:think:...how does that go again? Fresh and something...fresh and...help us out there TomO. :chuckle:
TomO: You want my order?
Waitress: (dully) I think I'm entitled.
TomO: You want my order?
Waitress: I could get you another server if there's something--
TomO: You can't handle my order!
Miss, I eat at restaurants that have booths and those booths need to be waited on by girls with order forms. Who's gonna do it? You?
Waitress: Umm, would you like to speak with the manager?
TomO: I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for pancakes and curse the specials; you have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know: that this meal, while tragic, probably saves me time and that my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, is important to the folks at Kinkos...
Waitress: ...So...your drink, maybe? Maybe I could get that for you while you take a little time to look over the menu?
TomO: You don't want to take my order because deep down in places you don't talk about at parties you want me in this booth, you need me in this booth. You use words like tip, service, and customer loyalty. You use them as the backbone of a life trying to serve flapjacks and sandwiches made with old bread toasted to fool us into forking up and forking over. You use them as a punchline.
I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a woman who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very gratuity I provide and then questions the manner in which I provide it. I would rather you just said "thank you," and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest that you pick out a table and place your own order. Either way, I don't give a darn what you think you are entitled to.
Waitress: So you'll need some more time then?
TomO:...Just give me the gayest sounding pancake order on the menu and a cup of coffee.
