Last night, I had dinner with former and current roommates MJ and Ern (you decide who's who) at Salsa's. For years, I've been on a quest to find an authentic and affordable Mexican restaurant in Boston. Salsa's is affordable, tasty, and cute (in addition to being conveniently located right up the street from my apartment), but calling it authentic is a stretch. It's owned and operated by the Sausage Guy , yes, that Sausage Guy, know for selling delicious treats outside Fenway Park and offending Beacon Hill residents with the logo (what, they've never seen a scantily clad woman riding a rocket before?). The Sausage Guy himself was in attendance last night and was very amicable with the customers. We had to wait for a few mintues to drink our pitcher of Sangria because they were out of clean wine glasses, so he came over to make sure we weren't angry. And he touched Ern's shoulder several times (however, he did not show her his sausage). Although I enjoy Salsa's and recommend it, my personal quest remains unfulfilled. All I want is a sit-down restaurant in Boston featuring Mexican food (and not Tex Mex, there are several of those) cooked by Mexicans...is that too much to ask?
After dinner, I headed out to Harper's Ferry to catch a show by my friend John's band, the Lonesomes. They sounded great and I had a good time, except for when the jerkface bartender pissed me off. Earlier in the night, I had ordered a beer that cost $4.50. I had a $5 bill and a $20, so I just left the five. Normally, I'm an excellent tipper (years in the food service industry will do that to you), and I would never leave less that an dollar, even for a beer or soda, if I were ever to start drinking sodas at bars. I felt like an ass for just leaving a fifty cent tip, but I figured I'd leave a couple extra bucks if I got another beer later on to atone for it. The bartender wasn't very friendly at all and kept frowning at the customers, so I didn't feel that bad about shortchanging him, because I'm sure he would have dramatically sighed and rolled his eyes if I had forced him to get me change from a twenty. About an hour later, I asked for a glass of water and jerkface bartender sneers and says "Bottled water is $1.50." Keep in mind that this is a somewhat divey establishment, not the kind of place where clientele regularly purchase bottled water. I said, rather nastily, "Forget it," grabbed my purse, and left. I was pissed! Fuck you, man, just pour me a glass of water! The nozzle's already in your hand, and the plastic cups are right in front of you! He was just doing it to be a prick, probably because he was mad about the 50 cent tip. Well, after that, I felt justified in the prior stiffage, and I might just have to blacklist Harper's Ferry, unless the Lonesomes play there again.
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