promises, promises

"Just when I thought I was out... they pull me back in." 

— Michael Corleone, Godfather III

I know. I know. I know. I said my last post about Movie Tavern would be my last post about Movie Tavern. Actually, I think I said that every time I've written about Movie Tavern. (Counting this post, that makes a total of five.) But, this one, I swear will be my last. Promise.

click image to enlarge

Back in May, my wife and I went back to Movie Tavern to afford them one last chance for redemption. They failed. The vicious circle began... again. We complained. They compensated, this time with complementary admission and thirty dollars in food vouchers. Were we dumb enough to fall for this again? You betcha.

Mrs. P received a fat little envelope stuffed with a letter of apology accompanying the free tickets and food coupons. We stuck the envelope on our refrigerator with a magnet and nearly forgot about it, until just this week. "Hey, I wonder if there is an expiration date on those Movie Tavern vouchers?," I inquired aloud to my wife. She shrugged her shoulders, so I checked. Sure enough, they did expire... at the end of July. With our free time in short supply, we decided to use them just this week. Y'know, to get it over with. We didn't even care what film we saw, as long as we wouldn't have to return to Movie Tavern after this last trip.

Rob, the General Manager at the local Movie Tavern, asked my wife to email him before we come, so he could arrange for seats and we could skip the box office. He also said if there are any problems this time, we should ask for "Matthew" or "Wanda" at the theater. When we arrived, we had to go to the box office anyway to get our tickets. We explained our exchange with Rob. The nice gentleman at the box office had no idea what we were talking about. No one had informed him of our arrival, of our "make up visit," of anything. (This was off to a fine start.) The fellow at the ticket window called for a manager for help. A young man, who was neither Matthew nor Wanda, arrived. He, too, knew nothing about our arrangement, however, he did give us tickets when we surrendered the passes Rob had mailed to us.

When seating was announced for our theater, we entered the auditorium, found our pre-selected seats and began to peruse the menu. I have never had a complaint about the food at Movie Tavern. It's always good and plentiful and filling. They have changed their menu considerably since our last visit, so we took our time weighing our meal options. There were several non-meat offerings, including a reformulated black bean burger, which I decided upon. My wife chose their new traditional pizza that replaced the flatbread option from the previous menu. Soon, a waiter appeared to take our order. After we gave him our meal selections, he asked for a credit card to create a "tab." I produced the three $10 food vouchers that we received from General Manager Rob and handed them over. Then, I gave my credit card for any overage that the vouchers didn't cover. As the waiter walked away, I joked to Mrs. P: "You know, when our check comes, it's gonna be for the full amount and he will have forgotten about those vouchers I just handed to him." We laughed. My wife added, "If that happens, I am not complaining about it. I don't want more free passes and have to come back here again!"

Our appetizer and main course came during the movie. We ate and everything was fine. We were both enjoying the movie — Edgar Wright's action-comedy Baby Driver, reminiscent of Pulp Fiction-era Tarantino, but done much better — when the check arrived. The waiter leaned in and whispered, "I was only allowed to apply two vouchers to your bill."

Oh, Movie Tavern, Movie Tavern, Movie Tavern. When will you get your shit together?

He asked if we'd like to talk to a manager. I told him "yes," but that I'd also like to watch the movie! In the darkened theater, I could see that he nodded. He continued down our row, dropping checks on the trays of other audience members, A few minutes later, he returned. He placed his hand on the faux leather portfolio and asked if our check was ready to be paid. "No," I said, in an annoyed whisper, "I'd like to talk to a manager... and I'd also like to watch the movie!"

Finally, the movie ended, the lights came on and our waiter asked if we'd still like to speak with a manager. "Yes," I answered, as I unfolded the apology letter from my pocket, "Is Rob here?" He told us that Rob was not there this evening. "How about Matthew or Wanda?," I continued. "Oh yeah," he said, "I'll get 'im." Soon, a fellow in a Movie Tavern polo shirt entered the theater.

"Can I help you folks?," he asked with a friendly smile. My wife questioned, "I guess you're not 'Wanda'." "Actually, I'm 'Wanza'," he said as he pointed to his name badge which read "Wanza." Mrs. P and I both swallowed hard, but Wanza didn't seem to be bothered. I was ready for an argument, raising my voice and reading Rob's letter — but I didn't have to do any of that. Wanza announced, "We usually don't accept more than two vouchers, but since Rob said it was okay, it's okay with me. Give me a minute and I'll adjust your bill." He returned in a moment and added, "There was a balance of $1.30, but forget it. I'll cover it. No sense charging your credit card such a small amount. I just want to make this right." We thanked him sincerely. As we left the theater, he thanked us again and said, "I hope you'll come back again."

