• Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

    Join 63 other followers

  • Share TheBayAreaBrit blog

    Bookmark and Share
  • Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

    Join 63 other followers

The Gospel According To BART (Strike Edition)

Welcome to the fifth “Gospel According To BART.” Now with some late-breaking news about the BART strike, we go over to our “on the train” news team Diane Summers and Ron Dayton……

“Guys, you’re on. Ron…wake up! You’re on live! Diane, can you hear me? Cut to Gary with Sports, I think they’re dead.”

BART's definition of "OUT OF ORDER" greatly differs from my own.

BART’s definition of “OUT OF ORDER”  differs greatly from my own.

So I'm confused. Is this the button to call the Agent or to get the elevator? If only it were clearly marked.

So I’m confused. Is this the button to call the Agent or to get the elevator? If only it were more clearly marked.

Dear BART,  Shit doesn't work as an adhesive. That is all.

Dear BART,
Shit doesn’t work as an adhesive. That is all.

This is why you should feel uneasy when someone sits RIGHT BEHIND YOU. He's already taken out the lady to his left. I don't know, maybe he's just taking a photo of a mole on the back of the guy's neck to show him and tell him he should get it checked out.

This is why you should feel uneasy when someone sits RIGHT BEHIND YOU. He’s already taken out the lady to his left. I don’t know, maybe he’s just taking a photo of a mole on the back of the guy’s neck to show him and tell him he should get it checked out.

Meanwhile outside the station, in the BART parking lot, commuters discuss transport alternatives to BART. "Hey, bro, cool bike. We have so much in common. Wanna go grab a coffee sometime?"

Meanwhile outside the station, in the BART parking lot, commuters discuss transport alternatives to BART.
“Hey, bro, cool bike. We have so much in common. Wanna go grab a coffee sometime?”

Phone theft on the BART system is on the rise. Cameras are not a guarantee of safety, please keep an eye on all your valuables, including laptops, purses, and especially phones.

Public opinion as to whether BART should strike is mostly in favor of not striking, but this chap says he is with them and on his own strike against whatever it is that he might be paid to do.

Whether BART workers are justified in striking is a hotly debated issue. But this chap says he is with the workers and peacefully picketing in a show of sleepy solidarity.

Agent 99

Last week The Bay Area Brit turned three.

The terrible twos were good to me. And since three is one greater than two, I expect this third year to be …er…oh, shit… Math …hang on …carry the one…minus the Leap Year day last year…um…Awesome!

Today is February 25th and marks the one-year anniversary that my host, WordPress started keeping track of the various countries that visit The Bay Area Brit site. Now this won’t tickle your fancy as much as it does me/mine, but in the last 365 days I have had visitors from 99 different countries. Now I know what you’re thinking: So what, 99 people from 99 countries happened to stumble upon your stupid little, somewhat amusing site in the space of a calendar year.

Well that’s not quite the case.

My ego will not allow me to believe this was in any way an inconsequential feat.

I have had only 3 hits from China. It’s a country of a billion people, but I happen to know that those hits came from some pretty influential people. In my mind, I’m bigger than Chairman Mao at his peak, and there are giant banners with my face on it decorating Tienanmen Square. Maybe I should tell the lady that answers the phone when I order take-out from my local Chinese restaurant (Yang Chow) that I am extremely famous in her homeland. Maybe I will get the special friend and family discount or some free Chow Mein or maybe they’ll name a dish after me…That would be pretty cool.

ChairmanMe

I had a cyber-visitor from Iran. This was not recorded by my host but by a different site that tracks visits. They also showed a visit from someone in Sudan that also wasn’t registered by my host. Well whats up with that, WordPress?

My Iranian and Sudanese peeps want to know the Brit’s scoop too.

The day that film director James Cameron went 20,000 leagues under the sea off the coast of Guam in his mini-submarine, I got a visit on my site from Guam. True. Guess who in my warped mind I assume visited my site? That’s right. Mr. James Cameron. I also feel pretty sure that there will be a British character in his next movie loosely based upon you know who…wink-wink.

If something goes wrong down there at the bottom of the ocean, please tell The Bay Area Brit how much I love his work.
“If something goes wrong down there at the bottom of the ocean, please tell The Bay Area Brit how much I love his work.”

Okay, so yeah, I’m a tad delusional.

