New York

I Hate The Hard Sell at Restaurants


Turkish Cuisine is the name of a long-running Hell’s Kitchen eatery, which is sort of like calling a restaurant abroad “American Food.”

But that’s not the problem.

While the menu at Turkish Cuisine is absolutely fine, the waitresses are clearly operating under a proverbial guillotine, trying every imaginable trick to drag extra dollars out of your pants.

“Do you want sparkling water?” they ask, right off the bat.

“No, just tap,” you say. “And some American coffee.”

“We only have Turkish coffee,” they inform. “But we have the best apple tea!”

“No, thank you. Don’t want tea.”

“Would you like to hear the specials?” they ask, practically frothing by now.

“No,” you reply. “I’ll just have the chicken and lamb dish. That’s it. Thanks.”

“You sure you don’t want to hear about our appetizers?” they wonder, confused.

“Nope. I don’t want an appetizer. Thanks. Bye bye.”

Looking hurt, they flee, then come back with your order and loiter a bit, hoping you’ll ask for extras.

You’re desperate for some bread, but you’re terrified that maybe they only have Turkish flatbreads and for God knows how much.

You finish what you’ve got, at which point you’d love the check, but there’s one more gambit up their sleeve.

“Here’s our dessert tray,” the waitress coos, about to describe each item in vivid detail as she pushes it in your face.

“The check!” you screech. “And where’s the exit?”

The hard sell always makes me soft!

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