What is the sentiment of the following review?
Reasonable people can agree to disagree.   I consider myself reasonable.  Two weeks ago, I started a Facebook group called Save Palatte.   I created it to encourage/beg  the wonderful owners of Palatte, Ed and Christine, to switch from the current counter service system to table service.   Since then I've heard from many in the foodie community that agree.  I've also learned about Ed and Christine's hopes of having a welcoming neighborhood place to relax at over a leisurely meal.  I respect that.  And, given the timing, the first beautiful Sunday morning of May, I figured it was time to give it another try. Pam, a close friend, and I met underneath the Palatte sign at 11:30am. After synchronizing our watches, we negotiated the busy, but not overly crowded patio with relative easy.  We crossed the tread worn steps and pulled open the door to reveal, as we had expected and feared, a line of magnificent proportion.   I sighed, certain my hedonistic Sunday morning had been ruined.  Pam, the more perseverant of the two, pressed on through the adjacent rooms, into the Willows where the line's long tail tapered to an end.   Distracted by small talk and my comely companion, I was surprised to find the line, lengthy though it was, moved relatively quickly.   Half-way to the counter, our order was taken by an apron clad staff member.  I choose the Potato Mishmash and a Bloody Mary.  Pam, apparently willing to sacrifice to keep her yogi suppleness, opted for the yogurt and coffee.  We were handed our ticket and instructed to hand it in at the register.  Five minutes later, I obediently did as I was told, while Pam sought a table. Buoyed by the relatively painless ordering process, it only took 15 minutes, I joined my ginger haired accomplice.  She had secured a prime location under an umbrella in the front corner.  Where, to my ambivalence, I found her surrounded by the previous party's dirty dishes.  A small price to pay for such choice digs, I told myself.  Pam assured me the waiter/busboy would, he had assured her, return to clean up.  And so he did.  However, while the plates and cups were taken, the table, dirty and smeared with the morning's offerings wasn't wiped down.  No problem I told myself, confident it would be cleaned when new silverware, water, and our drinks arrived.  But that didn't happen, at least not for a full 23 minutes. I have been told, and believe, the rationale for counter service, lies in the unfortunately small kitchen.   Seating people immediately, so it goes, would result in the false promise of a short wait.  I get it.  And, after the increased efficiency of the newly reordered ordering process, I was willing to cut them some slack.  But, after 38 minutes, 23 of which were spent at a dirty table, something had to give.  And, so it did, kind of.   At 12:08pm, my Bloody Mary arrived.  Halleluiah!  God, my god, the one who drinks on Sundays in lieu of going to church, smiled on me.  However, my health nut, confederate was not so lucky.  It wasn't until 12:14pm, after personally trekking to the indoor coffee bar was I rewarded with a mug and instructions how to use the outdoor thermos. Like a Neanderthal dragging a mastodon steak, I returned to the table, caffeine in hand.  A toast was in order.  Surely, our vittles had to be close.   Not so.  It wasn't until 12:27pm, 57 minutes after arriving, 42 minutes after ordering that we received our food.   The Potato Mishmash was as good as ever, quite an accomplishment since it sat upon a still dirty table.  We ate in silence and thirst.  We never did get water.   Afterward, there was no after brunch lingering as I had hoped.  My short-lived buzz and limited patience had worn off.  With little fan fare we got up and left. As, perhaps, I've alluded, I'm torn when it comes to Palatte.  I love Ed, Christine and the whole bunch of bohemian henchmen.   I love that, like Cibo, Palatte is a local joint.  I love the food and ambience.  I want it to flourish and be the kind of place in which I, as a patron, can have part ownership.   That said, it kills me to go there.  I share the vision of a neighborhood hangout.  But can someone really hang out where drink orders are mismanaged, tables aren't bused and diners left to fend for themselves.   Call me nave, but I hope believe table service would cure a lot of what ails Palatte.  Admittedly, table service comes with its own baggage.  But, in the end, I'd prefer knowing one person was solely responsible for my happiness.   That it was in someone's economic self interest (i.e. tips) to make sure my table was clean, and my order not lost on the kitchen floor.   It's appropriate, that Pam accompanied me to brunch.  My ex-girlfriend, I've often wondered what life would be like if only something had been different.  I can't help but feel the same way about Palatte. Help save Palatte.  Join Save Palatte and ask for dedicated servers and table service: http://www.facebook.com/group.php?
Select from: (A). negative; (B). positive;

Show your work and conclude with the exact phrasing "Therefore, the final answer is [answer]." where [answer] is just the final number or expression that solves the problem.
user
(B).