Oh, dear customer. Dear, sweet customer who felt it was okay to snap your fingers at me all night and constantly expect me to be there for you whenever you needed something yet completely ignored me when I would ask you any question. Why were you so rude to me? Everything was fine and dandy when you first came in and I thought we started out on the right foot with one another, but somewhere between me filling up your water and serving you the bread basket, which you told me to bring to you rather than asking me, things went downhill. Did a bee get in your bonnet? Did someone piss in your Wheaties? Did a bug crawl up your ass and commit suicide after realizing it had entered a never-ending colon maze of cholesterol that it would never be able to escape?
Even though you never once said please or thank you to me and even though I saw at least one of your friends roll his eyes at how you treated me, I remained professional and respectful to you, determined to be the bigger person. I kept a smile on my face knowing that I would have my vengeance when I sat in front of my computer and wrote a blog post about your wretched behavior. But then I saw another way I could exact my passive aggressive revenge on you.
“Wrap that up for me,” you burp out to me, sliding your plate to the edge of the table and not making eye contact with me. On the plate, I see a sad bite of filet mignon and a few pieces of roasted potatoes that avoided the gaping hole of disgust that you call a mouth. “Hurry up, I gotta go.”
I take your food to the sidestand and wrap it up, pulling out my phone to document what I will do in order to make myself feel better about being mistreated by a low-lying piece of scum such as you. I hope you enjoy your food later, asshole. And thanks for the 12% tip. What a surprise.