger joint chain, but we had heard good things about it.

We were not impressed. At all.

1. We walked in and my first impression of the place was that there were peanut shells all over the fucking floor. ALL OVER. I realize that some people derive some sort of pleasure from tossing their peanut shells all over the floor, but some other people (me) do not derive pleasure from stepping through them on their way to their table. Especially in flip-flops. Eew. It's one thing at a baseball stadium, but we were in a restaurant. If you are going to provide free peanuts in your restaurant, you either need to provide containers for people to put their shells in or you need to hire someone whose full time job it is to sweep the floor. Call me uptight, but I expect public eating places to be CLEAN.

2. The entire decor "theme" of the place was framed reviews and certificates announcing how great this restaurant is. "Best Burger of 2003" - "Best Burger of 2004" - "Best Burger of 2005" - you get the idea. These accolades were all issued from the same magazine. Every single one - the same magazine! It's fine to display a complimentary article or the most recent "Best of" certificate, but when every inch of wall space is covered with praise (all from the same magazine, no less!) you are trying too hard. And in my experience, a person or place that is trying too hard to impress me is doing so because they actually suck.

3. Below the list of burgers and hot dogs available to order there was a list of toppings. Some had asterisks next to them, some did not. At the bottom was a note that indicated that the asterisk meant "upon request only." I assumed that meant that the non-asterisked items would come standard, especially since, for the most part, the toppings that did not have an asterisk were normal things like ketchup, mayo, mustard, pickles, etc. Only if I wanted any of the "upon request only" items would I need to make a request for toppings. Right? So I told the cashier I wanted a bacon cheeseburger and she said, "What do you want on it?" And I said, "What comes with it will be fine." And she said, "You have to tell me every thing you want on it." And I said, "Even if they're toppings that aren't asterisked?" And she said, "Yes." Okay, fine. But if I have to request every damn item I want on my burger, then shouldn't every damn item in the list have an asterisk beside it?

3 1/2. So then we sat and waited for-freaking-ever for the food to be ready. We waited and waited and waited and I bitched about how it was taking so long and how stupid their sign was and how nasty the floor was and how it was SO HOT in there and how it's highly suspicious that they only have praise from one magazine, and how if they had received praise from any other magazine we would know because they would post it ALL OVER THEIR WALLS except I guess it would actually be put on the ceiling because the walls are already completely covered with praise. You know, from just that one magazine. (I'd like to take this opportunity to thank Rob for not slapping the shit out of me or even politely requesting that I please shut the fuck up. You are the best husband in the world. However, do not expect me to make you a certificate that says so and wallpaper our house with it because how fucking lame is that?)

4. Finally the food was ready, and they handed it to us in a paper bag. You know, like to-go. Only we weren't to-go, we were eating in. So I started watching and they gave everyone their food in a paper bag. This offended me more than the peanut shells. Wasteful much, assholes?

5. My burger was fine, but it was NOT worthy of Best Burger of 2003, 2004, or 2005. And the fries were so bad I had to use ketchup, which I never do. And did I mention how I had to crunch through peanut shells to get to my table which was apparently located under a heat lamp and how Rob and I could barely hold a conversation over the walls which were screaming LOOK HOW FUCKING GREAT THIS PLACE IS?

Yeah, we won't be going back.