Fuck Five Guys

That’s neither an order nor a fantasy.

Five Guys is a burger joint that everyone and their mother goes lubed-ass-up for, at least in the D.C. metro area. “Best burgers”, “best fries”, “cheap prices” (a lie)… all the restaurant review assholes are tripping over each other to get a chance to pucker-lick the Five Guys pee-hole.

But, guess what. Their food is slightly above mediocre, and their service fucking blows.

More times than not, I’ll order a couple of cheesedogs with onions and mustard. They usually get the dogs up in no time (the mob opts for okay-ish burgers), and they’re pretty tasty. Granted, a “pretty tasty” hotdog is akin to smoking the healthiest cigarette or licking the cleanest asshole, but I’ve had tastier dogs than Five Guys offers with almost no wait.

Today, I had ticket number 74; I was 2nd in line of our six-person party. No exaggeration: numbers 73 (The Third) through 89 (some nerd) got served while I waited fifteen (15!) minutes for a couple of cheesedogs with onions and mustard… which they almost prepared improperly. During my purgatory, The Foof had to come up to the counter twice because they made her burger wrong… as did three other unfortunate ladies.

After I finally received my bag of dogs (and fries I was supposed to share with The Third, who had almost finished eating by that time), I was walking back to our table. The Foof looked at me, and I said, “I am never fucking coming back to this place ever again.” She replied, “I knew you were gonna’ say that.”

The Foof emailed Five Guys after the bloodbath, and got a response. “We pride ourselves in…” bullshit, and “please come back and have lunch on us” horseshit.

Fuck ‘em. They’re out of the band.

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