Would you like to leave a tip?

(Image definitely used without permission... Just like my time was by the employees of the above-mentioned corporation.)

A tip? Here's a tip:

Consumers do not buy products, they buy benefits. Let's go ahead and list the benefits we received at a recent visit to Denny's.

1) I'm not eating there any more

2) I don't have to ever go back.

 Was it worth the money? Probably not. I could have figured that out as we sat for 15 minutes in the nigh-unto-condemnation lobby. Finally, after almost having to light myself on fire to get attention, we were seated. Being seated, which normally is a great sign of progress towards receiving food at a restaurant,proved only to be a holding pace until our final charges were determined, as though we were a group of condemned criminals. (And, honestly, even that is a bit too generous, as the gruel line in a prison yard would have been better tasting, and healthier.)

 Finally, after feigning death and trying to trip an employee to get attention, we did get attention... enough for them to ask us what we wanted to drink. Water, which flows freely from faucets here in the Freedom-loving land of the United States of America, took about as long to get as though they had to go out back, witch a well with some small sapling branches, get the zoning permit to dig a well, and finally, dig and bring up some water. 

 Then, came the torturous process of ordering food (the term "food" is used loosely here... Crisco shaped into pancakes, sausage, and hash-browns, with the accompanying food coloring is a more fitting description.), We placed our orders, and were again fated to an eternity of waiting. 

 It came... Finally. Only to be the wrong order. Of course, we were too polite to correct them, and we rolled with it. Besides, who knows how long it would have taken to correct the problem.

 Then, the culminating moment in the climax before the bitter denuemont, someone was charged $6.59 for three pieces of french toast. Incidentally, that was the same price for three pieces of french toast to be accompanied with an entire dead pig (sausage, bacon, and even a grilled, cut in half hot dog), hash-browns, and two eggs. The waiter, or lack thereof, never once mentioned, "Oh hey, by the way... for the same price, you can get a real meal." So, we carried on with our blissful lives, up until the moment when the check did finally come (which didn't happen until after a girl in our group had to pretend to be pregnant and the father was our waiter). 

 When we reached the glamours checkout counter (a piece of glass held up by the skeletons  of fallen brethren), the manager of the place refused to talk to us about the high-priced, egg-soaked wonder bread that cost $7 (after tax) which we had to conjure up demons to head into the back and bring out for us. She said that, "That's how much it costs. You should have double-checked." I wanted to say, "You're right, we didn't look NEARLY hard enough to try to find another restaurant surrendering and coming here." 

So, ultimately, the tip I left?

Well, I did fart as I walked out the door. And even that was probably too generous.