You are what you eat

There's bound to be a day when you go to a restaurant, the waiter is nowhere in sight or the person sitting in the next cubicle gets his order first even though it is apparent that you are already there before him. Indeed, such travails that include the waiter mixing up our orders or the food comes ten minutes too late that it's now lukewarm draw ire out of us. We'll shoot daggers when the unsuspecting waiter finally comes with our food while fumbling for apologies and drown him in sarcasm. Worse, we'll be more than obliged to pull the strings as irked consumers and have the waiter's lackluster performance reported to the power-that-be.

I cannot deny that I sometimes become irritated by this poor show of service, which, if happens, I'll walk out. But most of the time, I tend to symphatise with the waiters. The restaurant could be packed to the capacity or the floor could be understaffed. There are plenty of reasons to explain why the standard of the service is not up to scratch. I could clearly envision myself rushing to take orders from costumers, cleaning the table, and bringing the food to the table and in the process, getting myself all confused and burnt out. Mixing orders would only become natural after such ordeal.

Maybe it's all down to luck.