The Grill on the Alley should frighten poor people. Actually, middle class people should shake in their semi-expensive shoes as well. And females attempting to lunch alone need to prepare even more than the poor. While there are lunch items for random penny-pinching people, things aren’t quite that simple. The Grill on the Alley barely has time for paupers popping in for lunch without business credentials. A slew of businessmen can be seen scattered from booth to bar while conducting important lunch meetings. Their purpose is strictly business with a side of food, since some kind of deal must be sealed.
Grill on the Alley is a 100% man’s world restaurant. Plain & simple. Businessmen are all over the place. It’s like a suit storm raining down with hurricane force wind blasting through the building. Witness business cards torrentially downpour into a room filled with hungry manly men. I’m like a Grill on the Alley expert, having the ability to call this kind of restaurant within seconds of being seated. Females walking in to a man’s world restaurant alone immediately look like diggers digging. Masquerading as a woman walking in to just “hang out” and “have a drink” simply isn’t buy-able to the men’s world men in a man’s world restaurant. Their suits would really appreciate the guilty admitting they are really looking for a wealthy businessman to pay their bill and quickly prepare wedding plans. Minus me, of course, only single diggers hang out alone at this type of establishment. This is how I feel, so it must be true.
Before knowing mental anguish would occur, I decided to stop by and check out Grill on the Alley for the first time. Plan: Grab a seat at the bar and order an appetizer. This plan seemed simple until none other than a lady of the night sat down beside me.
la•dy of the night
used euphemistically to refer to a prostitute.
A lady of the night sitting beside me inside a man’s world restaurant hurt my feelings in an above average way. While one stool away she asked, “May I place my purse on the same stool you are using?” At that moment, I suddenly began to have a first world stool problem. Why does she need to have her purse where my purse is? She has a stool to the right. Am I right? This is officially my area as long as the bar doesn’t become packed. A packed bar would mean moving my purse completely. No one wants to share a seat for purse placing with a lady of the night. It’s just not right.
As fast as a person can explain is what I’m about to do. Look, just because she had a marathon of runs racing up her hose does not make her a lady of the night. All I’m saying is her legs were experiencing a full blown hose catastrophe. This wasn’t an accidental run in the restroom while pulling hose up. These hose had been through the ringer. If her hose could talk they’d say, “Please, lady of the night, I beg you to call it a day and throw me away.” A female’s relationship with her hose should last no more than two to three wears, with maybe one tear. I can’t make it past one wear because I’m too immature to wash— hose. Everything feels wrong about washing hose at this stage in life. Besides, I like tights anyway.
She was wearing a tank top. Alright. No big deal. I wore a tank top to Village Kitchen, just after rapping Eminem in my car once. She also had a base line. It happens. Sometimes people are in a hurry and get a base line on the base of their face. The difference between a random face base line and hers was extreme. This was no regular base line. Her base was like four layers thicker than her skin and was completely straight. This base line violation was planned, which is not OK in the world of make-up. What I’m trying to say is what has already been said. I was sitting beside a full blown lady of the night.
A girl sitting beside a lady of the night automatically becomes a lady of the night’s BFF if one word is spoken. A lady of the night needs a friend– kind of like a wingman, but a winggirl. Asking a question about stool-sharing was only the beginning. It was a trick exactly like people pull on airplanes. If you say so much as hello, greetings, or good day to your plane neighbor, then blame yourself for an unwanted non-stop flight conversation. There’s no getting out of it, even with iPod ear buds. Again, you have only yourself to blame while on the plane. I needed to get out– and fast. Another option was to order fish tacos, while staying bee-like busy.
No one around here is being a hater—> pinky swear. We are all God’s children. If a lady of the night would like to share a chair, then no one should care. Also, it’s not Grill on the Alley’s fault all the businessmen around Dallas feel more business-like being in their building. Men have to conduct business somewhere and sometimes pick the same classy place. The service is spot on and the food didn’t make me cry. Just arrive with a date and life will be fine.
FIVE: High 5!
FOUR: Please & Thank You
TWO: Double Wow
ONE: Wow + Ouch = Wouch
The Grill on the Alley
13270 Dallas Parkway
Dallas, TX 75240