To: General Manager
Ambrosia Bar & Grill
Dear Sir or Madam,
I am writing to inform you of the putrid experience we had at your restaurant this Saturday past. I am afraid that the horrors began as soon as we pulled into the parking lot, as there was no space to park our bus. The situation worsened as we walked through your doors, for there in the lobby were tons of patrons simply standing around, apparently loitering.
Furthermore, when we approached the hostess to be seated, she had the nerve to tell us we would have to wait over forty-five minutes until we could even sit at a table. As we waited, the loiterers in the lobby made our group feel very uncomfortable. Esmeralda, a member of our party, did not appreciate the gaggle of unattended children pulling on her beard. And Stumpy Pete is convinced that some of them made off with several of his prosthetics.
When you finally allowed our tiny party of twenty-three the God-given right to sit down, we found the table to be most unaccommodating. Several of our ‘little people’ felt very awkward sitting at a table that was clearly not designed for them. Perhaps you are unfamiliar with the Americans with Disabilities Act, but all public businesses are required to be accessible for those who are different from the norm. This includes an ergonomic-appropriate seating apparatus for someone like Sumi the Human Head, whom I’m sorry to say was forced to spend the evening in a bread basket atop the table.
Your menu was equally uninviting. Only about half of our party could actually order from it, as there was not one live entrée offered for Fangor the Night-Beast, no crude oils or raw ores for Grotto the Man-Machine, and no insect dishes for Lilly the Spider Queen (a flagrant snub of haute cuisine in my humble opinion). And even in the instance where you could have accommodated us, the waitress refused to put in a request to the kitchen for a dozen raw eggs for Jamjam the Hindu Snake Man.
We especially did not like it when the waitress reprimanded Gordo Loco, another member of our party, for dipping his porterhouse steak in the fudge at the ice cream bar, as there was no sign prohibiting such action. Nor did we appreciate the refusal on your bartender’s part to comply with the simply request to set Matilda’s head on fire. I mean, what is wrong with your staff? Perhaps you should ponder this if you wish to remain in business.
It saddens me greatly that such gross prejudice still occurs in today’s age. When will we finally reach that distant utopian vision of universal brotherhood and mutual acceptance? As for now, your establishment might as well go one-step further and hang a sign on your front door, declaring clearly and forcefully:
NO CIRCUS FREAKS PERMITTED!
Regretfully,
Pansy the Faceless Pig Boy