He was the first Movie Theater employee who truly expressed a feeling of pride and caring for the company he represents. He was really concerned about us, the customer.

Unfortunately, Wanza, we will never see you again.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

one more time

"I wish I knew how to quit you." — Jack Twist, Brokeback Mountain

Some people just don't know when to give up. I suppose my wife and I fall into that category, because Sunday night we found ourselves, once again, at Movie Tavern.

You remember our first encounter at Movie Tavern, the innovative, long-overdue concept theater that offers full restaurant service while you watch a first-run movie. Our initial experience was stellar and we anxiously anticipated our our next visit. Things went so smoothly, so flawlessly, that we could not imagine going to the movies any where else. 

That is, until our second visit. A few weeks after our phenomenal experience, Mrs. Pincus and I ventured back to Movie Tavern. This time, we were exposed to the real Movie Tavern, an unorganized, understaffed, chaotic system of mismanaged perpetual trainees. That evening ran like a textbook example of Murphy's law. Our dessert came out first. We got multiple entrees and appetizers that we did not order and, to cap things off, we were overcharged. A subsequent visit revealed that this was the norm and our first experience was the fluke.

We purposely steered clear of Movie Tavern for nearly a year. But, just this week, Mrs. P received a free pass from Movie Tavern for her May birthday. So, we went. Begrudgingly, but we went.

When I'm calling you...

With the entire movie-going population rushing to see the highly-anticipated sequel to Guardians of the Galaxy (a film I did not care for), my spouse and I opted instead for the live-action musical Beauty and the Beast. We purchased a single admission and surrendered Movie Tavern's birthday voucher for the other. Once ticketed, we entered the theater. A server greeted us almost immediately, although I could not understand a single word he said. He smiled, however, he mumbled his entire "welcome" spiel. We chose the "2 for $30" special that includes an appetizer, two entrees from a selected menu and two cookies for dessert. My wife and I follow the laws of kashrut and our house is strictly kosher. Out in the world, we eat as vegetarians. Actually, I am a vegetarian (a fish-eating pescetarian, if you want to get technical), but my still-carnivorous "better half" will not consume meat in restaurants. We selected the delicious-sounding deep-fried artichoke hearts. (Coincidentally, we just had these at another restaurant last weekend and, indeed, they were delicious.) Our entree choices were limited to only two that were vegetarian-friendly. We decided on portobello mushroom sandwiches, but were quickly informed by our server that they were not available this evening. Mrs. P expressed her disappointment. The server mumbled and pointed to the menu. I deciphered "pizza" from his muttering. We resigned to the flatbread pizza and again, we were told they, too, were unavailable. The server kept pushing the regular pizza, but we resisted. Losing patience, I decided to forgo the "special" and just get fish and chips. Surprise! Fish and chips were not available either. Our non-meat options were narrowing at the same pace as my patience. We settled on side salads and an order of meatless nachos to split. At this point, our server had disappeared. I pressed the convenient "call button" with which each seat is outfitted. The blue lights gleamed to tell me that my request for a server had been sent. We waited. And waited. And waited. And waited some more. Soon, a different member of the waitstaff arrived and apologized, cryptically, saying that our server was "otherwise occupied." Was he watching another movie? Was he getting a lesson in diction? Was he ever coming back? Our back-up server took our salad-and-nachos order and explained that the reason so many items were unavailable was they are transitioning to a new menu and would no longer be carrying some current offerings. Wow! Someone took the time for a little customer service.

Our food arrived after the theater had darkened and the coming attractions had already commenced. Eating a salad in the dark was an unexpected challenge. I was forced to consume some components that I would normally relegate to the far side of my plate. But, eating by the light of a flickering screen twenty feet away from me, I'm sure I swallowed a few otherwise shunned tomato wedges. Nachos are another story. I would not recommend eating nachos in the dark. Nachos, when shared with someone with whom you are close, are usually a "finger food." But, without being able to see what you're reaching for, nachos become a sloppy, gooey heap of unidentifiable individual ingredients. While gingerly reaching for the triangular silhouette of a corn chip, I stuck my thumb into a wet mixture of refried beans and shredded lettuce. As I navigated the morsel towards my mouth, I could feel rivulets of pico de gallo running down my chin. We had to wait until a daylight scene (of which there are few) or brightly-lit segment (like the famous "ballroom" scene, which in this version, is not especially luminous) in order to see how close we were to emptying our plate.

