Restaurant Review Generally Malaised
There really is never any good reviews for O‘Mally’s Restaurant for the Generally Malasied, and this review is no exception. There is just something about the place that makes you feel uneasy; something that makes you want to get out of there as fast as possible. If you can suppress the urge to flee the premises as soon as you step foot inside and make your way towards the booths, you will find yourself with the sudden, almost irresistible urge to scream. No one knows why. The seats themselves are set at a 75 degree angle, so that you’re forced to lean forward slightly against your will. The knives are dull and the forks look as if there’s still a little bit of food stuck on them. There’s something slightly sticky hardened under the table: wads and wads of chewed gum. The lighting is dingy, tinging everything in a sickly yellow colour. There is a blatantly obvious rat trap in the corner. The heat is cranked up so that you’re uncomfortably hot, causing your skin to plaster itself against the vinyl seats. The menu’s are handwritten by someone who was either drunk or having a stroke at the time. The pictures of the food are lacklustre, the lettuce leaves wilting in the salad, the hamburger buns showing slight traces of mould. The descriptions of the food don’t leave much to be desired either. Cordon Chicken Breast: Stuffed angrily and prepared with much irritation. When you order this, it pushes our cook a little closer to going off the brink.
Every waiter that works here has something a little off about them. They may have the appearance of a hardened criminal. They may be cock-eyed. Perhaps they have an additional finger or one large nostril instead of two. Tinny music plays overhead on the speakers. At first, you can’t tell what exactly is wrong with the songs, or why you have the sudden urge to burst into tears, but then you realize that the song is perhaps being played a semi-tone off, or has been changed into a minor key. It’s a little unclear exactly what’s wrong, but you know that something is off-kilter.
As you wait for your food to arrive, a sickly stench fills the room; a mixture of babies breath and backed up sewage. A TV mounted on the far wall shows a hotdog eating contest with a man wholeheartedly vomiting up half-digested hotdogs into a fellow contestant’s lap. Your stomach clenches as you use every ounce of your willpower to suppress your gag reflex. Taking a detour into the bathrooms, you discover that the floors are sticky with an unknown substance. Something that resembles motor oil is smeared onto the walls and there’s something brown and crusty – possibly dried-up gravy – splattered on the back of the door with a little “Lick Me” sticky note posted above it.
The food comes on a chipped plate. The parsley garnish has obviously been used before. The burger has a toothpick stuck in it. At first, it’s hard to figure out what’s so wrong about the dish, and then it hits you – the toothpick squishes up the hamburger in such a way so that it looks disappointed at you and you begin to feel guilty at the prospect of eating it. The fries are no better, being the little inch long bits that were sitting under the heat lamp for a good hour before being tossed unceremoniously onto the plate. The burger itself is cold in the middle and slightly soggy. There’s too many condiments sliding and dripping out the sides and the meat itself is crunchy as if it’s been texturized with eggshells. Several tightly curled hairs are discovered in the fries.
The desert doesn’t get much better. A banana split, only the banana has been left in its peel and is more brown than yellow. The dish is topped off with a mixture of mango, chocolate and what tastes like dill-pickle flavoured ice cream. There is also a large possibility that some barbeque sauce has gotten in with the mix.
After dining at O‘Mally’s, the only thing you want to do is go to the hospital and get your stomach pumped. You don’t want to be alone after eating there. You don’t want the memory of the Restaurant for the Generally Malaised dancing across the back of your mind as you fall asleep. But it does anyways.