Steakhouses

It's what's for dinner

Last week I went to Dylan Prime steakhouse. I normally NEVER go to steakhouses, but it was a family event, so there was pretty much no choice. The main reason I don't go, besides being a vegetarian, is because steakhouses are the most ludicrous places on earth for the following reasons:

1. The place is filled with two types of people: fat bastard men from the sales team at the T-Mobile store who are celebrating their highest month commissions-wise, or finance jerks who go to Scores strip club immediately after. Any women who enter the steakhouse are scrutinized as pieces of meat in and of themselves, and so everybody eyes them, licks their lips and elbows co-workers to "get a load of that" as if they were porterhouse steaks coming around on that weird metal cart. While this may be slightly flattering, it's also pretty alarming because I always got the sense that these guys were bloodthirsty and wanted to eat some meat and then club me over the head and drag me back to their cave in a Flintstones outfit.

2. The waiters are corpulent and have pinky rings and wear white butcher jackets and refer to everything as being "nice," like "it's a nice sized steak," or "we have some nice cuts today." They chortle and have fat fingers and are obsessed with foisting the dessert menu on everybody.

3. The whole point of going for a power lunch at the steakhouse is to take a power dump. Within 45 minutes of leaving the restaurant, every single patron is on a toilet somewhere downing Lipitor, clutching the walls and humming "Round and Round" by Ratt waiting for the steak to emerge from their butts looking EXACTLY as it did when it was served to them. Personally I can't deal with sitting in a restaurant knowing that everyone is about to take a power crap somewhere.