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I always thought it was odd when I walked in a restaurant and saw one of those little “How are we doing?” cards on all their tables. It seemed like a waste of the paper they were printed on, for who in their right mind would think that a small postcard filled with “unsatisfactory” marks would sway the minds of those sitting in a corporate office? And who even filled out those things, anyways? I’d never seen a patron complain to their waitress and then fill the thing out. Usually a new meal and a free Oreo dessert was all it took to make most people happy.

And then one day I received a letter addressed to Mr. Delay.

About eight years ago, Atlanta Bread Company opened a small deli in the local mall and it was all the rage. I admit, they made some damn good sandwiches, but for a broke high school kid, they were a little pricey. One night, however, Chong and I were walking out of the movie theater and decided to grab some dinner before heading home. We strolled over to ABC and were about halfway through our meal when I noticed the small rectangle out of the corner of my eye. I have no idea what movie we had just seen, but it must have been a comedy, because I remember being in one of those giddy and punchy moods. You know the one, where everything is funny and God help you if somebody near by says the word “duty.”

Alex ran up to the counter and grabbed a pen and we proceeded to fill out the card with remarks such as “Our pickles were too soggy” and “The music here is gay” and “The checkout lady didn’t smile OR suggestively wink at me when I paid her my money!” At the end, it asked for our name and address. We settled on using “Art Vandelay” as our name, yet for some reason we actually used my real address.

About two weeks later, we were strolling through the hallways in school when one of Chong’s friend ran up to him and punched him in the chest. “What the hell did you do,” she demanded from him. Knowing a pissed off, psychotic girl when I saw one, I decided it was high time I get the hell away from this scene before it turned ugly, so I began to walk off. “Oh no, you’re in this too! You both were sitting there laughing your asses off while filling out that questionnaire!” It finally dawned on me that this was Chong’s friend that worked over at ABC. However, still being truly confused since we doubted our little review could have caused such a reaction, we asked her to elaborate. “We got a freaking 15 cent pay cut because of you guys! And somebody from corporate is coming to inspect us later this week. Whatever you morons wrote on that card pissed somebody off!”

We were stunned. They actually took that thing seriously? We figured the name would be signal enough that it was a joke since everybody and their cousin in that day and age knew “Art Vandelay” was the fictional character from Seinfeld.

Once we got home later that day, Chong came over to my house for a few minutes and we sat chatting in the kitchen as I ruffled through the mail. I remember stopping in mid-sentence and bursting into laughter when I saw who the envelope was addressed to. I ripped it open and looked at the letter just to see if they’d made a mistake on the outside.

Nope. They’d addressed the darn thing to a “Mr. Delay.” The letter went on to explain how they were very sorry and how they’d make sure to investigate into the poor quality of the food, the low level of customer service, and the “inappropriate” music, among many of the other silly things we’d complained about. We must have showed that letter to everybody we knew and beamed proudly when people asked if we were the ABC idiots. I’ve got no idea what happened to it, though, for I can’t remember actually seeing that letter in many years. It’s one of those many things you look back on and think, “Damn, I really wish I had kept that, if for no other reason as a reminder of how retarded and yet how much fun we used to have.”

However, I still don’t consider this issue resolved since I never got my free Oreo dessert. Maybe Mr. Delay needs to write another letter.