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Buffalo Wild Wing Disappointment

Jason Rimbaud

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It’s Thursday, September 21st, 2017 and I’m in Daly City California.  It’s my day off, nothing special about that except that “N” is working the morning shift and I have the whole day off to do whatever I want.  If I want to stay in bed all day naked, watching YouTube videos, I can.  Or if I want to do a marathon of jerking off to free porn on the whole interwebs, I can and no one can say anything about it. 

And don’t think I didn’t contemplate that last one this morning after waking up with a full on robot chubby that wouldn’t go away that defies all logic for a forty-two year old man.  One of the reasons I was so happy with growing older was the mistaken thinking that my libido would diminish with the onset of old age.

And yes, I know that forty-two isn’t old compared to some of the other humans that populate this planet nor am I saying that forty-two is old.  All I’m saying is that I was really hoping that I wouldn’t be the horny man I was in my twenties. 

The man/boy that slept with the butt-crack of dawn for no other reason then I couldn’t think straight the moment things became erect.  And to be truthful, that was the only reason I slept with a little person when I was 22.  And because I wondered if his cock looked like a normal sized cock, for the record it did.  Nor was it because I wanted to see how massive my cock would look like going in and out of his little butt.  For the record he was a top…but that’s another story.

Why at my age do I still wake up with a hard-on?  And even more curiously, why am I still horny the moment my boyfriend walks into the room?  When will I get the dreaded EDS the TV tells me happens to every man over forty?  For Christ sakes, I’m in my forties, do I still have to contend with my cock boning up with every stiff breeze that comes along?

My boyfriend left at 7:15 this morning to go to work.  Apparently he had a few private parties and several larger groups for breakfast and needed to make sure he was there in plenty of time to oversee this madness.  And right after he left, I lay in bed with my other head ready for some fun. 

So I did what every man/boy does when his penis is taking over…that’s right, I got up and turned on my X-Box 360 and started playing Assassins Creed 3.  And if you are wondering, I did not feel like a pervert playing games at 7:30am with a boner.  Nor did I have a brief/thirty minute fantasy what it would be like to have sex with Conner from the game.  And I am talking about a full thirty minutes of constructing a complicated story of what point in the game we would meet, the details of our first awkward encounter that slowly builds over time until we climax on the grass overlooking the manor with Achilles somewhat reluctant approval as he looks on.

Besides my raging hard-on, the only thing I wanted to do today on this glorious day off, was to get hot wings from Buffalo Wild Wings in Daly City, Ca in the Serramonte Centre. 

I believe that everyone who has been reading my Blog for any amount of time…mostly a few years ago when I actually updated my Blog more than once every few years, would know that I am quite addictive to all things hot…exclusively hot wings.  I will go to any amount of trouble to acquire those artery clogging morsels of ecstasy.  Lie to policeman, check, leave work early on a faulty pretense, check.  I’m not saying I would kill a human for those tasty treats, but don’t be the asshole that makes my life difficult at work and then stand in between me and those chickens that are fried in fat and then tossed in hot deliciousness.  Seriously, don’t do that because I’m not sure what or who I would choose.  Better to error on the side of caution then test my morals when it comes to hot wings.

When “N” left for work, I was horny and really needed to release but I started playing video games instead of taking things in hand as it were.  Then after driving myself to the brink of madness wondering what it would be like to have sex with a 3-D construct, I really needed to curb my horniness with something tangible. 

I played Assassins Creed 3 until 11am.  I know, that’s like three and half hours playing a game.  But all I was doing was waiting until Buffalo Wild Wings opened so I could indulge in man’s simplest pleasures.  Okay, seeing as I was talking about jerking off, I wanted to indulge in man’s second simplest pleasure, the consumption of Hot Wings.

At 11:25, I called in my order to Buffalo Wild Wings.  May I have a medium traditional wings, all hot BBQ extra extra extra extra wet, with a side of Blazing sauce, a Chili Queso Dip with no pico de guillo.  I don’t really give a shit if I spelled that wrong.

