Part Two\r
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I was unfortunately not expecting a ""waiter"" with the emotional sturdiness of a thirteen-year-old who just lost her favorite Hannah Montana DVD. The word ""waiter"" is appropriately placed in quotations, as this fellow, dressed to impress in his cut-off sleeveless shirt, now made a pointed effort to wow us with the assertion that he was in fact the owner of Joya- and thus, we'd better be on our guards. I honestly couldn't tell whether he was going to cry, or make us stand in the corner for time-out. Foolish it was that we would expect a degree of professionalism from a supposed owner rather than the ""my dad can beat up your dad"" shenanigans put on. Granted, this threatening display landed somewhere between Dustin Diamond and a baby Maltese on the intimidation scale, but I digress. After a dedicated attempt to convince him that we were being nothing but polite and that his reactions were unsettling, he marched away once again only for a new waiter to kindly give us our check approximately fifteen minutes later. Interacting with this man had been like watching an episode of the Twilight Zone, only in color. And without the creepy music.\r
Just so as to not overly discredit Joya, I'll say that the food there is quite good, and very well priced. This place could easily attain at least four stars- just stick with the polite Asian waitresses and you should have nothing to fret about.
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