Dear Loser Who Comes Into the Restaurant and Stays Way Past Closing Time: None of us like you. I'm sorry you don't have any friends, family or any kind of social life but please don't think that we are a substitution for that. At least twice a week you show up and plop your gelatinous ass onto a bar stool and then talk. And talk. And talk. When you know we close at 10:30, why do you think it's cool to arrive at 10:00 and begin your feast? Two martinis, an appetizer, an entree and dessert is a lot of food and I'm fine with that. What I am not okay with is that at 10:20 you order yourself a bottle of wine. You only do that so you have a reason to stay, right? Because you know we won't let you order another martini after closing time, but if you order a bottle of wine, you can stay for an extra hour and drink it, is that it? Really? I kinda hate you. And you seem like a nice guy, but I still have to hate you. When you are the only one in the restaurant and you see me blowing out candles, sweeping the floor and carrying trash out, it might be a clue to you that we are closed. When you see the cooks climbing up on top of the stove to wipe down the walls, it might be a clue that we are closed. When you see me and the bartender standing at the other end of the bar checking our watches, twiddling our thumbs and yawning, it might be a clue that we are closed. Go home.
Now I understand that people can come into a restaurant any time before we are closed and expect service, but you really push that rule, don't you? I don't want to be there a whole extra hour just so you can nurse your bottle of wine and blab on and on about things that only you care about. "But you seem interested," you might say. We're not. We only feign interest because our boss won't let us say, "Get the fuck out, asshole." And if you leave a ten dollar tip for the extra hour I am there, after it gets pooled, I receive $3.33 so it's really not worth it to me for you to come in. Sure the restaurant owner gets to sell you all kinds of food and drink, but I'd rather just go home an hour early.
I get it. You must be lonely and you have somehow convinced yourself that we are your friends. Well, guess what. This ain't Cheers and even though everybody knows your name, none of us call you that. Remember when Norm would walk in to Cheers, they would all yell out his name? Well, what we do when you come in is groan and say "Oh fuck, that asshole just got here." Maybe the next time you come in, you could offer to pay your check at 10:30 so we can move on to our next step in leaving where we have to count the drawer and tally up credit card receipts. But when you don't close your check until an hour after we close, we then have another fifteen minutes of paperwork to do. It's annoying since we just spent the previous forty-five minutes watching you make love to your wine glass.
Maybe instead of coming into the restaurant you can do what other people who have no friends do; sleep, have a tea party with your Beanie Babies, watch porn and masturbate, read National Geographic, call the Home Shopping Network, feed your cats, talk to your plants or simply sit in the dark and wonder what wrong path you took that made you think your only friends in the world are the people who work at the restaurant down the street from your apartment. If you decide that you absolutely must come into he restaurant, then please be aware of our closing time. And don't fool yourself into thinking "Well, they have to be here anyway, so I may as well stay." The only reason we are there is because you don't want to go home. It sucks for us.
Love,
The Bitchy Waiter
p.s. If I ever see you in real life outside the restaurant, I won't be nice to you. The only reason I even tolerate you at work is because I have to. If I see you on the subway some night after I've had a couple of margaritas, it won't be pretty. Just sayin'. BW
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