Sitting down in a restaurant to be told you look like a tw*t by staff would usually result in stern words with the manager.
But, doing so would make you a 'Karen'.
And that's something you want to avoid being called in the aptly-named 'Karen's Diner'.
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Layla Nicholson headed to the newest branch of the immersive eatery in Barnet – and it's safe to say the waiting staff were on their worst behaviour.
So how did the Daily Star reporter get on at the restaurant infamous for having the worst service in the world?
As it's nestled in the fancy Hadley Hotel in North London, Karen's Diner almost seemed out of place on the first approach.
The usual smiles by reception were replaced by the scowls of apron-clad staff leaning on the furniture like they didn't want to be there. At this point neither did I.
When asked if they need my name for the reservation I was abruptly told that I'm not "important" and I'm "irrelevant."
With my ego already bruised, I knew this was only the start of the bashing I would take for the rest of the evening – and it hadn't even started yet.
Like everyone else in for the night of heckling, the bar called my name in order for some Dutch courage. But, we weren't even safe from the staff here.
A bloke told us we're "mad" to go to Karen's. I wasn't sure if we were being warned by a local upset with the obnoxious neon lights or if employees were at it already.
It turned out to be the latter, of course.
I sipped my gin for some reassurance and we were eventually ordered into the American themed diner on steroids.
"Sit the f*** down," one waitress yelled. "What's wrong with you, sit the f*** down."
Eager to not be in the Karen's Diner equivalent of a splash zone, I attempted to sit down where I thought I would evade the harshest service.
But I was quick to find out that nowhere was left unscathed.
The mirror to my left listed a number of things that were hated by Karen – vegans being at the top of course.
That's when I realised that an arrow pointing to my seat was labelled 'virgin', with whoever sat in the seat opposite being the reason "London smells like fish".
With only a moment to collect myself, the staff really upped the ante and began to berate punters for sport.
"It's a disgrace that you didn't even get your roots done for press night," waiter 'Jack' blasted, annihilating my hair.
"Your hair looks like roadkill," he jibed at my partner.
Five minutes had passed and it was already time to make a salon appointment and for my partner to consider flying to Turkey for a transplant.
Menus were thrown at us before the waitress sat down at the table and refused to leave until we had ordered.
The card was filled with witty menu items that verged on offensive – and I chose 'The Classic Karen' that included two beef patties and cheese.
Burger prices ranged from £14 to £24 and come with a side of fries and public humiliation.
Karen's Diner has a penchant for hating vegans and veggies, so if you choose the non-meat alternatives then you'll be the butt of the joke of the restaurant.
That joke being told "f*** you" through a megaphone while you stand and bear the brunt of the chanting from everyone else.
Then once orders had been taken, the games really began.
A wheel of doom was brought out by sharp-tongued Jack who picked on anyone of his choosing, whether eye contact was made or not.
Another diner was Geordie Shore cast member Robbie McMahon, who was instructed to get on all fours and pretend to be a cat.
Then my partner was thrusted upon the chequered tiles with three other lads to dance to 'I'm Too Sexy'. Think Inbetweeners movie on the Malia strip, but more tragic.
An impromptu catwalk was held with staff demanding that we boo the 'models' and rate their outfits.
One woman's all white get-up was compared to a napkin.
And, of course a painful session of karaoke was delivered.
While the wheel claimed its victims, staff continued to wade war on the self-esteem of their guests.
I was told that the reason it took so long to order a milkshake was because the "bleach had seeped into my hair follicles and into my brain". Honestly, that could well be true.
Insults were thrown left right and centre calling out the "Love Island rejects" among us and providing personalised paper sailor hats for us to wear.
While mine read "you should have been swallowed", another woman wore her "fossil flaps" hat proudly.
As I slurped on my strawberry milkshake with enough cream to cause an IBS diagnosis, a loud-mouthed waitress screamed "you look like a tw*t."
But let's not forget this is a restaurant.
As the clock ticked past the 70 minute seating time and other tables got up to leave, my food hadn't been served yet.
Was this part of the show or was the kitchen just slow?
I resisted the urge to complain and be a 'Karen' – but an hour and 10 minutes had passed without any sight of our food.
The hanger inside me built so I had no choice but to unleash my inner Karen.
One staff member asked: "Is there a reason why you're such a miserable b**** tonight?"
"I'm a miserable b**** every night," I quickly replied.
But, the real reason was that I was hungry.
Another of the rowdy waitresses noticed the "miserable" look on my face and actually asked the kitchen where our food was.
Finally, the whopper of a meal was delivered to our table.
But, all the degradation was worth it in the end as the grub was tasty and of good quality.
The type of meat that melts in your mouth and is enjoyable to devour.
It's safe to say the massive burger with a huge portion of fries and sides of chicken strips and mac 'n' cheese defeated me.
After stuffing my face, I got up to leave and was heckled one last time.
"Get out of here you sketty b****," one waiter bellowed.
"YOU WHAT," I built up the courage as I turned the corner only for the waiter to chase me out and call me a "sketty w****r."
I tried.
As I walked out the diner back into the hotel lobby, the choice to buy some Karen merchandise was available.
However, the only souvenir I need is the rally of insults etched into my mind.
So, would I go back to Karen's Diner?
Well, not in a heartbeat.
Unless I want to develop a low self-esteem and rack up a big bill at the hairdressers.
Saying that, it would be perfect for stag or hen do or a different night out with mates.
The food is every glutton's dream and the constant public humiliation will most likely fulfil those who find pleasure in being degraded.
For me though, I'd much prefer to eat my food without someone calling me a "tw*t."
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