I’ve lived in the Bay Area for thirteen years.  I started going to Buffalo Wild Wings sometime in the last three years.  Just so I can give you full disclosure, I’ve ordered the exact same order at least once a week for the last three years.  It might have been longer/shorter, but I’ve spent way too much fucking money on this addiction that will probably put me in an early grave. 

I arrived at Buffalo Wild Wings at 12:30pm, because I stopped at the grocery store to buy Fosters beer and Jack Daniels Tennessee Honey.  But before I talk about my Buffalo Wild Wings experience, I stopped at the local Lucky Grocery Store to do two things.  First, I wanted to exchange my bag full of coins, they have a coin star that you can exchange your coins into money.  When I first walked into the store, can you believe there was a line to use the coin star machine.  Three people in front of me and I joined the line as I was listening to Penn’s Sunday School Podcast and really not in a hurry.

After about five minutes, the guy leaves and the next guy goes to the machine and places a paper bag on the counter.  His actions was hidden with his body, but after a few minutes and I didn’t here the sounds of the machine counting the coins to convert into money, I peered to my left and noticed that he had a paper bag filled with already rolled and packaged coins.  The type of packaging that looks like when you get coins from a bank.  And he was slowly breaking open the rolled coins and putting them into the counting thingy. 

“Fuck this” I thought and walked back to my car to place my oversized container in my trunk.  All I wanted to do was cash in my coins, it wasn’t like I needed the coins to buy my groceries.  I then walked back into the store and grabbed two bottles of diet coke, three 24 ounces of Fosters beer, and a 750ml of Jack Daniels Tennessee Honey whiskey.  I walked to the front of the store, and they only had two registers open, and they had to have at least ten people in each line.  Of course, the self check-out lines was completely empty, but seeing as you can’t buy alcohol in the self check-out lines, that really didn’t help me. 

“Fuck this” I thought as I dropped my basket and walked out of the grocery store.  After all, I had lots of places I could buy beer and whiskey without waiting in line on my day off.

I drove to Serramonte Mall, where Buffalo Wild Wings opened a massive store.  When I walked into the store, it was 12:30, almost forty minutes from the time I called in my order.  I walked up to the counter and there was three younger girls behind it talking amongst themselves.  It felt like five minutes before I was even greeted but it was probably less than a minute.  But sixty seconds is a long fucking time to stand somewhere where three different people can see you and no one even says hello. 

Seriously, right now, just start counting to sixty in your head and imagine you standing at a counter with someone standing behind it yet not saying a single word to you.  It feels like forever right.  That’s how I felt.

Finally after three hours/thirty seconds, someone says hello.  I give my name, they read my order back to me, medium traditional wings, all hot BBQ extra extra extra wet, side of blazing sauce, chile queso dip no pico de guillo, that will be 30.92.  I give them my card, I total it 35.00 dollars and she says, your order isn’t ready it will be another five minutes.

I sit down on the bench and continue listening to Penn’s Sunday School podcast.  After eight minutes, I walk back to the counter and inquire about the status of my order.  This is when the girl behind the counter decided to tell me, “There was a mix up of your order and they are re-making it, it’s not that busy so it should only be another 15 minutes.”

I’m not mad that they lost my order, I’ve worked in the restaurant industry for more than twenty years, I understand that mistakes happen and orders get lost.  If they would have said something to me when I paid for my order, I would’ve sat there quietly while they figured it out.  But they didn’t tell me that when I paid, what they said was it would be another five minutes.

And yes, I was really enjoying Penn’s Sunday School podcast, but I was also watching them.  It’s a habit I’ve picked up over my years of running restaurants, I always watch the staff members.  And in my watching, I saw that they were talking amongst themselves, pointing at me, and pointing back at the kitchen.  Then I also observed them getting on the phone, gesturing towards me again, and then a minute or two later, a manager walked up to the front and started looking at the computer while looking at me everyone moment or two.

