You love my open letters...

Dear Champps Sports Bar,
I don't mind that you have dumbasses for waitresses or that your guacamole tasted like a used band-aid (not even a new one.) I don't really mind that the sports are a little too loud (I mean it IS a sports bar) or that I am not entitled to as many waffle fries as I could possibly eat. If I really wanted a place that had good service or guacamole that didn't taste like trash, I could go somewhere else. If I don't want sports, I could have gone to Fridays. If I want as many waffle fries as I could possibly eat, I'd stay home and eat and eat and eat. I'm not going to use this blog to complain about these things. I am going to complain about your stairs.

I'm not entirely sure what the point of making stairs a slip and slide is. Maybe it's because I'm not an architect or I don't understand modern physics, but I do understand a little thing called falling down and I even demonstrated it for the entire restaurant in case no one was aware. I've seen posters about using hand rails and I have even taken my chances by not using them, but when I use the hand rails and my ass meets the concrete at an increased speed, the lesson's moral seems to be off. And considering I have a bruise forming, a nasty gash on my arm and I have trouble sitting down, I think it's safe to say I didn't eat shit on purpose.

I just wanted to let you know why I won't be returning for your waffle fries.

Love,
The Girl Who Ate Shit on the Stairs In Front of Everyone

P.S. I also know something called "liability" and if I had the money for a lawyer I'd totally sue!