Breezey vs. Tin Angel

The Scene: A dark, damp night downtown Salt Lake City.

The Crime: Neglect of a beautiful woman.

The Culprit: An orange frizz-fro haired man, unbecoming in his mustard yellow t-shirt tucked into a dark green apron.

Our story begins as the young woman unassumingly walks through the table-covered patio. She reaches for the door in excitement. For the past five weeks, visions of butternut squash risotto and spinach with poached pears popped effortlessly in work-time daydreams. Memories of bread pudding and hazelnut tugged her mouth muscles upward.

At the appointed hour our heroine asked for a table for two. Here the villain coolly remarked that maintaining prestige requires dismissal of the twat before him. Without a reservation did she really expect to be fed on a gloomy Tuesday night?

Uh…Yes she did. And she’s pissed off that he turned her away. Prestige doesn’t happen when sharing the same street corner as Pioneer Park, a.k.a. resting grounds for the bed-less. Before turning customers away let’s raise those standards on appearance. Even the Brick Oven requires well-groomed attendants. They want blush, lipstick and mascara, but even the basic combed hair and occasional shower helps.

Salt added to the wound when my dinner date called to confirm the booked restaurant. I told her of my suspicions, discrimination of wonderful people, because the sparse bodies failed to fill the available chairs. My friend suspected as well because of the night (Tuesday really?!). Surprisingly her proactive phone call allowed for a table in 30 minutes.

That stung a little more. Discrimination against girls from Southeastern Colorado born in December with dark hair, blue eyes and O-positive blood.

The Verdict: The Tin Arch-Angel Café guilty of depriving guests of my fascinating personality and odd eating habits therefore not providing the best atmosphere.

Unofficial Official Scorecard: Tin Angel Café one point in snootiness, and my city girl status demoted to country bumpkin.