Dear Regulars,

Do not address me or look me in the eye when I am not serving you.

I am not working in the lounge today, you and your hissy-fit needs are not my concern. I will stay on MY side of the resturant, and you will demand five whole oranges because you come here all the time on YOUR side of the resturant.

I will stay in the dining room and clean up after the legions of hockey team, and you will sit in 'your booth' for five hours demanding special treatment because you've been around longer than most of the servers.

And when I come into the bar you will not look at me or quiz me on the menu.

I DESPISE YOU.

-Your Waitress.

Dear Drunk College Kids,

A five dollar tip slipped pimpingly into my hand is not 15% of a hundred and fifty dollar bill.

Dear Fork Dropper,

I know you dropped your fork.

I know because I set that table, and I put a fork there.

I know because when I took your drink order, you had a fork there.

I know because you didn't look me in the eyes when you said, "I didn't get a fork!"

I know because I've seen you many times. In many forms.

Just fucking admit it already.

-Your Waitress.

Dear Women's Hockey Team,

I do not have memorized every bottle of beer we have. I can tell you what's on draft. I can hand you the drink menu you've put your jersy on top of. But insisting I name them because 'the puck drops in half an hour, man' does not inspire in me the knowledge I just do not posses.


Also, we make caesars in a small glass. Your lecture about tall glasses was appreciated, however, I do not make the caesars and here they come in a short glass. Again, yes, I'm sorry, I know you went to another location and it was in a tall glass, please just let me bring you one in a tall glass and then you can stop saying words to me. Yes, I know, now, thank you: Caesars are supposed to come in a tall glass. I'll never ever ever make that mistake ever again if you don't repeat yourself. And fine, I'll tell the bartender she's doing it wrong. Yes, I'll tell her to make it in a tall glass. Caesars come in a tall glass, I understand.


Also, you're the only lesbians I know who made sure I knew you were gay then under tipped.

-Your waitress.

Dear Regulars,

I despise you the very most.

Dear Reader,

Sorry to be blunt, but: I hate you.

Or maybe, I love you.

Either way: I'm your waitress. You've seen me hundreds of times. I say hello, I introduce myself and explain to you how the specials work and even confess to you which dish isn't worth ordering. I refill your drinks, I wait till you're ready to order, I never ask you if you need change. I always smile, I pack up your food, I ask you where you work. I bring you a new fork because you dropped yours. I ask you how your food is. I bring back the yam fries you said were cold. I got you a discount when you were unhappy. I bothered the kitchen staff until they agreed to make sure your chicken wings were 'extra saucy'. I laughed at your stupid joke. I ignore you looking at my chest, or I make sure I look at you instead of your boyfriend who is looking at my chest. I clean up after your kid did god knows what to table 63. I pay your tab when you walk out.

You're fucking welcome.