 I’ve had hits in Africa too. Ten countries in Africa. Did I mention how famous I am in Africa? I’m like Nelson Mandela meets Haile Selassie meets Shaka Zulu meets Charlize Theron. I could like totally be the President of Africa. Well, you know, if one person could rule a continent. *Note to self* learn Swahili.

I’m also massive in random East-European countries. Countries that I never even knew existed. And by massive I of course mean that I get a shit-ton of hits…and why not, yo, I’m eloquent and whatnot. I’m so whatnot.

I’ll bet that if the dismantling of the Soviet Bloc hadn’t already happened I could have helped with that. You know why? Because Mother Russia loves it some Bay Area Brit. Da, it is true.

Some people have said that I must have an agent that spends his calendar year going from country-to-country and logging in Internet Cafes and hitting up TheBayAreaBrit.com. I have encouraged my friends to support: (Whassup, Venezuela, New Zealand, Malawi, and some of Scandinavia) But an agent? If that was the case, wouldn’t I just have the agent go to one more country so I could claim 100 countries? But then I couldn’t use the cool Agent 99 Get Smart reference.

TCDGESM EC006

 The third highest number of hits after The U.S. and Canada (my face soon to be printed on the Canadian dollar BTW) is of my homeland: Great Britain.

However, In spite of the hits, I’m pretty sure the British don’t care about me….No, no, no, no …it’s okay…But that’s the beauty of being British: We really don’t care about stupid things like a trivial blog written by some Trans-Atlantic twat.

I’m appreciated in China, ALL of the former Soviet bloc, every European country, Iran and a bevy of other countries in the Middle-East. Almost all of Central and South America, Some of Africa, and all of Asia excluding North Korea. But the response back home in Britain? “Think you’re better than us do ya?”

“No, no, no, no. Well, yes, of course I do. Did I mention I’m a tad delusional?”
 

The Package

Look at me. I’m like a child on the morning of his birthday, waiting for the mailman to bring him a gift. No, it’s worse than that: I’m like a spoiled lapdog running to the window every ten seconds, waiting for his owner to come home. Every faint whiff of perfume that wafts through the slightly cracked window has him running around in circles near the front door.

Read more

Read more  51Kt5ekM8cL._SX322_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg
 

The Gospel According To BART ….part IV

Well, friends, it’s that time again. Here’s The Gospel Part IV. I put Gospels II, and III and a link to the first one below because I love you all so very much.

This young man’s ability to snore his way undisturbed though a busy evening commute was  astounding, until I poured piping hot coffee on his crotch.

Blocking the passage way with your Burning Man luggage and ugly clown pants will likely earn you an unwanted “decompression” from Desert-Life, especially on a late-night BART to the murder capital of California.

         Edith Humphrey, age 53, confronts her potentially life-endangering pollen allergy with reckless  abandon on the 2:17 to Fremont.

Text reads:   “Mom, I don’t think this is Tatooine, please beam me back. These are my co-ordinates.”

“OMG! Mom, ur the worst! Forget it. I’m gonna just take the train.”

“Actually, Mr. BART Po-lice-man, I don’t think my feet ARE  on the seat.”

“Sign? I didn’t see any sign.”

Ever wonder what lurks behind those dreadful poster ads? It’s Cyber-technology, and much like me, it’s watching you misbehave on BART. My favorite part is the guy who thinks I’m just randomly taking a photo of him. Don’t flatter yourself, dude. Besides, this blog is read in 76 countries, and that disapproving scowl could go viral.

The Gospel According To BART….Part III

Picture if you will, a series of tunnels and tracks that run through the Bay Area, both underground and above it. A place where not everything is what it seems. A place known as…..

Who knows what creatures you might see lurking out the window, tearing at the engine of the train.

When I’m having a rough morning after a late night fight with my wife, I love to bow my head, inhale the “fresh scent” of a BART seat and cry. It smells like dirty hair and things I regret saying while I was drunk.

These ads are everywhere. I care about them enough to make fun of their “awesomer” ability to make up words, but not enough to actually look up the website to see what the bloody hell it’s all about. WORST BART AD EVER!

It’s late, and on the BART platform sits proof that (somewhere) a Chippendale’s dancer is out of uniform.

If “fragile” means, “The suitcase that will crush all other suitcases when coming into sight at baggage claim,” then, yes, this suitcase is indeed “fragile.”

