Panera BAD

Dear Panera Bread,

I tried to like you. I wanted to like you! I gave you a second chance today. I took Marie and my mother to you, with a gift certificate for your food from one of my dear FB friends. Oh, Panera Bread - how you disappointed me! You see- the three of us are seniors. That's right - SENIORS - not yuppies who have your menu memorized and just want a cup of joe so they can use their laptops. We wanted a meal. And your confused counter staff simply couldn't comprehend nor compute what we wanted. Oh, Panera! We tried so many times! This is third grade stuff. Mom wanted a half- sized Asian Sesame chicken salad and a cup of hot tea. Marie wanted an Asian Sesame chicken salad and diet Pepsi. And I wanted a Thai chicken salad with no cilantro, and blueberry iced tea. Oh! I need my smelling salts. It was so painful - so difficult for the Young Man At The Counter.

Oh, mercy! Who trains your counter people? How confused this poor young man was. He couldn't keep the half salads and whole salads straight. And it seemed to take forever. And let's not talk about the daunting task of using the cash register. I thought the poor thing was going to cry.

He asked me my name after this, which seemed odd- as I should have at this point asked for HIS name. I told him, though, and he printed an important-looking receipt to give me. There was my name, in all its glory, MISSPELLED -- I kid you not. ELIZEBETH. Cringe cringe cringe.

Went to get my drink. The ice dispenser did not work. They didn't know how to refill the ice, so I ended up scooping dregs from beneath the grate. Poor Mom didn't have her hot tea. Then I heard them calling my name. Oh! That's right. I am a server here. I put in my order, and when it comes up, I must pick it up and take it to the table, and serve my guests. So must Marie, it appears. My goodness! We are waitstaff! Where is Mom's tea? In fact - where is her ENTREE?
Three, no - actually, four----maybe even FIVE trips did Marie and I make to that table with heavy china tableware. Then, I couldn't find a fork. Fortuitously, Marie had an extra. A staff person finally walked by and I said to him that I thought that I should receive a tip for all the waitressing I had done so far at his restaurant.

Can't say the food was bad. But what is this about? Incomprehensible menu. Incompetent staff. Can't even spell the Queen of England's name, yet expects her to get up and get her own order, and the Queen Mother's as well! Well, we all sat and ate. The bread (which they seemed confused about adding) was tasty, and the drinks weren't half bad, but Mom's tea was so hot I had to add some ice cubes to it. We won't discuss the source.

Fast forward. Our meal is over! Happy, happy meal! Now it's time to go home. But WAIT! We have to BUS OUR OWN TABLES! That's right! NO trays, of course. We have to scrape the food off into the trash, sort the plates and cups and silver and ---oh, my! I did not clean off my plate neatly. I was as mannerly as I could be, but I was seething. I don't have delusions of grandeur - at least I don't think... so, but let's see. Panera Bread, you expect us to stand up to a counter and try to explain our orders. Then, we have to carry our entrees to the table. Then, we clean up after ourselves. Is that any way to treat a guest? Oh, I forgot. We aren't guests. We aren't even customers. We are staff, apparently. Unpaid staff. Volunteers, I guess. I think even volunteers get tips at some places. Panera bread, I have a tip for you. You are BAD. I will never patronize you again. And please teach your staff how to spell the name Elizabeth. You never know if HRH might decide to visit you in person.