I want to go to Buffalo Wild Wings.

I wanna wait half an hour for my order to be taken.
I wanna get drinks and only drinks as I wait desperately for my food.
I want poor customer service.
I want my server to be emotionless, displaying anger over his life choices.
And I want him to mess up my order to an unbelievable degree.
I wanna see the same football game on every screen, whether it’d be in front of me or behind me.
I don’t want to be able to tell what is happening on the screen.
I want it to be merely a suggestion of sports.
I wanna play Texas Hold β€˜em on one of the screens, and beat people who actually know how to play.
I want to admire the party room from a distance, intrigued at the speed at which they get service.
I wanna go with locals who refuse to call it anything but B-dubs. And I wanna be baraded when I order boneless wings.
I want hours to pass before I get my food. And when I get it, I want it to be room temperature.
I want the wing sauce to be mostly water, with a slightly chunky texture.
And I want wings that mainly consists of cartilage and bone, with as little meat as possible.
I wanna get fries with the wings that are mediocre to an unbelievable degree. And I want the fries to be only raw potato that is cut vaguely into a fry shape.
The chef must have a criminal record, for he is serving prison food.
I want to say everything is alright to the waiter when he asks, even though it is everything but alright.
I want it all to be expensive, and for my wallet to cry.
I wanna file for bankruptcy, and to overall have an unenjoyable and tear-enducing experience.
I want to regret ever going there, and come back a week later.
I want to go to Buffalo Wild Wings.
And I want to hate it every time.