But I understand that things happen and though I knew deep down in my heart that something happened to my order, I was waiting patiently.  But after waiting eight mintues, knowing that something was wrong, and rightly/wrongly waiting for them to explain what happened to my order, I walked up to the front only to be told off-handedly, that they were re-making the order and that something happened.

No apology, no saying they are doing everything they can to fix it, no offering a soda while I wait for the order to be corrected, nothing from the manager at all. 

And I will be the first to admit, I was pissed.  From 7:30 in the morning, all I could think about was getting Buffalo Wild Wings, getting beer and whiskey and watching the remake of Magnificent Seven.  And once again, Buffalo Wild Wings fucks up my plans.

Earlier I told you that I have been ordering from Buffalo Wild Wings for longer than I can remember.  What I never admitted too, was that they screw up my order at least 1 out of 5 times.  Now before you ask me why I continue to go back to the place that fucks up my order that often, I will point out that I have an addiction and I will always need hot wings in my life.  Always.

I am rather proud that I didn’t yell, or demand some kind of free stuff, all I said was I’ve been waiting for almost 50 minutes and I want my money back. 

I want to say again, that Buffalo Wild Wings have screwed up my order so many times that I am immune to their incompetency and always check my order before leaving the restaurant.  Over the years, I’ve gotten to know the front of house staff, and have seen lots of staff and managers come and go.  And usually all I do is smile and take whatever bad experience they throw at me because in the end I get what I need, Hot Wings.  I’ve seen great FOH staff, who cares but mess up continually, bad FOH staff that can’t get an order right if there was a gun to their head.  And everything in between.

And before you say, the FOH staff can’t control the kitchen, I know that.  But Buffalo Wild Wings put the ticket on the bag, and I’ve seen the ticket never mention that I want no pico de guillo in my Chili Queso Dip.  I’ve seen tickets that never says extra extra extra wet on my Hot BBQ wings.  That is not a kitchen error, that is a FOH mistake. 

And what really pissed me off today, when the manager told me they lost my ticket and was remaking the order, what pissed me off, she turned away and started talking to the girl next to her about the date she had the night before. 

And I will be the first to admit, I’m not a nice guy sometimes.  I have a sharp wit and sometimes it can be extremely harsh when I’m not at work.  That didn’t happen today.  I was calm, and politely asked for my money back.  The manager looked at me, and said okay.  She processed my order, gave me the slip that said my order was voided and that my card would be credited for the amount.  She then turned away from me again and resumed her story about the night before.

For the first time in my life, and it has already been established that I am forty-two, I looked up the corporate office and sent an email detailing my experience.  I didn’t demand my money back, nor did I swear and lose my mind which is what I would normally do.  Instead I detailed my experience today, and asked for them to try and fix the issues that seem to happen at each and every Buffalo Wild Wing I have ever frequented.  I said, “I wish I could quit you, because after giving you so much money over the years and having so many issues with your staff, I wish I could quit you, but I probably won’t because I love hot wings so much”.

It’s been five hours and I haven’t heard anything back from their website complaint department and I wasn’t really surprised.  When you are such a huge corporation, people are going to give you money no matter what and that they believe that with all the new guests they get each week, they really don’t care about existing guests.  But that logic is flawed, and what they don’t seem to understand, sooner or later they are going to run out of new guests and there will be no one left to try their restaurant.  I spend so much of my energy making sure that all my guests are taken care of, I sometimes have nothing left to give to my boyfriend after a long day at work. 

I left Buffalo Wild Wings with the idea that I would go to my local Hot Wing place that doesn’t really have spicy hot wings but have decent hot wings that I could purchase and then add my ghost pepper sauce to kick them to another level.  But when I arrived at their establishment, they were closed for remodel.  And then went to another hot wing place in Daly City and they were out of hot wings until 1pm because there shipment didn’t arrive on time.

