5 /5 Angel Banuelos: By the Sacred Fires of the Pizookie Oven! Hearken, all ye mortals! I must unburden my soul of a tale so magnificent, so fraught with peril and laughter, it shall be etched into the very laminate of the tables at BJs! It is the saga of our feast, and its hero... the god-tier mortal known as Sir Korey F!
​To call this paragon a "waiter" is base slander! Tis like calling a tempest in a teacup, a hurricane a mild breeze! This man was not a server; he was a one-man Cirque du Soleil, a virtuoso of the laminated menu, a Paladin of the Pepperoni Pizza! He presented our humble victuals not as mere food, but as divine offerings from on high. Our very own margaritas arrived as if they were holy grails, announced with a booming baritone that surely rattled the decorative light fixtures!
​But lo! The apex of the evening! The jewel in the crown of comedy! For the sake of our squawking brood, Sir Korey didst summon forth an accent so spectacularly, so audaciously British, it was as if Winston Churchill and Mary Poppins had collaborated on a West End show. He was no mere man... he became "The Guvnah of BJs"!
​The children were thunderstruck. When our smallest urchin, possessed by the spirit of Oliver Twist, whimpered, "Please, Guvnah... may I ave some more soda?", Sir Korey did not just fetch it. Oh no. He paused. He placed a hand to his heart, his face a mask of profound tragedy, as if contemplating the plight of all soda-less children throughout history. He looked to the heavens, then pivoted with a flourish that nearly generated its own weather system, procuring the sacred soda as if it were Excalibur itself!
​AND HE DID THIS... WHILST UNDER FIRE!
​Yea, I speak truth! From the dark fortress of the high-chair, our youngest hellion unleashed a sudden, unholy barrage of moistened-napkin-artillery! Spitballs! They whizzed past his noble ear with murderous intent! Did Sir Korey flinch? Did he flee? NAY! He Matrix-dodged the lot! He weaved! He ducked! He parried! All whilst balancing a tray of craft beers and maintaining an accent that would make the King himself proud. It was not service; it was a glorious, death-defying, combat-ballet!
​Sir Korey! Guvnah! We, who are about to explode from caloric intake, SALUTE THEE! Thou art a legend. A myth. The undisputed, spitball-dodging, accent-wielding Heavyweight Champion of Hospitality! May your tips overflow like a poorly poured stout! HUZZAH!