“My bike!!!!!!”……………BART would like to remind cyclists that it is not responsible for bikes parked on BART property.

“I can’t believe this jerk just put his feet up on my seat penning in me in like this. I’m going to tell him off any second now…..I’m just going to give this rude piece of shit a piece of my mind…..Oh, boy he’s going to feel my wrath….I’m just gonna……I’m ……Meh, maybe I’ll just stare wanly into an open space wishing that I had the nerve to say something.”

At least this guy had the sense to keep his feet off the seat.

Get me Bert Goldstein in Hollywood and find out why he hasn’t got me an acting gig in 5 months.

I said, “Ma’am, I don’t think this train goes to Paddington station.” She looked at me like I’m crazy and shuffled away from me. Yeah, like I’m the crazy one.

Always pay attention to the signs on the platform; they often contain information that must be obeyed.

The Gospel According To BART ….Part II

BART continues to be a source of amusement for the pic-and-caption team at The Bay Area Brit. I hope that you feel the same way.

The BART station agent’s financial woes are aired for everyone to see. However, if BART paid him more money maybe he would stay in his little booth the whole shift like he’s supposed to.

I keep seeing these ads on the BART platforms everywhere. I know when I’m scraping together the $2.75 to take BART in the morning, I often think to myself: “I should just donate my luxury yacht to some page 3 pin-up dressed like Donald Duck.” Really?

Speaking of ads: Why did the people that paid for the Judgment Day Warning posters pay to have their ads run through the end of July? Silly rapture-wanters.

This young man takes a heroin nap during the evening commute to San Francisco. He will wake up three hours later in Richmond and will have somehow lost his wallet, his ID, his sunglasses, and his Nikes.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen this happen, people.

A Female commuter regrets her decision to partake in “Take A Convict To Work Day” when he tells her that he’s never really known true love before…until now.

You know I just couldn’t resist.

Here’s that link to the first Gospel.

https://thebayareabrit.com/2011/03/07/the-gospel-according-to-bart/

“How To Dine & Dash” — The Movie

Due to the popularity of a blog I wrote last year called: “The Illustrated Guide On How To Dine & Dash,” I made a short film. So now you don’t have to read all those long and complicated words.

Click the image below. Enjoy!

                                      How To Dine & Dash

Feel free to comment and share the video, or hey, you know, you can donate to The Bay Area Brit too if you want. That wouldn’t suck.

Sincerely,

Your Bay Area Brit

xxxxx

 

The Gospel According To BART….part 3

Picture if you will, a series of tunnels and tracks that run through the Bay Area, both underground and above it. A place where not everything is what it seems. A place known as…..

Who knows what creatures you might see lurking out the window, tearing at the engine of the train.

When I’m having a rough morning after a late night fight with my wife, I love to bow my head, inhale the “fresh scent” of a BART seat and cry. It smells like dirty hair and things I regret saying while I was drunk.

These ads are everywhere. I care about them enough to make fun of their “awesomer” ability to make up words, but not enough to actually look up the website to see what the bloody hell it’s all about. WORST BART AD EVER!

It’s late, and on the BART platform sits proof that (somewhere) a Chippendale’s dancer is out of uniform.

If “fragile” means, “The suitcase that will crush all other suitcases when coming into sight at baggage claim,” then, yes, this suitcase is indeed “fragile.”

“My bike!!!!!!”……………BART would like to remind cyclists that it is not responsible for bikes parked on BART property.

“I can’t believe this jerk just put his feet up on my seat penning in me in like this. I’m going to tell him off any second now…..I’m just going to give this rude piece of shit a piece of my mind…..Oh, boy he’s going to feel my wrath….I’m just gonna……I’m ……Meh, maybe I’ll just stare wanly into an open space wishing that I had the nerve to say something.”

At least this guy had the sense to keep his feet off the seat.

Get me Bert Goldstein in Hollywood and find out why he hasn’t got me an acting gig in 5 months.

I said, “Ma’am, I don’t think this train goes to Paddington station.” She looked at me like I’m crazy and shuffled away from me. Yeah, like I’m the crazy one.

Always pay attention to the signs on the platform; they often contain information that must be obeyed.

