2301 Main Street

I can still remember the first time I went to The Foundation: I was living in Victoria, here on a visit in the rainy winter time. My friend and I came across the place, went in, had some amazing food and ended up staying the entire night there with a bottle of wine and appys, waiting for the rain to let up. It was fantastic and I vowed that I’d go to Foundation whenever I was in town. Now that I live here, and only a few blocks away, I frequent the establishment quite often, mostly because it’s affordable and tasty, and because they always play hip hop… from Wu-Tang to Busta and then back around to the Ghetto Boys.

You may think from what I have written that I hold a special place in my heart for The Foundation, but let me tell you, every time I’ve gone there in the past six months I have vowed it will be my last. Picture if you will mine (and all my friends) experience every time we go there.

You walk in and there’s a sign at the door that says please wait to be seated. Except that nobody acknowledges your presence for a while, you just stand there looking like a retard until someone says you can sit wherever you want. On several occasions (when it’s busy) you don’t get menus for a good five minutes, which is a long time when you can see said menus 10 feet away and the servers are standing around acting holier than thou instead of doing their jobs.

Then you finally order food and maybe a drink. My friends and I generally go there for late night nachos as they are arguably the best in the city. So much cheese, beans, jalapenos and – I don’t know- crack? Whatever it is they put in there is delicious and highly addictive. Everywhere you turn there is a table with a giant plate of nachos. It leaves me to ponder if they hate making them over and over again or if they just turn into robots and Zen out: plate, chips, cheese, beans, oven, and repeat.

My biggest beef with Foundation is the service. I don’t understand how anyone who serves could do a shittier job than those at this restaurant. Apparently to get a job there you must not smile, talk, or be in any way a pleasant human being. Seriously, do you get written up for giving good service? I can just see a manager putting his foot down, “Wendy, when you gave table 20 their food I noticed that you asked them if they needed another round of drinks. Maybe next time you could avoid eye contact and walk away? We can’t have the customers thinking that they can get whatever they want, now, can we?”

On more than one occasion I have been so full of rage at the lack of service that I feel like blowing my brains out all over their stupid kitschy tables. Then maybe someone, anyone, would notice that I was alive (well, not anymore) and realize that I needed more salsa. We all know, however, that the sound of the bullet hitting my skull would be drowned out by the Wu-Tang Clan blaring in the background and the only concern would be from the vegan hipster at the table next to me, crying that my brains had splattered on her portfolio

The shitty thing is, though, I will go back

I will always go back…

Those fucking nachos haunt my dreams.

More from Stink Wallet

• Funny Facebook Stories | Writing | Vancouver | Musings, Tangents, Rants | StinkWallet
• Denying the Deniable-Dating in Vancouver | Writing | Vancouver | Musings, Tangents, Rants | StinkWallet
• Christmas in San Francisco | Writing | Vancouver | Musings, Tangents, Rants | StinkWallet