Dear Men Who Hit on Their Waitress,
First of all, for all of you who may forget this little fun fact...your server or bartender or whoever you choose as your victim oddly enough still happens to be a human being. Hard for the intelligible group of bros who venture out to restaurant establishments these days to grasp I know, but stay with me here. If you treat me like a piece of ass the likelihood of your "success" is slim to none. I'd be really interested in the success rate of your "game", and the fact that you even call it that to your just-as-suave comrades is laughable.
Second, WE CAN HEAR YOU. It is our job to watch you to ensure your quality Bud Light is plentiful because I'd hardly enjoy being prey to your pompous ego. Creepy... I know, but hardly on par with your repetitious cringe-inducing verbal banter that you expect me to swoon over. Spoiler Alert: Just because I have turned around does not mean my ears cease to exist and function. Just when you have congratulated yourself too soon for your not-so-alluring commentary remember ... I literally get paid to be nice to people and you are no different. Please do not attempt to conceal your inability to successfully hit on a woman and get your head out of your ass.
Third, age matters. Lack of beauty I can work with if you are nice enough but if you are old enough to be my father or are a few short years from collecting social security you are on your way to a restraining order, please save us all the trouble and keep your creepy old man fantasies to yourself. It is not cute or funny to hit on the waitress no matter how drunk you are, period. Also, your perfect restaurant attendance does not get you bonus points. I don't care how many times you over-tip, I am not going to sleep with you.
Lastly, if you do not have balls enough to look me in the eye and ask me for my number like a man I don't suggest you wait by the phone for a message or a call (that is if calling is even still a thing that people do). Leaving behind your digits, a 15% tip, with a description of your hat color in your unkempt scrawl will hardly lead me to erotic fantasies of you in nothing but...the white Red Sox hat.
With Love,
Your Disgruntled Waitress
P.S.-On that note, assuming you avoid being an example of the above frustrations I welcome you to come visit me at my restaurant or I invite you to embrace altruism and compassion. Stay home, save money, and learn to cook.
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