How is it possible that the owners of Babalu consistently produce some of the best food in Santa Monica and yet insist on hiring careless, self-absorbed, narcissistic waiters? Yes, this is Los Angeles, but the heights of inconsiderate behavior reached by the wait staff make Steve Martin's Absent-Minded Waiter look like the paragon of service. Don't ever sit at a table outside; you will be left to molder until the restaurant shuts down. Don't ever wait to ask for a refill of your drink; you are better off quenching your thirst at your neighbor's table, assuming they still have something in their glass. Don't ever worry about forgetting the name of your waiter; they will never volunteer the information in the first place for fear of future reprisals. And if your waiter should happen to look you in the eye when asking you for your order, know that this is a nervous tick and to never expect eye-contact again.
For the owners: I don't know the name of my waiter on my last visit, but it was a dark-haired woman and the time of my visit was 5:00 April 12th. I have come to expect terrible service at Babalu's, but this last experience was one for the books.
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