Thanks for visiting. You can find part one here: https://thebayareabrit.com/2011/03/07/the-gospel-according-to-bart/

or part two here: https://thebayareabrit.com/2011/07/25/the-gospel-according-to-bart-part-ii/

Stop The Lin-Sanity!

So I know that this kind of thing is always a sensitive subject, but I’m going to run with it and face the consequences of your opinions. In some cases I will be taken to task and enlightened, and in other cases I will probably be misunderstood. For the most part The Bay Area Brit avoids serious issues. I try and keep things loose, and ideally I like you to leave my little home here with a smile on your face.

So here it is: The New York Knicks have a player that has come from the sporting equivalent of nowhere to become a sensation. Jeremy Lin dominated February’s basketball headlines and became the darling of New York. In the biggest city in America, he rose above the pressures and created an overnight success story. Fans held signs punning Lin’s name. “Lin-Sanity” was popular, “Lin-credible,” “Lin-spirational” etc etc.

 Some of them were funny and some were clever, but I didn’t see any that were offensive.

David Letterman even did a Top 10 List. However, things took an ugly turn when pun turned to slur. An ESPN headline writer penned the words “A CHINK IN THE ARMOR” when Lin’s winning streak came to an end.

Now I’m not particularly sensitive or “politically correct” for that matter, but using a derogatory word like “Chink” in referring to a player of Chinese ancestry cannot possibly be accidental—like the writer pleaded.

I’m guessing he thought he was being funny. He failed—miserably.

I know. I often fail miserably when trying to be funny, but then, no one and I mean NO ONE expects me to be serious or educate my audience. And since my audience is so much smaller, the expectations for me to be responsible are lessened.

Okay, so here’s a joke:

Jeremy Lin has come from such obscurity that if you Googled his name a month ago, a mid-level computer programmer at Microsoft would have popped up first.

Can I even say that?

Firstly, I think we can agree that the joke isn’t that funny. And it’s not, unfunny because it’s particularly offensive. It’s just not funny because it’s not funny.

Also, the thing about a joke like that is that while the Google search statement might be true, it might be deemed as offensive because it hits on a stereotype: Asians are smart.

Okay, admittedly not a very negative stereotype but one nonetheless.

So how far is too far?

I thought I had a rough idea, but when I saw the story below, I realized I just don’t know, any more.

Last week, Ben & Jerry’s felt they had to apologize for their latest Ice-Cream Flavor. Here’s a breakdown of my immediate reaction: “Uh-oh what did those dopey stoners do now?”

Then after reading more, I discovered that they called their new flavor, “Taste The Lin-Sanity.”

So I thought, “Did Ben & Jerry’s offend an advocacy group that works for the rights of the mentally ill? Is that why they had to apologize? No, that can’t be it.”

Then: “Ooh, what about the ingredients? Maybe the ice-cream contains some of that bright red, shiny, dead duck that you see hanging in the windows of some Chinese markets and restaurants.” I half expected to see the words: “Shiny, Red Duck Bits and Plum-Caramel Swirls.”

That wouldn’t be the worst ice-cream flavor I had ever heard of.

So it turns out the ingredients were: “Vanilla frozen yogurt, Lychee honey, and fortune cookie chips” I was still kind of at a loss…yeah, I guess that could be a little offensive…then I thought, is that really the reason? Is there more to this? Maybe they were apologizing because the flavor (much like my joke earlier) wasn’t any good.

Now here’s where I may be offending my Chinese readers. Are Chinese people really offended by the use of fortune cookies in an ice cream flavor? Or is this the work of politically correct, white people that think Asians would or should be offended? Which, in a way, if that’s the case, actually offends me.

I really don’t know. I guess I’m asking…throwing it out there…waiting to be informed. Why is this so awful?

There are Chinese-owned restaurants all over the world with the name “Fortune Cookie” in it. I still get fortune cookies when I order Chinese food. And sometimes they’re actually clever.

Please bear in mind my philosophy: I try to poke fun at everyone, and I do it as much as I make fun of my people, and myself. I openly embrace the modern British stereotype that we are beer-guzzling, soccer hooligans that have bad teeth. I get it.

The Asian community has embraced Jeremy Lin with pride…and rightly so; he’s the ultimate underdog, and he is the first American basketball star of Chinese descent, but his success has nothing to do with his race or his ancestry.

