Waxy O'Connor's on the River

No stars. Zero. Zilch. Nada. (Yelp made me click 1) The place is a waste of space, not to mention Riverfront and finely-honed wood. The server couldn't even be bothered to have attitude; the menu didn't even include all six pitiful selections; the owners hadn't even considered providing wifi (or if they had, it was "a long time ago" according to the eaves-dropping bartender). Be warned, this is not the Waxys as seen on site, let alone as promised way back when. It is a joke plastered atop a very sad case of why bother at all. Too bad too.

A group of pals and I ended up at this gleaming example of river-adjacent excellence to watch Game 7 of the NBA Finals. We were pleasantly surprised to see that it was not too crowded. Perhaps those present were people that, much like us, could be lumped into a group known as "none the wiser".

Upon arrival, it was nearly impossible to find a server/host/employee of the restaurant. I was eventually told by a kind soul that we could seat ourselves. This person may or may not have actually worked for the restaurant. Upon finding a pair of lost souls on Waxy's payroll, they gave my friend and I dissenting information in regards to which tables were reserved. This caused a bit of confusion which we were able to clear up without their help. We eventually settled on a booth. We asked our server, who graced us with his presence in spectacularly nonchalant fashion, if we could pull up chairs for some friends arriving later. He suggested that we simply wait for the group at a larger, prime-location table to leave, and then we could have their table. He assured us they would leave before tip off. As you can probably imagine, they didn't. Maybe they wanted to watch the most important game in Miami Heat history. Well, not to be outdone by one silly blunder, our Mensa candidate server also promised that same table to another group. What a delightful surprise. Again, this could have caused an issue had we not resolved it among ourselves and all not been so excited to see the Heat.

With that ordeal more less behind us, we were ready to order.

The menu was a piece of paper with a few options printed on it. It looked as if it was fresh off their refurbished dot-matrix printer. I suppose it was a tongue in cheek way of letting the guests know what type of quality to expect. Bravo, Waxy's. Well done.

The service was glacially slow. Actually, scratch that. If this guy was an iceberg, he would never actually start melting despite all the other ice caps around him doing so. Despite not being too crowded, and it being a major sporting event, the place seemed unprepared (or unwilling) to provide prompt service. The server accused us of using two tables (the one we were at and the one we were trying to secure in vain), which is a really smart thing to do to people that are supposed to give you money.

The group that did not leave the table was very rude to us when we tried to explain our scenario. This was not entirely surprising. A very catty woman explained that she was friends with the manager. The server also passed along this information to us, perhaps to help me understand that his hands were proverbially tied. He was under the impression that this factoid interested me in the slightest. It didn't. After all this, I'm shocked the restaurant wasn't as vacant as the stare he gave us all night.

But anyway...we were there to see the Heat! Alas, we also experienced quite a bit of it. The place was sweltering. Beyond uncomfortable. Our entire table was sweating. I couldn't imagine what hilarious excuse we'd be given if we asked why it was so hot, so I decided to save myself the grief and not ask.

People came to watch the game. So naturally one of the TV's had a cute "LG" logo bouncing around with a "No Signal" message. Something for everyone, I guess.

After we had some chicken wings (very good, but very small) we also tried ordering sliders, cheese fries and quesadillas. I want you to guess how many of these items they were out of. (Hint: All of them). Awesome.

After this experience, the server obviously knew that we were happy, satisfied patrons. Perceptive young man, this artisan of culinary service. So he took it upon himself to include 18% gratuity to our check. We were a party of 5, and I am used to parties of 6+ being charged automatic gratuity. I could be wrong on this one, though. You're not gonna believe this, but the awesome, aforementioned professionally printed menu made no mention of automatic gratuity. This guy was wearing a #6 Heat jersey, and true to form, he is easily the LeBron James of shitty service.

Alas, the Heat took home the championship, made everyone happy and made the night memorable despite Waxy's litany of shortcomings. The only reason this place gets two stars is because the Heat took the title that night. And when it takes a major sport championship to boost you up to two stars, you know you suck.

Always liked this place, it has a good Irish Pub vibe with the woodwork inside. Nice river/downtown view from the outside seating area. Came here for a Heat playoff game on a Saturday night and was surprised we were able to get not only seats for seven people but a table with a TV in front of it midway through the 1st quarter. Only downside was how many drinks they were out of on a not so packed Saturday night. They were out of yuengling drafts, jack daniels, and something else I forgot. It was weird because when the bartender said they were out of jack for a jack and coke she said she had black label instead and just made the drink and served it without waiting for a reply.