"Char" Broiled Ribs?

When I was tiny little I went somewhere with my grandma and my uncle. I forget where, but I remember thinking, "If they left me out here, how am I going to get back home?"

We decided to eat brunch at a small and probably family-run diner. My uncle pulled his 19-foot Cadillac into the lot, we hopped out and went inside. It was deserted, but the atmosphere was friendly.

My uncle was moderately particular when he ordered his eggs: The yolks had to be a little runny. About 15 minutes later we got our food, but my uncle was displeased. His yolks were as dry as Arizona. My grandma tried to convince him to eat them anyway, but his mind was made up. I cringed when he returned them. I had never seen anyone return food before.

Fast forward about 20-ish years. I was out for a lovely Christmas-type dinner with friends at a chain restaurant and decided this was an event to splurge on. I ordered their chicken and rib dinner with roasted potatoes.

When I got my plate, the roasted potatoes were looking rather french fry-ish, so I kindly notified our waitress. She apologized and took my plate. About 10 per cent of two hours later she returned with my food. Potatoes? Good. Chicken? Good. Ribs? They were.... charcoal. My friends told me to return them, instead of donating them to some needy art student.

I've never returned food before, but when a manager stopped by to ask how our meal was, I informed him that my ribs were completely overcooked. One glance at my plate and he agreed with me, took my plate and walked away.

Thirty minutes later, as everyone was ordering dessert, my dinner finally arrived. Everything was correct. The ribs were now a more healthy brown and the sauce was actually saucy. With mixed feelings I ate absolutely every last bit of food on my plate. I felt horrible that so much chicken and ribs from my first plate was wasted. Those poor animals died for what? A cooking lesson for the chef? Their lives were worth more than that. So, despite being stuffed, I continued to eat until eveything was gone.

The manager apologized to me once more and said he had taken care of my meal for me. The waitress stopped by and apologized as well. I wasn't angry, so I told her not to worry. "I know it's not your fault. You didn't cook it." I said.

When the bill arrived, I was happy to see a big fat zero. I was expecting a fight, but was pleasantly surprised. I don't know if it was good customer service or Christmas. And I didn't care.