Yes, I see you there. But rather, choose not to see you there, asking the price of an unmarked banana on your way to catch a flight to Seattle. Because as Your Server at The Kitchen by Wolfgang Puck in LAX Terminal 6, my focus is on items of higher culinary significance. Like this overfull, scalding, latte-esque beverage without a lid I’m about to hand to a woman travelling solo with two toddlers.
I’m also super busy ignoring another frantic customer who’s been optimistically waiting 35 minutes for a Kitchen by Wolfgang Puck Fried Egg Sandwich that consistently disappoints. No one appreciates our consistency. Customers are assholes.
For example, you just missed someone complaining that their Kitchen by Wolfgang Puck Tuna Melt was not melted. That’s because it’s an untoasted sandwich with negligible cheese. When you order a Wolfgang Puck Burger, do you expect it to contain actual ground pieces of Wolfgang Puck? Exactly. Read the menu ingredients and shut your pie hole. No, we don’t have pie here at the Kitchen by Wolfgang Puck in LAX Terminal 6. Nobody has time for that, especially me. My shift ends in 47 minutes, thank Jesus.
As you stand in line to pay for your pedestrian banana, I notice you also grabbing the Chinoise Chicken Salad, a delicate blend of 13 cents worth of wilted greens topped with two chicken breast slivers and a whisper of wonton crumbs. Brave choice. That will be $19 with tax.
Ok. You’ve got to be kidding me. Are you really waving me down from the other end of the counter for a plastic fork? Look, lady, as Your Server at The Kitchen by Wolfgang Puck in LAX Terminal 6 I do not bother myself with the burdensome task of refilling plastic utensils. Grab a frickin’ spoon. Or a knife. Oh, those are out too? Then embrace the international fusion spirit of The Kitchen by Wolfgang Puck’s menu and eat that salad with your hands.
Yes, I’m one hundo-p aware we’re also out of napkins.
Excuse me for a moment, I need to halfheartedly attend to another unhappy customer complaining about their Kitchen by Wolfgang Puck Club Sandwich. Not enough meat. Rotten lettuce. Dry bread. No cheese. I’ll have you know the “cook” cut his finger shredding that lettuce (fyi, if you find a band-aid in your salad.) That’s why it’s called a club sandwich, biatch. Everyone’s unsatisfied. Join the club.
Alas, you cannot scare me with threats of calling my manager or scathing 1 star Yelp reviews full of quotes around words like “edible” and “food.” Because I am Your Server at The Kitchen by Wolfgang Puck in LAX Terminal 6, and in case you didn’t notice, Mr Puck is no where near the barely functioning kitchen behind me. Also, pretty sure I just heard them announce the doors are closing on your flight to Seattle.
But wait! Before you run off, as a token of my ambivalence, please accept this Kitchen by Wolfgang Puck bag containing a Grilled Seabass and undercooked Ham and Cheese Omelet that you definitely didn’t order.
Bon voyage or whatever.