Midway through the film and our meal, our server stealthily slunk by and dropped off our check. When the movie ended, I had to track him down to pay. And then, he vanished with my credit card. A few other servers, who were clearing dishes and gathering trash, asked if we needed help. I said I was waiting for my credit card to be returned. They all offered the same reply: "Oh sorry. No problem." Each one echoed the same apologetic sentiment like a chorus of confessors. Finally, our server returned to the theater and handed me my credit card, repeating the "Oh sorry. No Problem." refrain. I got the feeling that the staff at Movie Tavern get a lot of practice apologizing, as they do it quite often.

As my wife and I walked to our car, I imagined this would be the last time we would make this trip. But, Mrs. P told me that earlier in the evening she tweeted "Why do we continue to subject ourselves to Movie Tavern?" and tagged @MovieTavern.

Yesterday, they responded with a private message offering their patented apology and complementary admission and thirty dollars in food vouchers for a return visit. Hopefully, I won't get another blog post out of it,

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

one more for my baby and one more for the road

This will be my last post ever about Movie Tavern. I hope.

Mrs. Pincus and I, once again, subjected ourselves to the ordeal that is Movie Tavern. Boy, this is quite a change in feeling from our first visit to the movie/restaurant combo chain. We loved our first experience at Movie Tavern so much that we couldn't imagine ever going to another theater. It was that good.

Until our second visit.

The second time we went to Movie Tavern, we were anxious and excited to return. We, of course, were expecting the same impeccable, finely-tuned, precision service that made our first trip so pleasurable. Instead, we were subjected to confused waitstaff, crossed signals, multiple incorrect orders, an inaccurate check and unconcerned management. After a written complaint to the corporate office, we were enticed with free passes to give Movie Tavern another chance. It turns out that our first experience at Movie Tavern was the exception and mediocrity was the norm.

It's funny, after not going to the movies for years, Mrs. P and I have attended a half dozen first-run films this year. It's very uncharacteristic for us. Movie Tavern had a lot to do with that. We loved it the first time, but subsequent visits have been to use free passes, obtained either from birthday promotions or to make up for crappy service. We used our final complementary admission this past Saturday. After our server walked past us several times without saying anything.... After we never got the requested lemon slices for our water.... After our appetizer came well after we received our main course.... After our server picked up the check portfolio before I had a chance to total it up, Mrs. P asked me, "Do we ever have to come back here again?" She begged me not to complain about the service this time, lest we get more free passes and have to suffer though this again.

Earlier in the week, we took my in-laws to a regular movie theater. It was a pleasure. We bought tickets. We sat in comfortable seats. We enjoyed a regular experience at the movies, one that we had enjoyed many, many times before. And afterwards, we went to a diner and had something to eat. Like normal people. While we once admired the concept of combining the movie-watching experience with the dining experience, we decided the two should really be kept separate. Why are we in such a rush to kill two birds with one stone? Especially two things that are supposed to be enjoyed leisurely. We have such limited amounts of free time in our lives, why do we want to consolidate our free time activities?

Well, we won't anymore.

Goodbye, Movie Tavern. It's your final curtain call. Check, please.

the second time around

Remember that story I wrote about our wonderful — almost magical — experience at Movie Tavern?

Well, we went back.

Prior to our last (actually, our first) visit to Movie Tavern, the brilliantly-conceived melding of movie theater, restaurant and bar, my wife had signed up for their "special perks" club. Periodically, the marketing team at Movie Tavern would send emails telling about upcoming films, special events and other information to entice us to come back — and come back often. So, taking advantage of a "Free Ticket on Your Birthday" offer, Mrs. P and I returned to Movie Tavern on a Saturday night, I can honestly say that we were excited to go back, having really enjoyed our first encounter,

Keeping with Movie Tavern's policy of seating one half hour before showtime, we arrived at 7 PM for an 8:30 PM showing of Disney's live-action remake of The Jungle Book, a film that had already been out for about a month. With other bigger and more-hyped movies opening the same weekend, we never expected to be told that the auditorium showing The Jungle Book didn't have two seats together. Disappointed, we opted, instead for a 9:20 performance of the new George Clooney-Julia Roberts thriller Money Monster, a film we knew nothing about. But we didn't care. We were happily anticipating an enjoyable evening that duplicated our previous pleasure at Movie Tavern. But now we had an hour to kill.

We scanned the suburban strip center of which Movie Tavern is the centerpiece. Most of the surrounding stores were closed at this hour on a Saturday. So we strolled down to a supermarket at the far end of the parking lot to buy a few non-perishables that I remembered I had scribbled on a shopping list I, of course, left at home. We slowly walked the supermarket aisles behind a nearly empty cart and ate up as much time as we could. We made our purchases and slowly headed back to the theater. I dropped our groceries off in our car and met my wife in the Movie Tavern lobby. 

