Why You Shouldn’t Tell Someone That Their Baby is Ugly
Tuesday, September 16, 2008

I love breakfast. Never mind it being the most important meal of the day. It is simply superior to the other meals as far as caffeine and sugar intake are concerned.

Around my neck of the woods, there are three places that I can commonly be found eating on a Saturday or Sunday morning: J’s Pots of Soul, Stacks, or It’s Tops.

There was another restaurant in my past, but it and I had a falling out. Many asked what happened, and I’ve kept quiet. That is, until today.

A few years ago, as a young chap, I stumbled upon a restaurant in the Lower Haight that had a decadent breakfast, and akin to that new catchy pop song you play over and over, I became an obsessive visitor to this establishment.

After a few visits, my repressed design sense began to take note of their horrible handwritten menus. Legend has it that they were scribed during the 89 earthquake.

So, I did what any good breakfast Samaritan with a design degree would do: I covertly photographed their handwritten menu and redesigned it.

After printing up the menu and laminating it, I delivered it to a manager, along with a CD containing the PDF and the Illustrator file. She stared like a monkey at a Rubik’s Cube. I awkwardly moved backwards towards the door and then ran away.

Three weeks later, they chose to go with another handwritten menu that was even more difficult to read, and I’ve never been back since.

The lesson learned? Don’t design things for free for jerks.

The redesign

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