Friday night. Four of us hanging out at Caitlin’s house–we were gonna order takeout from Kassava and play Taboo. Half of us were vegetarians and we all love Caribbean food so it seemed like a good choice. Kassava is a small restaurant with vegetarian options on their mostly Jamaican and Haitian menu.

We ordered our food just before 7:30pm. Caitlin and I threw down in Taboo, making the boys immediately more irritable.

8:30 rolled around. no food. Caitlin calls to check. Lady says driver left 7 minutes ago. Kassava is about 8 minutes away from her. They should be here in one minute. Unless this is how he’s getting here:

We don’t play another round of Taboo cause Caitlin and I are too good and nobody wants to play us. Just kidding. Everyone was just hungry and irritable.

9:30. No food. Caitlin has already called twice so this time I call, pretending to be her, and say, our food is not here, it needs to arrive NOW and you need to comp us our meal. Lady is rude but agrees, saying she will void the credit card and call me back.

10pm. Ten fucking pm!!! Are you kidding me? Do you think when we order food at 7:30 that means we want it Saturday morning?! It’s not that hard, dude.

At this point Kamal begins a fruitless half hour long process of trying to give directions to the delivery guy who thought “fairfax and fifth” meant Washington and Pico. Or something to that effect. He basically drove back and forth like a bird bumping into a closed window all night.

Word to the wise, if you don’t know your way around LA, here are some suggested professions you don’t take on: cab driver, tour guide, delivery guy. Just don’t!!

Are you sad there are no food pictures? You know what that means? No food.

They finally delivered at 10:40 or so. That’s over three hours after we ordered. By this time I was gone but Caitlin said the food was cold, greasy and disgusting. She described one of the veggie dishes as basically two cans of cold garbanzo beans. Yuck.

Worst part? The lady called Caitlin’s phone at 11pm, after she was asleep, to inform her that since she finally got her food her card would be charged.

The nerve. Rage hardly describes the sentiment.

When I told my sister what happened, she had two things to say.

One: “Why would you order from a Jamaican Haitian place and expect a timely delivery? Cause Jamaicans are known for speed and Haitians for organization?” Ouch.

Two: “If you write about this you better tell them about the time Makkah Halal took three hours to deliver my food and then charged my card.”

There I did it. The thing is, Makkah Halal’s food is so good, that both my sister and I have ordered from there again and again. Plus they rectified the situation. Kassava, on the other hand, can go ‘head with that bullshit. I don’t give a fuck if they created the world’s best patty, the richest vegetable curry and most tropical shake on this earth. Which, by the way, they didn’t. So fuck ‘em.