It’s now 5pm and I’m at home.  I did get my beer, and my whiskey, and I’m rather drunk, which is why if this Blog entry has mistakes or a rambling feel to it, it’s not my fault I’m on an empty stomach and rather drunk. 

I still have a hard-on, I have no hot wings, and my boyfriend isn’t home yet from work.  Sometimes life just sucks no matter how hard you try and maintain positivity. 


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And to be truthful, that was the only reason I slept with a little person when I was 22.  And because I wondered if his cock looked like a normal sized cock, for the record it did.  Nor was it because I wanted to see how massive my cock would look like going in and out of his little butt.  For the record he was a top…but that’s another story.

I should be talking about Buffalo Wild Wings, but you have a habit of slipping in casual little asides, which by the way, make your blog ever so interesting, not to mention the entertainment factor. Well your little aside in this instance reminded me how when I was that age I had a thing about finding a black boy. Why? It was something along the lines of wondering what black and white looked like together, or perhaps a simple curiosity about black boys - I did find a nice guy - sort of - that is to say he was engaged with someone else. So all we did together, was talk, c'est la vie!

 

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I have a simple solution to your hot wings brouhaha.  You've put up with enough nonsense from that company to kill an oversize horse, yet kept your patience, something that in itself has to be a world record.  But it's time to quit this absurdity, and I'll tell you how.

Many restaurants list hot wings on their appetizer menus.  I've even seen Mexican restaurants where they're available.  Obviously, you aren't the only one with an addiction for those suckers.  But if so many houses now serve them, why can't yours?  You manage the place; you obviously can have some say about the menu.  So, start serving them every night, and the bonus is, when you leave, you can take a container of them with you.  If you take them as an in-house quality check, you would not even have to pay for them.  Nightly hot wings.  On the house.

And, ta da, you can kill two birds with one stone if you add salt peter to the sauce recipe.  That way you'll get your wings and not have to worry about inappropriate hard-ons every morning.

Not sure Nick will be happy about it, but that's a problem to solve another time.  Oh, yeah, I decided N is Nick, and he's a hairy guy of Greek origin who's endowed better than your average chicken wing.

C

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2 hours ago, Cole Parker said:

 

Not sure Nick will be happy about it, but that's a problem to solve another time.  Oh, yeah, I decided N is Nick, and he's a hairy guy of Greek origin who's endowed better than your average chicken wing.

C

I must admit, I have thought indepth that I should open my own hot wing place.  I have the knowledge , the experience running a business, and definitely the love of hot wings...

 

as for "N" being a nick, I'll never tell.  

 

J

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What a ridiculous part of a chicken to bring out as the draw for a destination restaurant.  Plus whatever becomes of all those sad chickens running around with no wings?  They must look like a bunch of Schmoos.

Here in Virginia when we fry up a chicken there won’t be anything left of it on the plate except for the beak.  We use that to pick our teeth.

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2 hours ago, Merkin said:

Here in Virginia when we fry up a chicken there won’t be anything left of it on the plate except for the beak.  We use that to pick our teeth.

James, as anyone who cooks up chickens in a Chinese restaurant will tell you, the beak isn't sharp enough or thin enough to pick your teeth. What you use are the feet. There are three toes per foot, and a claw on each toe. That's six per chicken. Lots of teeth picking with that bunch! And if you're wondering about the spur claw on each foot, those are cut off by the chicken processors. They just get in the way.

Colin  :icon_geek:

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We don't try to feed six people offen one chicken, Colin.  That's not hospitable.  And if you don't think those beaks aint sharp, ask any kid sent to gather eggs from under a settin hen.

Using beaks to pick our teeth is just an expression.  We use broke-off kitchen matches just like everyone else.

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On 9/22/2017 at 4:47 PM, Cole Parker said:

Oh, yeah, I decided N is Nick, and he's a hairy guy of Greek origin who's endowed better than your average chicken wing.

C

Wouldn't that make him a Rooster Wing?

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