Time crept by, but soon we queued up at the ticket-taker podium. We were informed that the theater was "not quite ready" and would be called "around 9 or ten of." I checked the clock on my phone. It was ten minutes to nine right now. A little after 9 PM, the announcement was made and we filed into Theater 8.

We scanned the menu and, with an over abundance of offerings for carnivores, we decided on the "2 for $30" special, which was one appetizer, two entrees and two fresh-baked cookies, all vegetarian-friendly. We closed our menus and settled into our reclining seats, watching servers busily scurrying about the theater. A young man passed by us, smiled and said "Hi guys! I'll be with you in a minute. " He disappeared down the entrance hallway. When he returned, he passed us by. Instead, he headed to the row in front of us. He took orders from every one in that row and, again, passed us by as he exited. He did smile at us again, though.

My wife and I exchanged glances that expressed our mutual disappointment. Finally, "Dave," as he introduced himself, came to take our order. Mrs. Pincus started off my saying, "We're gonna make this simple. We're gonna get the '2 foe $30' deal. We'd like the spinach artichoke dip and two portobello mushroom sandwiches." 

Dave furrowed his brow and pointed to the menu. "I believe you get two entrees." 

Mrs. P and I looked at each other and then back to Dave. "Yes," I said, "two portobello sandwiches." 

"Oh. Right.," said Dave. 

Curious about another item I spotted on the menu, I added, "I'd like an order of the fried pickles appetizer."

Dave frowned. "Uh," he stammered, "you only get one appetizer."

"Yes, I understand," I countered, "but, I'd like an additional appetizer. I'll pay for it. I brought money."

Dave smiled and entered my additional selection on his order pad and set off to, I imagine, the kitchen. "Well, this is a little different from the last time we were here." My wife and I uttered the same observed sentiment almost simultaneously.

The lights dimmed and the trailers for upcoming movies began. A few minutes into the preview of a new Ben Affleck film that I will never see, a different server approached us with a plate of two freshly-baked cookies. 

"Cookies?," he asked in a whisper, "You ordered cookies?"

Again, in the dark, my wife and I traded dumbfounded looks. "Well, not before our dinner.," she whispered back her reply,  "Why would these come out before our entire meal?"

He looked at us as though we were the first people to ever want dinner before dessert. What was wrong with us? He offered to bring them back to the kitchen and return with fresh cookies after we finished our main course. Still, he shook his head as though there was something wrong with our request.

Our appetizers arrived as the feature began. A minute later, another set of appetizers arrived. In hushed tones, we explained that we already had our appetizers. The server shook his head and disappeared into the darkness. Twenty or so minutes later, our sandwiches arrived. And a second set of sandwiches arrived moments later.

When the film was over, our server dropped a leatherette portfolio containing our bill on one of the swing-out tabletops connected to our seat. When the lights came on, Mrs. P scanned the printout and frowned. "Well, This is wrong.," she said in disgust.

The lengthy check included our "2 for $30" special and an additional fried pickle appetizer. Below that were two spinach dips, two more pickle orders and two additional mushroom sandwiches. This brought the total to more than double what it should have been. We summoned Dave over and, after several explanations, he finally understood our complaint. (Yes, it took a few reviews of the situation.) He took the bill and promised a return with an adjustment. As we waited for a corrected bill, we were visited by a young lady in managerial dress, complete with a walkie-talkie in her back pocket and an official-looking earpiece firmly in position. She listened to our tale of woe detailing our extreme disappointment as compared to our first visit to Movie Tavern. With sorrowful eyes and concerned expression, she offered apologies. She told a convoluted story about the ins-and-outs of their computerized ordering system. I was not interested in how their business is run and the shortcomings there of. This seems to be a pacifying tactic that corporations love to employ, not realizing that the customer honestly does not give a shit. We signed the corrected receipt and Mrs. P said, "We enjoyed ourselves so much last time. However, if this had been our first experience with Movie Tavern, we probably would not come back." The manager apologized again, very corporately, However, she did not offer any additional incentive or compensation. Not that we were looking for that, but it would have made for good customer relations. 

