I’ve had several unpleasant experiences at the sushi joint Opal. But the happy hour is appealing - or I am too forgiving - so I’ve continued to go back over the past six years. Each time is worse than the last.

The first experience, for a friends birthday dinner, was so horrible, the owner actually bought us a bottle of Dom, a bottle of Pearl Saki and several rounds of high-grade sashimi, all accompanied by a $300 gift certificate to compensate for the worst, bitchiest service ever.

After a 30 minute wait for soups, several rolls never received, and even more incorrect items brought to us, we never received so much as an apology from the server. In fact, when the bill was presented with the items we never ordered still included in the total, we were told no one was available to discount the bill and we could either pay the whole amount, returning the next day to be reimbursed, or dine and dash. Outrageous! But because of the owners generosity later and sincere attempt to remedy the situation, I have since returned but am always disappointed if not appalled.

Let me preface this by stating I have been in the service industry for 10 years. The past five have been for a well established, well accredited and well respected fish house. Any server or bartender will attest that fellow service industry folk are the best, most understanding and laid back people to wait on. Basically it’s because we can put ourselves in the shoes of our servers and understand why sometimes the food takes a little longer or why sometimes the service is a little slower. We are forgiving, empathizing, and above all, spectacular tippers.

My most recent account of Opal was earlier this week while seeking out a happy hour. Lured by $1 Coronas and (what was advertised in the paper as premium but was really well) $4 martinis, I thought, “How bad could Opal make $1 Coronas?” Naive little me. Even my co-workers were warning me as I embarked on my afternoon happy hour adventure.

When I arrived at the little sushi place, located on the corner of 9th and Broadway, it seemed promising. The bar was full, and small groups were scattered about in the lounge areas. The ambience was cozy- kind of Art Deco meets Arabian Harem. My friend and I seated ourselves at the raised end of the wrap-around bar and, noticing the lights weren’t on in our area of the restaurant, questioned the bartender if we could sit on that side of the bar. Rudely, he snapped that it was fine, glaring at us like we were stupid for taking up his time asking questions.

My friend and I shrugged it off and after five minutes of waiting for a man four feet from me to ask us what we wanted to drink, I questioned over the counter if I could get a Corona and a water. The bartender didn’t even acknowledge me, just snatched a bottle out of the cooler and popped off the cap in a huff. My friend followed my lead and asked for a Ketel One martini. I asked twice and she asked once if it was on the happy hour before we received a “NO” that implied we ought to be shot for asking him another question. So even though the ad in the Westword said premium martinis, my friend didn’t argue and said she would take a Corona as well.

The two beers were slammed on the bar top and not another word was spoken to us. No offer for food. No “Is there anything else I can get for you?” Just a cold shoulder. Both of us raised our eyebrows but shrugged it off and continued on with our own conversation, writing off his horrendous behavior thinking maybe he was just having a bad day.

Almost at the end of my beer the bartender approaches us.

“Did one of you guys ask for water?” I replied (still politely) that we were just about done so not to worry about it because I wouldn’t finish it. (I don’t like wasting water and I hate when people order it and never drink it)

The bartender then says, “That isn’t what I asked you. It was a yes or no question. Did you or did you not order water?

I couldn’t believe it. All I could say was, “What?”

“It was a yes or no question,” he repeats aggressively. “It’s not hard. Did you order water?”

At this point I was shocked and raised my voice a little. “Yes, sir. I did order water. But we are just about through and I don’t need it anymore.”

My coworker and I looked at each other, speechless. I couldn’t believe it. I pulled $3 out of my wallet and put it on the bar, (still going to give a small tip just out of etiquette). We grabbed our things and silently made our way to my scooter. Once outside, we both just laughed in disbelief taking turns exclaiming that we “just couldn’t believe it.” Then the bartender comes out after us, throws crumpled dollars on my scooter seat, gave a completely forced “sorry” and stormed back inside.

In times of economic hardship, why are we still going to places who don’t value our patronage? There are venues all over Denver whose owners are begging for us to spend our valuable dollar in their establishment. There are servers, my self included, who are at the mercy of customers’ tips so we can pay our rent, feed our kids, survive. We give good service because this is a profession we’ve chose either for the time being or for the long haul and our salary is comprised of the T.I.P.S. (To Insure Proper Service) of satisfied guests. After this experience, I will never again go to Opal when there are warm, appreciative, bartenders all over Denver happy to see my business and I encourage everyone to do the same.