Bob Evans, bootcamp?

Sunday, the day after what I call the culinary super bowl. My offduty supervisor needed some maternity clothes and a hearty breakfast. Bob Evans, anyone? We embarked on our journey.  10 miles into Smithfield, NC. We pull into this famed breakfast establishment, only to be met by the general manager of this particular one. After a few orders barked from this floor general, the young trainee, took us to our table. The enviroment was loud, with the constant order barking from this man looking for the savior of all Bob Evans, is Shannon here yet? "he barked." After about 200 times asking this question, he retired back to the hostess area. Our young waitress took our order. My wife orders the monster platter with a side of hugeness. I order this omlete called the border scrambler. This has sausage, sour cream, eggs, salsa, and cheese all packed into a beaten egg product, served with hash browns. We get our food in a respectable timley mannor. Huge spread! My meal was not at all what I expected. While packed full of deliciousness. The stuffing of this meal was ontop of my eggs. The meat barely had a mexican theme and the grease from the fried burger dripping off. I ate it to my surprise quite tasty. While my wife and I enjoyed our meal, the general manager was back at his shananagans. Barking orders right over our table, belittling his staff infront of the guest. Talking to the elderly about leukema right behind my wife, while she tried to enjoy her pancakes. This was a piss poor demonstration of how an establishment should opperate and we will not return.

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