It must be killing you to know where we went, and I don’t want you to die, so I’ll tell you. Applebee’s, America’s Neighborhood Bar & Grill. But we did not go to just any Applebee’s. No, Emily and I chose to go to the most evil of all Applebee’s, the one in Times Square.
Times Square, if you ask me (and you are asking me, since you’re reading this), is the most gnarly, godforsaken place in all of New York City. Each time I go there, it is by force or mistake. Times Square is where talent goes to die; where wax goes to be made into Kim Kardashian. So, of course, Emily and I decided to “keep it classy,” according to her text, and eat at this particular Applebee’s location.
We were greeted by a Russian hostess (obvi) upon entering, and she sat us at a booth for eight people. This made me think I should order from the Weight Watchers menu (but we’ll get to that later). Once we were seated, Emily and I saw the CUTEST Chinese boy celebrating his third birthday with his mom and dad (his construction paper crown informed us of said celebration). Everything was quite adorable, until his mother popped in a pair of earbuds and either started talking on the phone or singing Ke$ha on her iPod. It was hard to tell.
After we got over the cute situation (it took longer than you might expect), we opened our menus. The restaurant should have had a sign outside reading “Baller$ Only,” because most items on the menu were $20-$30. . At Applebee’s! If I wanted to spend $30 at dinner, I’d go to a real restaurant. I almost left on principle alone, but I had my gift card, so I stuck it out.
Finally, I decided on the tilapia with rice and veggies from the “I Don’t Want to Get Fat” menu, mainly because it was one of the cheaper options. Emily chose the Paradise Salad, which should have been called the Purgatory Salad, because she kept saying things like “Gross,” and “I don’t understand what I’m eating.” After eating, the waiter brought our bill, which was just under $40. $40 for weirdish food at a restaurant that exists in midwestern strip malls. All we could do, of course, was laugh.
I threw down my gift card and a $20, and the waiter walked off. He returned with the receipt and a $5 bill. It took the two of us a second to notice that jerk had shorted me 52 cents, but at this point, what were we going to do?
“Do you want to come back next week,” I asked Emily as we put on our coats.
“I was thinking tomorrow!” she said.
Eating at the Times Square Applebee’s was probably the worst dining experience of my life, simply because it didn’t make any sense. I could have bought 10 Cheep’s falafels for the price I spent on my meal, and I would have had better service and ambiance. If ever I am invited to eat there (or any in Times Square, for that matter), I will remember this occassion and dodge disappointment. If a guy says, “I’ll marry you, if we can go that Applebee’s in Times Square next week,” I’ll say, “I’m leaving you.” If a puppy says, “I’ll give you a cookie and let you watch a puppy race, if you go to the Times Square Applebee’s,” I’ll say “Shut up,” and “Why are you talking, puppy?” If a gangster holds a glock to my temple and says, “Take me to the Applebee’s in Times Square,” I’ll say my Hail Marry’s and call it a life.