You don't need to read this. These posts are really for me and my future most likely nonexistent children and grandchildren who will say things like "What were you like?" and I'll be all "I wonder if my blog is still floating around out there...you can read it... and see pictures!"
Or, maybe I'll still be writing My Mundane Life in Song when I am a retiree, when I will have plenty of time to write songs to appease my readers.
I digress...
D and I awoke about four hours after we returned from the wedding, feeling ill and hungover and delirious and exhausted and sad. We'd had an argument the night (morning) before. All week I'd been saying "D, I really want to get room service. When will we ever be able to afford room service? This is a great opportunity!" M and A got room service and said it was good. D thought this was a great idea, so when we were filling out the room service card the night before he was all "What do you want?" and I was like "Scrambled eggs, toast, juice... everything!" He checked off everything I wanted and that was it. I was like "Aren't you going to get anything?" and he was like "I have stuff here. You know. I have the crackers and the cheese and candy I bought. I'll eat that."
We had a small fight, where I yelled "Why do you have to be so cheap?" and he yelled "Why do you have to be so judgmental? I'm just being efficient! And not wasteful!" and I yelled "It's like 30 cents of waste! And it's the last time we will ever be in Buenos Aires! I think it would be nice to have the last meal together here and have it not be crackers!" We went to bed not-mad, and I still have never ordered room service in my life.
I decided, instead, that I'd get lunch with M and A that afternoon after we checked out, because getting room service alone while there someone else in your room is depressing.
After packing, we headed down to the lobby and checked out at noon.
The four of us deliriously headed down to the Recoleta in search of a restaurant, and ended up at the Design Mall. Again. I was so hungover and dehydrated and tired and insane. I said "Dudes, all I want is some scrambled eggs. I would kill for some scrambled eggs. How awesome would scrambled eggs be?"
M agreed. There was a Hard Rock Cafe in the Design Mall that we'd made fun of earlier in the week, but it now seemed really appealing. "Dudes," I said, "I'd eat at Hard Rock right now. I bet they have greasy fabulous American brunch. What do you say?"
On our way to the Hard Rock, M noticed that this cafe that we'd eaten at earlier in the week (where we had an amazing dessert) had a sign claiming to have eggs. We decided to eat there, since eating at Hard Rock is cheesy, even when you're starving to death.
It was freezing out (freezing! so not only was I hungover with a headache and starving and dehydrated and delirious, I was shivering) so walking into the restaurant was a relief. The hostess, however, sat us outside. I have no idea. Everyone else was sitting inside the restaurant. We were literally the only people sitting outside in this shelter thing that was allegedly heated but wasn't really warm. Because it was winter. We sat for a while, wondering why she'd put us out there. I was really cold, and trying not to be bitchy about it, but kept saying "Why are we out here? Why us? Why did she make us sit here? Why does everyone else get to sit inside? I'M COLD!" D talked to her and she was apologetic and brought us back into the restaurant. We still don't know why she made us sit out there.
Inside, we were served bread with a nice cheese spread that we inhaled.
M and I both ordered scrambled eggs, and D and A ordered the same omelette. I asked for a diet coke, and the others ordered coffee and orange juice. D also asked for more of the cheese spread.
The coke and orange juices arrived, but no coffee. No cheese spread.
Half an hour later the waitress appeared and we asked for water, which never came.
In the middle of this, some guy yelled at A in Spanish about leaving his camera on the floor and put it on a chair at the end of our table.
Half an hour later the food came and we were psyched! They brought it out, covered, and placed it behind D and A. We were even more hungry than we'd been. When they opened the first platter, M and I were like "Man, they really messed up your omelettes!" It was a pile of mystery food - maybe there was a total of one egg in it - and ham and peas and potatoes or something. When they placed it in front of M, we were confused. They opened the second platter, which looked more like an omelette, and gave that to A. And then the second omelette to D. And then the second order of "scrambled eggs" to me.
OK, folks. Scrambled eggs. Scrambled eggs should HAVE EGGS. Scrambled eggs is not a pile of stuff involving ham and vegetables and no eggs.
I was livid. Not only did we not have cheese spread or water or coffee, not only had we waited for hours for our food, not only was I starving to death and dehydrated and about to lose my mind before this even happened, they served me MEAT!
A traded his omelette with M, because M really had her heart set on eggs.
I just sat there, pile o' meat in front of me, trying not to explode. I'd have ordered something else, except that it would have taken another hour and I really didn't want to be there for another minute.
M ended up being My Hero, because she, for whatever reason, had a yogurt with her in her purse.
No good. Moral? Please do not order scrambled eggs if you ever visit Buenos Aires.
We waited for what seemed like eternity for the waitress to reappear and asked for the bill. She seemed unphased by the fact that none of us had eaten much of what we ordered. D explained to her that "scrambled eggs" had obviously been mistranslated, but she didn't care. We asked for the check. It didn't come.
Someone else finally brought it to us a hundred years later, and it wasn't our check.
So yeah. Mind almost lost, but all was remedied by our finding a cute little cafe about an hour later with the sweetest waitress of all time. I had a sandwich and felt sane.
We went back to the hotel, grabbed our luggage, and hopped a car to the airport.
I slept through take off because I was so tired. I literally woke up, mid-flight, having no idea what had happened.
I think I slept for 8 hours on the flight home.
My feet were swollen again, but I didn't care.
We hopped a shuttle back to Manhattan, I said "good-bye" to D after my super buzzed us in (she is too cute - being awake at 7am on a Sunday looking out her window), and I fell asleep for another three hours.
At work I was met with "You look great!," so I guess it was a good vacation.
And now I am here, and now you will never have to read another post about Buenos Aires again!
Finis.
1 comment:
Except for my post about the cops. Which I will write, I promise, but you have to cut me some slack because we JUST MOVED. (This is going to be one of those times in my life that I look back on and say, "Now, how did I do that?")
Also, the yogurt was left over from... room service! I didn't want to leave it in the mini bar because I'd already paid for it.
Also, room service isn't all that, because you have nowhere good to eat it. It's hard to eat it in the bed. Also, she spilled our coffee, and everything was covered in coffee. Fortunately, stuff was wrapped up. I guess they anticipate coffee spillage. (Spills? Spillage? What's the difference?)
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