The gray areas of racism are just that: caught between the black and white. It’s just such a touchy subject, and people’s opinions differ so strongly on it that it’s difficult in that gray area to truly know what is right or wrong.

I know in my heart I have to feel comfortable with what I say or what I think. I have my own boundaries, but I don’t like being censored or told “I can’t say that,” but at the same time, I am willing to listen to both sides of the argument, and especially if it is done articulately and intelligently and without any name-calling.

Meanwhile, here’s a young man who went back to work this week. He already has enough nicknames, but whatever, he’s the real deal. Go Giants!

The Tap-to-Tap Challenge

Ladies and gentlemen, friends and enemies…It’s time to be baffled and amazed as The Bay Area Brit takes you on a quick journey of San Franciscan self-deprecation to lows you’ve never seen before, unless you’ve spent time kissing the rain gutters of this fair city.

Picture if you will, a sprightly jaunt, two blocks downhill on Fillmore Street to my former favorite haunt, (what was once) the greatest English pub San Francisco has ever seen: The Mad Dog In The Fog.

The days were daring, my friend. I saw myself as single and carefree. Nothing concerned my idle ways. Beer was my love during these saddest of times. Sure, I loved my female, beer-buddy sidekick, as I always do—whomever fills those shoes. The female sidekick allowed me to have the feminine companionship I craved without the complications that came in a “relationship.”

If one staggers around alone after a few too many pints, the chances are quite high that a bad choice in decision-making is around the corner. The female sidekick deters you from such moments of poor judgment—especially in the amour department. Because ultimately, one of the jobs of the sidekick, is to call you on your drunken shit, like when you’re in a darkened corner with what you thought was a hot chick but turns out to be an ATM machine.

Armed with a stack of cash, I told the bartender that I wanted to drink one of every single one of the 21 different varieties of beer on tap. I would start with the first tap and make my way around. If you think I’m kidding, you do not know The Bay Area Brit.

The bartender knew me, and while my statement of intent was met with a raised eyebrow, she wouldn’t have to decide for an hour or two just when she would have to cut me off.

The plan (excuse for trying this) was to assess each of the beers on tap and review them. There were many that I had never tasted. The smart thing to do would have been to sample the beer I had never tried first, so I would definitely know if I had discovered a new favorite brew. Scratch that: The smart thing to do would be not to attempt this dumb feat at all.

 I ordered the first beer and took a sip and felt my phone buzz. It was my female sidekick: a feisty, pretty, young sparkplug named Corie. I told her what I was attempting.

“This I’ve got to see,” she said. “Don’t do anything stupid until I get there.”

“You had better hurry then,” I laughed.

Corie showed up sporting a massive grin, and hopped on the barstool next to me.

“So what beer are you on now?” I raised one hand with some fingers extended.

“Four! You’re only at four?”

“I’m pacing myself.”

“They close in six hours, you’d better pick it up a bit.”

The funny thing was, Corie made no attempt to talk me out of this. For her, this would be fun, well at least until I became indecipherable. The bartender knew at this point that she wouldn’t have to cut me off. Corie and I lived a few blocks apart and she would make sure I got home safely. Although in retrospect: I had eight inches and probably eighty pounds on Corie. How would she carry me two blocks uphill?

In my mind, having Corie there with me somehow legitimized what I was doing as fun and not insanely stupid. Had she not been there, I would have been just another sad and depressed drunken Englishman, hell bent on self-destruction because he could never find a girfriend that would a) put up with him, or b) that he loved being with as much as his favorite sidekick.

For the next few hours during The Tap-To-Tap Challenge, Corie and I laughed, while I sank further and further into inebriation. As she always did, when she’d had a few beers, she would try and stick a finger in my ear or try to put a digit up my nose or grab my hand and make me slap myself. I never knew why she would want to do this (or put her finger in these places), but the wrestling that would ensue would make sure we burst into foolish drunken laughter.

After a while, (I was trying to choke down Beer #15) I could sense Corie was getting bored, because I hadn’t made any progress from Beer #14 to #15 in half an hour. I believe #15 was a hearty, brown bitter served at room temperature. There was no way this was going to go down and stay down.

I wasn’t feeling so great. I slurred to Corie that I had trained my whole life for this moment. How was it possible that I couldn’t do this?

Corie said, “Come on let’s get you home.” I vaguely remember taking a long route back home falling upwards, while Corie guided me laughing hysterically as she negotiated a comparative giant noodle of a human up the hill.

