What would we do without very expensive restaurants such as the Michelin-starred, where people pretend to know what they have ordered and then have no idea what they actually end up eating?
Or the hip, with-it establishments such as the Ivy, where people with ridiculous haircuts, riveted heads and silly tattoos are served by people with equally ridiculous haircuts, riveted heads and silly tattoos. Here, guests (not "customers", because "customers" are always right!) eat mussels in such a monstrous way that it makes you want to take them to the restroom and shove their heads down the nearest toilet. With weights across the back of their necks.
The answer is really very simple.
People you don't want to see strutting their teeth, "kinda-liking", "literallying", "obviouslying" or "super-ing" everything, and those you certainly don't need or want to eat your own meal in proximity to, need somewhere to go!
Let them eat cake . . . . . . as far away from me and you as possible.
Although I like goading the often overweight, bearded former Stasi yet otherwise very important employees standing outside with twirled wires coming out of their ears. I shout questions at them and when they ask me to calm down, I reply, pointing at the twirled wire thing, "Oh sorry, I thought it was a deaf aid from the awful shouty Lewis Capaldi muzak bound to be playing at incredible volume inside - mylovemylovemylovemylove"
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