Overly-gimmicky décor: Restaurant looks like a log cabin? Sure. The toilet sink is a dented enameled washbasin with the drainhole hacksawed out, the toilet seat is permanently installed into a wood bench to look like an outhouse shitter and the air conditioner is painted to look like wood? No thanks.
Outdated everything: Red gingham tablecloths with cigarette burns, 1980s glassware and yellowed laminate on the menus.
Clusterfuck menus: Grilled pork, bucatini all'Amatriciana, enchiladas, sushi, home-style strudel, organic vegan cheesecake, $2 beer, Veuve Clicquot.
Uncomfortable seating: What's more inviting than hard metal chairs with cushions flimsier than my reasons to keep living? It ain't wood stools, that's for sure.
Embarrassing dish names: I would rather go home hungry than out loud, in public, ask for a "Chicky Chicky Good 'N' Thiccy Sammich".
Shady clientele: If I see fat old tattooed bastards with ponytails or greasy bald heads, or angry MMA fighter-looking lummoxes, I am walking right past, making eye contact with no one.