I-I-I know-o-o just what you are-r-r

Y’all. Jed is dead in my eyes. This morning on the way to breakfast he admitted something to me that never should have been spoken aloud. Earlier, before getting in the car together, I had taken his car up to the coffee shop to get my morning Joe. Those who know me well know I don’t like a whole lot of ancillary noise in the background. It’s hard enough for me to hear normal conversations without having the incessant buzzing of music or wind noise in the background. While I have a stereo in my Jeep, in fact, I just installed it…again…within the last six months, I rarely, if ever, use it. JED, however, always has the stereo in his car on at ridiculous levels because “the kids love the music”. So when I got in his car this morning I was greeted by Ryan Gaycrest doing the Top 40 countdown. I decided to just live in Rome. Doughtry was on first and the song was a’ight. Then they interviewed washed up “The Hoff” (WHY HAS THAT MAN STARTED REFERRING TO HIMSELF IN THE THIRD PERSON ALA “SUEDE”???) Then they played some more “music” and everything started sounding the same to me. I eventually just turned it off.

When I returned to the casa I asked Jed if he wanted to go to breakfast with me n’ the boys. We decided, after a 10-year hiatus, to take a trip to The Omelettry, a local “favorite”. As the name suggests, they’re pretty famous for their omelettes. I used to really love the place p.j. (Pre-Jed). But Jed doesn’t like omelettes that much, “because they’re too eggy”. Not to mention, the place is cursed with shitty service. But I’ll get to that in a second.

When we were all belted in on the way to The Omelettry, I mentioned to Jed how today’s music all sounds the same to me and I can’t tell “Paper Airplane” from “Can’t wait to see you again”. He said, “there is ONE song I’m a little addicted to right now that I’m ashamed to admit. It’s a little Miley Cyrus-esque.” And I said, “Did you just say you’re a fan of Miley Cyrus?” (Not that I was being judgmental AT ALL) He said, “No. It’s her predecessor”. I asked, “Christian Aguiwhora”? No. Not her… “Brittney Spears?” And he says, “YES!” I slammed on the brakes trying to get him to smash his head into the windshield. I said, “THAT “womanizer womanizer womanizer womanizer womanizer womanizer womanizer womanizer womanizer womanizer womanizer womanizer womanizer womanizer womanizer song?” Seriously folks, that’s all it says. And he got all giddy like a 14-year-old school girl and burst into song. I reminded him that I wasn’t into 14 year-old girls or 17-year old boys, but he just pressed on that it was the “greatest song on the radio today.”

Enough about that.



The Omeletry: I honestly don’t know how this place continues to rank as Austin’s top favorite breakfast stop for the last 25 years. Have we REALLY accepted being treated like shit when we go out to eat? There’s a FEW things The Omeletry does right. But there’s SO much they do wrong. Let’s start with the “right”. The wait to get in isn’t too horrible. 20-minutes, tops, despite the crowd of people out front. Once you get in, the “hostess” is on you like stink on shit. She immediately gets you water, coffee, menus, and what ever else your heart desires. For folks with kids, especially, she plops down a fist full of toys/action figures for the kids to play with at the table. We discovered the reason for this is because the rest of the “service” goes down the shitter in a matter of minutes. This is their attempt to keep the kids settled while waiting, but kids have limits that the restaurant hasn’t figured out yet.

We sat there for the next fourteen minutes waiting for someone to come take our order while watching scores of people who had been waiting outside with us come in, be seated, order, AND GET THEIR FOOD before we even got a chance to order. I had my coffee refilled twice before I finally asked some woman standing nearby if we could possibly get someone to come get our order. It seems, as evidenced from this sign:



that The Omeletry doesn’t assign waitstaff to a table, much less a section. It’s all a “team work” approach (which means the hostess wasn’t really a hostess, rather she was a member of “the team”)! It sounds like it works well, in theory, this whole teamwork concept. But what ends up happening is you have 12 team members circling the restaurant like buzzards not knowing who has taken care of which aspect of the customer experience. You never see the same person twice. IE: The woman who sat us and took our drink order was not the woman who took our order was not the woman who brought us our food…but, ironically, the woman who sat us WAS the woman I had to pay out to. It makes it difficult to decide how much to tip, or whether to tip at all, because you don’t want to leave nothing for the shitty service and you want to reward the folks who DID take care of you.

The food was mediocre at best. Frankly, by the time we got our food (while we watched people seated after us getting their food and finishing it and leaving) I was so pissed that I really couldn’t enjoy it and tell you if it was fantastic or not. If I’m being completely honest, all of our plates were completely empty, so it couldn’t have been horrible…then again, by the time the food got there we were so fucking starving that I would have given a stab at eating pussy at that point. Jed and I agreed in the car on the way home that it’d be another 10 years before we went there again. And then I turned the radio on to be greeted with, “Boy don’t try to hide-d-d I-I know-o ju-ust what you are-r womanizer womanizer womanizer womanizer womanizer womanizer womanizer womanizer womanizer womanizer womanizer womanizer womanizer womanizer womanizer” while Jed and the boys danced in their seats all the way home.