At the top of this entry is the final entry that Samuel Pepys made in his famous diary, written May 31, 1669. He began the diary (kept in a very obscure shorthand) on New Years Day 1660, but abandoned it for fear that he was going blind (which turned out not to be the case.)
Steph and I are hosting a potluck tomorrow at 4 p.m. I’m typing this entry, which will probably be a terse one, while Steph and Susie are baking cakes in the kitchen. I’ll be mopping the kitchen floor once they’re out of there.
I’ve already been to Aldi this morning to buy milk, bread, and butter. The cashier there was quite pleasant. Most of them usually are–I cannot imagine that Aldi is a fun place to work. I have never had any complaints about service there. (I don’t like having to bag my own groceries, but that’s part of why their prices are so low.)
The worst customer service I ever experienced was at a Brigham’s in the Back Bay section of Boston. (Brigham’s is the New England equivalent of Dairy Queen or Tastee-Freez.) During the summer of 1984, I was typesetting The Boston Phoenix as well as The Crimson. During my lunch hour, I left The Phoenix’ office to grab a cheeseburger at Brigham’s.
My server was a woman so old that I think her first paying job was babysitting Baby Jesus. I gave her my order when she arrived with her pad and pencil, and she left. She brought my burger about 10 minutes later and set it down in front of me. I was just about to take my first bite when she came back and snatched the plate away from me. Someone had an identical order, and they had ordered first, she said.
I mentioned this to someone on a chagroup, and everyone who read it was appalled. One mentioned that, for all she knew, I could have sneezed or coughed on that burger in the 30 seconds it was in my possession.
Needless to say, I never ate there again.