The next morning, through the cobwebs of a brutal hangover, I knew what Corie had done. She knew that I needed help, and she knew that she could never talk me out of my foolish attempt, and so she came down to the pub, not just to keep me company, but to make sure that I was going to be all right at the end of it.

A few weeks after the Tap-To-Tap Challenge, Corie and I would be side-kicking it together at The Mad Dog when I would be introduced to a woman who would eventually become my wife.

Corie told me later that while she was happy for me, she was also sad, because she knew that it was the end of “us” as we knew it.

Not only was it the end of “us,” it seemed like it was the end of me needing a female sidekick to save me from myself.

Two weeks ago, at the age of 34, Corie Woods suddenly and unexpectedly passed away. I don’t know how or why it happened. At the time of writing this, I don’t believe there are any definite answers.

I have a hundred wonderful memories of time spent with her. The Tap-To-Tap Challenge was perhaps the silliest. She was as special to me as she was to everyone who knew her.

I will always love you, my little sidekick.

R.I.P. Corie

The Gospel According To BART ….part II

BART continues to be a source of amusement for the pic-and-caption team at The Bay Area Brit. I hope that you feel the same way.

The BART station agent’s financial woes are aired for everyone to see. However, if BART paid him more money maybe he would stay in his little booth the whole shift like he’s supposed to.

I keep seeing these ads on the BART platforms everywhere. I know when I’m scraping together the $2.75 to take BART in the morning, I often think to myself: “I should just donate my luxury yacht to some page 3 pin-up dressed like Donald Duck.” Really?

Speaking of ads: Why did the people that paid for the Judgment Day Warning posters pay to have their ads run through the end of July? Silly rapture-wanters.

This young man takes a heroin nap during the evening commute to San Francisco. He will wake up three hours later in Richmond and will have somehow lost his wallet, his ID, his sunglasses, and his Nikes.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen this happen, people.

A Female commuter regrets her decision to partake in “Take A Convict To Work Day” when he tells her that he’s never really known true love before…until now.

You know I just couldn’t resist

If you missed the first one, click below, and don’t be shy with a comment if you liked it, hated it, or are in one of the pictures and want your silly face blurred.

https://thebayareabrit.com/2011/03/07/the-gospel-according-to-bart/

The Illustrated Guide On How To Dine And Dash

***This particular blog has become extremely popular. It is satire, and should not be taken seriously. We do NOT condone Dining and Dashing.***

**************************************

“HOW TO DINE AND DASH” is now a short film. Just click on the link.

An Indian restaurant in London called Khan’s had so many issues with people running out without paying their bill that they only hired young, lean Indian waiters that could run the 100 meters in less than 11 seconds. There were usually 9 or 10 servers on the floor, all of them with leg muscles stretched and limbered up, ready to take off into the night to chase someone likely so full of curry they didn’t stand a chance of getting away. 

On at least three visits to Khan’s I saw someone try to Dine And Dash. It would usually start with some plates being dropped, followed by the sound of furniture being swept aside, and then frantic yelling (Probably Hindi for, “We’ve got a runner!”) then there would be a flurry of white shirts and Nikes sprinting out the front door in spicy hot pursuit of the Dine ‘n’ Dasher like they were running from the bulls in Pamplona.

They always caught the runner and dragged him back to the restaurant. The Dine ‘n’ Dasher always looked like he had been roughed up a bit in the skirmish, and the adrenaline-pumped waiters’ high-fived each other in victory as other diners applauded.

Embarrassing to say the least.

If only the Dine ’n’ Dasher had thought more carefully about his restaurant choice—unless of course he enjoyed the rush of being chased down and beaten by a swoop of young Indian men.

Here now is

“The Illustrated Guide On How To Dine-And-Dash”

1)    Location, Location, Location

The successful Dine ‘n’ Dasher chooses their restaurant carefully.

The restaurant MUST be busy, the more chaotic the better.

If the restaurant has more than one exit, this is a plus.

Often, restaurants inside hotels are prime choice because the restrooms are located in the lobby and not in the dining room, making escape easy.

The experienced Dine ‘n’ Dasher knows that choosing the right restaurant shouldn’t be based on the quality of the menu, but the likelihood of a successful escape.

Continue reading