To the five annoying women who every Friday morning invade the small, modest restaurant I work at, rain or shine: You collectively manage to ruin my day before it’s even really begun. I would appreciate the revenue you produce—if you didn’t split every item you order in half or even thirds! And, on occasion, mis-order items and expect me to read your minds and make the right one. Maybe, just maybe, if you had ordered correctly the first time, then I would not have had to stop cooking all my other orders to fix yours. It is painfully clear you ladies have NEVER had to work in a restaurant. I am a chef, not a servant. I may be in the service industry, but I certainly did not go to school to make food for a bunch of bored OC housewives with entitlement issues. Wake up and smell the breakfast burrito, ladies: You’re rude—and terrible tippers!
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