Call of The Great Wall

On Monday, Chinese food was on my agenda for lunch. I had a craving, and I wanted it satisfied. So after teaching, Vivek and I went wandering down High St. in search of The Great Wall, a Chinese restaurant I had heard good things about. I had driven by this place several times. Looked sizable enough so we figured there would be plenty of seats. When we arrived, however, there were no seats or tables. They weren't just unavailable; they weren't there. This was only carry out or delivery. I'm not sure why they had such a large front room then. Maybe they just like space. But needless to say, we left disappointed. I didn't get any Chinese that day, but I did grab a menu.

Yesterday I still had a craving for Chinese, so I took a look at the menu. Apparently the place has an online ordering system (greatwallchinesefood.com). Since I was curious and didn't feel like decyphering whatever fresh-off-the-boat immigrant they had answering phones there (forgive my racist assumptions there), I gave the internet a try. I ordered some General Tso's Chicken, some rice, and an egg roll.

Over an hour later, my food had not yet arrived. I was irritated, so I called up the place. Surprisingly someone who sounded like an American answered. Unfortunately I found myself wishing it had been a Chinese person; this guy was a douchebag. He informed me in no uncertain terms that they never received my order. Balls to the Internet!! So I placed my order over the phone. I sit back and await my tasty chicken.

10 minutes later I get a call from the restaurant. It's the Asian-poser douchebag again. He can't figure out how to get to my apartment. Now, my apartment is a bit difficult to find, but it's not like I'm located at the center of the Earth. I spent ten minutes trying to explain to this guy where my apartmet is. Finally, I think he has it. I should have known better.

15 minutes after that, I get another call. This time it's from an actually Chinese person who's apparently on the road: "I have you food. You meet me at Dairy Mart at end of road in five minute!"

Now keep in mind that I've now been waiting about an hour and 45 minutes for my food. I'm hungry, and I'm paying a two dollar delivery fee for food that I HAVE TO GO PICK UP AT THE END OF THE ROAD. The pizza man had trouble finding my place too, but at least he made the attempt and eventually found it. This guy was on my shit list.

So I stalk around my apartment muttering like an old man as I search for my shoes. I'm going to let this guy have it. What kind of restaurant is this!? Off I go to the Dairy Mart.

When I get there, I see this rusted, busted-ass Honda pull into the place with the paint peeling off and a pathetic-looking "Great Wall" sign on the top of the car. The delivery boy gets out looking frazzled and tired. Suddenly I feel bad for the poor guy. He probably doesn't operate any of the telephones or computer software. Hell, he probably hates the douchebag phone guy as much as I do. So I smile politely, take my food, and tell him to keep the change.

That's right; after all of this, I actually tipped the guy. I have a heart every once in awhile.

I hope he spends that 75 cents wisely.