My Impersonation of a Yelp Reviewer

It was a blustery Friday evening as we pulled into the parking lot of a new hamburger restaurant that just opened up in the local strip mall. I sometimes enjoy the freshness a cool breeze provides. Wind, like water (and fire), gives me a sense of renewal and purity, something I feel I lose touch with after spending the better part of the day searching for lost Jenna Jameson footage on my computer. But now, with the rain (or was it wind?), I feel at peace with my inner being. My yin has been yanged. My Confucius has been sayed. My pallet is cleansed and ready for my meal, and my readers on this highly trafficked website are eager to read my astute points of view of this new establishment when they need a break from searching for “legal asian teens.”

I should also mention earlier in the evening I talked to my mom on the phone. These conversations always delight me. After such conversations, I feel cleansed and ready to review restaurants. She asked how I was doing. I said “fine.” She asked if I was still with that one nice girl she liked. I said “yes.” She said she had to go because Wheel of Fortune was coming on. I said “Ok.” Then she hung up. What insight my mother has!

Now, I know you, fine and diligent Yelp reader, have a great appetite for internet literature and could read my musings for hours and not care less if you ever read any discernable opinions about the restaurant I visited. Ay, I know ye. But, as you have an appetite for my prose, I have an appetite to share my recordings of this establishment.

As previously stated, the wind was calm when arriving to the parking lot. My heart was dismayed when I could not find a valet anywhere. Am I to just park my orange ’95 Civic just anywhere? Amongst commoners? Oh, dear reader, please do not be too alarmed; you will be pleased to know my Civic, which I’ve named Betsy, was quite alright.

Now, after selecting a spot for my auto (which was quite difficult, because a tornado had passed through just 15 minutes, nay, 10 minutes prior, strewing refuse about) on this beautiful day in which no tornados passed through, I, being the gentlemen I am, opened the door for my lady…or at least I would have if one existed. Perchance, loyal followers, one of you is single?

Oh foolish heart! I apologize readers; you are probably too enthralled with this review to succumb to passions of the heart and loins. Such trivialities should not interfere with the tenuous business at hand!

After struggling against the hurricane-force winds, I finally reach the door of the establishment. And, might I say, my visceral reactions before entering were challenged.

The décor, upon entering, was so obviously modeled in the Norweigian architecture movement of the 1810s, a movement spearheaded by Henrik Ibsen, Ingmar Bergman, and Teemu Selanne, 3 of history’s most esteemed Norwegians. The ornate interior was highlighted by a giant, pastel castle. Oddly, the area surrounding the castle was inhabited primarily by children. Foul beasts, them all.

Prior to ordering my meal, I decide to relieve myself in the restroom. My disappointment upon entering must have been palpable for the other guests. The dank room reeked of, if I’m being polite, human waste, which was somewhat tempered by a Glade Plug-in (lavender, if memory serves). After doing my business, I was dismayed that rather than the Dyson Airblade*, there was another similar yet woefully ineffective hand dryer. Despite standing at the mechanism for 30 seconds, the lukewarm air emanating from the device did little to dry my hands. Minus one star for that alone. Exiting the latrine, I noticed on a sign-in sheet that it had been last cleaned 6 hours prior by a gentlemen named Marco (who I presumed is the maître d).

*Breaking character for a moment….those things are effing awesome.

I return from the rest facility and sit down at my table, which I had to scout out for myself because Marco was nowhere to be found. When no waitress came to ask for my order, I walked to the front of the room to ask why I had not been seated or served.

A young girl with an exotic name, Samantha I believe, said she was sorry with a puzzled look and said she could take my order here.

“Standing up?!” I exclaim in a horrified manner. But, I am one for avant-garde dining experiences, so maybe this facility will start the newest dining trend. I make my purchase and receive my food (in record time!) and proceed back to my table, which an ethnic looking women in possession of a baby stroller has since taken. I do not bother with the nomad and decide to find my own table.

Now, dear reader, we must briefly part ways. Imagine that now I am eating my meal, consisting of a cheeseburger and golden potato sticks Samantha called “french fries.” I’m not sure how the French would feel about such food, but I figure that now, while I eat, you would read this monologue from Shakespeare’s As You Like It, set in France:

"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard;
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything."

Oh Jacques, what a character. Methinks he would make for an excellent Yelp critic.

After eating my meal, I must say I was quite disappointed. For the astounding sum of $5, it is fair for a man to assume a lavish, 3-course meal. Alas, dear reader, it appears that I have been taken advantage of by the money-making beast. Gone are the days when restaurants would welcome weary travelers with open arms and provide them a satisfying meal for a reasonable fare.

The cheeseburger had all the essentials of a cheeseburger. It was indeed all there. Patty, ketchup, cheese, bun, pickles, onions.

Aren’t you glad you read on? Where else can you get such insight?

The French fries were salted and fried.

I promise you, I did not steal such findings from other reviewers. Nay, they likely will steal these discoveries from me.

Despite my meal having all the proper components I paid for, I still have this nagging desire to complain. I mean, colleagues have told me the sum I paid is pretty standard for what I received. But I’m going to deduct a star anyway because of the (DON’T FORGET TO INSERT BIG WORD).

The food was good, about what I expected, but still….minus 1 star.

After also deducting stars for the latrine situation and the lack of valet parking, that leaves 1 star. But, I must admit I was impressed by the whimsical decoration. So, I must add half a star. All told, my final tally for the restaurant was 1.5/5 stars.

As I strolled outside into the heavy snowfall, I began to ponder if eating out was even worth it. I mean, if I find so many things I don’t enjoy about the experience, why bother? But then I remembered: I have thousands of colleagues on Yelp that loathe everywhere they eat just as much as I do. It is our job, nay, our DUTY to report everything we hate about restaurants, even if they are trivial things nobody really cares about.

I sat in my Civic a long while on that 75 degree evening, thinking about my role in this life. I took out my official Yelp Reviewer identification card and recited the Yelp motto over and over again to myself: “Bitch Just to Bitch.” I felt better, knowing I was doing a great deed for mankind.

As I exited the parking lot, I wondered what my next dining adventure would be. Needless to say, I don’t think I will be going back to McDonald’s again.

Sincerely,

Adam T.

California State Dominguez Hills

Class of 2013, Political Science