There is often talk about terrible service.  The following story beats 
them all.  The victim is unknown

Remember when eating out was a relaxing experience?  Someone else cooked 
for you and cleaned up after you.  All you had to do was chew, swallow 
and pay.  No longer, though.  Today you feel like a laboratory rat who 
has to struggle through a maze every time it wants a chunk of cheese.
	"Good evening," the maitre d' said.  "Table for four?"
 "Yes, thank you"
	"Smoking or non?"
 "Nonsmoking"
	"Would you prefer to dine indoors or outdoors this evening?"
 	"I guess indoors would be good"
 	"Very well sir", he said.  "Would you like to be seated in the 
 main dining room, the enclosed patio ot our lovely soalrium?"
 	"Uh, let me see.....uh...."
 	"I can give you a table with a lovely view in our solarium"
 	"I think the solarium would be lovely," I said.  We followed him 
 in there.
 	"Now, would you prefer a view overlooking the golf course, the 
 sunset on the lake, ot the majestci mountains to the west?"
 	"Whatever you recommend," I said.  Let him make a decision for a 
 change, I thought.
 	He sat us by a window facing the golfcourse, the lake or the 
 mountains.  I couldn't tell because it was dark outside.
 	Then a young man better dressed and better looking than any of us 
 presented himself at our table.  "Good evening, my name is Paul, and I'll 
 be your waiter this evening.  Would you like to take a few minutes before 
 I take your order?"
 	"No," I said.  "I'm just a meat-and-potatoes guy, so I'll have 
 the filet mignon and a baked potato"
 	"Soup or salad?"
 	"Salad"
 	"We have a mixed green salad, hearts of palm ot a very fine 
 endive salad with baby shrimp."
 	"Just a mixed-green salad, okay?"
 	"Whatever you say sir.  Dressing?"
 	I didn't want to make another decision.  "Whatever tou've got 
 will be fine"
 	"We have creamy Italian, blue cheese, vinaigrette, Thousand 
 Island, honey dijon, ranch...."
 	"Just bring me one.  Surprise me."
 	"Creamy Italian is our house specialty.  Would that be all right sir?"
 	"Yeah."  I was curt.  I was done with civility.
 	"And your baked potato....."
 	I knew what was coming. "I just want the baked potato dry, you 
understand?  I don't want anything on it."
 	"No butter?  No sour cream?"
	"No."
 "No chives?"
 	"No!  Don't you understand English?" I shouted.  "I don't want 
 anything on it.  Just bring me a baked potato and a steak."
 	"Would you prefer the six-, eight-, ot 12-ounce steak sir?"
 	"Whatever."
 	"Would you like that rare, medium rare, medium well, or well 
 done?  Or, if you prefer, we can butterfly it for you."
 	"Pauly boy," I said, "you are really starting to get me steamed."
 	"Which brings up the vegetables, sir.  Would you like steamed 
 broccoli, creamed corn, sauteed zucchini, diced carrots-"
 	That did it.  I threw my napkin to the floor, stood up, put my 
 face right in his arrogant kisser and said,"How'd you like to settle this 
 outside?"
 	"Fien with me sir.  Would you prefer the parking lot, the side 
 alley to the street in front of the restaraunt?"
 	"I prefer right here," I said and sucker-punched him.
 	He ducked, then coutered with a left hook right under my eye.  It 
 was the first time all night he hadn't offered me a selection.  I 
 collapsed semiconcious into my chair, as someone in authority rushed over 
 and berated Pauly.
 	I felt my tie being loosened, my collar unbuttoned, hands 
 slapping my face.  When I regained my senses, I saw the very concerned 
 maitre d' right in front of my nose.  He apologized and offered to buy me 
 a drink, call the paramedics-whatever I wanted.
 	"No, no" I said.  "I'll be all right.  Just bring me a glass of water"
 	"Yes sir, right away," he said.  "Would you prefer imported 
 mineral water, sparkling water or club soda with a wedge of lime?"