Will we return to Movie Tavern? Probably. But, not as anxiously.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

at the late-night, double feature picture show

The experience of going to the movies has greatly improved at the same rate that the movies themselves have declined. When I was a kid, in the 1960s, going to the movies meant paying a buck for admission to a theater jammed with other screaming kids on a Saturday afternoon. It meant buying a giant bucket of popcorn — some to be eaten, some to be thrown. It meant a shitty sound system with barely-understood dialog pumped through ancient, crackly speakers. And the movie? Well, in my neighborhood, we had to wait several weeks until the big Hollywood productions made their way out of the ritzy, downtown theaters and into the twin-screen cinemas in the so-called "Greater Northeast," a section of the city that, while geographically was "northeast" of Philadelphia, was, by no means "great." So, our entertainment was provided by a movie that the rest of the world saw a month earlier or a years old, third-rate K. Gordon Murray twisted child fantasy. Nevertheless, it was a memorable experience. 

By the time I reached high school, the first-run policy had been relaxed and movies would premiere just a short drive from my house, in theaters that had been expanded to accommodate up to four separate screens. Most times, this was accomplished by splitting existing auditoriums in half. Economically, this made perfect sense for the theater chains, but the viewing experience was akin to watching a movie in a bowling alley. The ticket prices increased, of course, to subsidize the renovations, but the seats seemed more comfortable and the concession stands seemed to offer a wider and better selection of food.

Although I love movies, I stopped going when the ticket prices skyrocketed and the quality of the actual films diminished. There was that glut of big-screen versions of television shows — mostly miscast and filled with contrived premises. Then there were the plotless action films with more attention paid to explosions than to an actual script. So, I stayed away. Also, thanks to the advent of home video,  people just flat out forgot how to behave in the company of other people. They'd talk loudly, text incessantly and parade up and down the aisles regularly. Some even brought screaming children to inappropriate films. My son and I watched a couple wander into a theater pushing, not one, but two strollers for a 9:15 PM showing of Hellboy. Really, Mom and Dad? Hellboy?

Then theaters began installing stadium seating and sophisticated, state-of-the-art sound systems. Concession stands were stocked with menus featuring deli-style sandwiches and side orders like french fries alongside the M&Ms and popcorn. The auditoriums were even cleaner. Shoes no longer stuck to the floor while walking to a seat. It was slowly becoming a welcoming experience again, albeit very slowly. My wife and I, however, could still categorize our movie-going frequency as "infrequent." 

Last night, Mrs. P and I took in the pinnacle of the movie-going experience. A local branch of the innovative theater chain Movie Tavern opened in late 2015 a mere twenty minute drive from our house. I had heard about how great it was, with a full-service bar, restaurant and movie theater combined into one big, convenient conglomeration. Not content with a package of Twizzlers and a bathtub-size cup of Sprite? Well, how about sweet potato fries, Margherita Flatbread pizza or a 1/3 pound bacon cheeseburger while you watch your choice of films on your choice of eight screens? Remember John Travolta's revelation in Pulp Fiction as he explained about getting a glass of beer in a movie theater? Well, Movie Tavern makes that reality. Yes sir, someone was doing some thinking and they hit upon a concept so simple, I'm surprised it took so long.

Yeesh!

Mrs. P and I were led to our reserved seats by Kyle, an overly-friendly and overly-attentive server. Kyle answered all of our procedural questions without once mocking us for behaving as though we had never been out of the house. He showed us the control to make the deep-cushioned seat recline to almost a flat position. He showed us the magical "call button" that would summon him at a second's notice. (Mrs. P immediately tried it out while he was still going through his explanation.) We ordered dinner and I anxiously pondered how disruptive the food delivery would be. Soon the theater darkened and, as coming attractions splashed across the enormous screen, a warm bowl of spinach-artichoke dip silently arrived at our seats. This was gonna be great! The main feature began. (Despite horrible reviews, we were seeing Batman vs. Superman: Dawn of Justice. I hate superhero movies. My wife loves superhero movies, I love my wife, ergo...) Our main course arrived just as stealthily as our appetizer — a hefty and delicious roasted vegetable wrap for me and a grilled portobello mushroom "burger" for the Mrs. In the dark, we exchanged approving nods for the food, the seats, the service and the theater. We agreed that we may never go to another movie theater again. If we can get them to serve Chinese food on Christmas, this place could be as close to Heaven as one could get.

The movie, however, was another story. Jam-packed with convoluted sub-plots, faux-profound dialog, relentlessly lengthy fight scenes and a plethora of unnecessarily menacing characters (not to mention Ben Affleck's ligneous acting), it's no wonder this 151-minute mish-mash tanked in its second week of release. Even Mrs. P — who still enjoys 1983's misguided Superman III — shook her head in disgust at this mess.

Current movies still suck, but, damn!, if Movie Tavern don't got it goin' on.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com