Re: The Angry Waitress Edition.

Dear M______:

It was so kind of you to allow me to waitress brunch yesterday at your esteemed establishment. I realize that my minimal waitressing experience was a concern for you, but our mutual friend was able to quell your fears by assuring you that what I lack in experience, I make up for in charm. I really appreciate the opportunity to make some quick cash under the table as my funds are starting to run dry...an addiction to pitchers of PBR at the Scumdowner on Pearl Street will do that to a gal. What can I say...I'm a sucker for dives with killer jukeboxes.

While I thank you very much for the offer to waitress for you again next Sunday, I'm going to have to decline. You see, while my charm is fucking undeniable, my tolerance for people, especially those I'm supposed to be waiting on, is non-existent.

I'm not really sure where the shift went awry...perhaps before I even walked in the door? No no, I'll give your establishment more credit than that...so I guess it was somewhere during the first hour when I was pretty much called the "devil" by one of your hippy-vegan-trustafarian twit waitresses, because I not only eat but love cheese. Sorry, but I will not be trying soy cheese anytime soon, and this particular twit was not happy with this stance I took. I could've slashed this girl open with my words, but I bit my tongue and behaved.

I was hit on by a series of boys/men in Broncos gear which was not only disturbing but confusing. I didn't even know Colorado had a football team or that they were called the Broncos until my sister gave me a lecture on Colorado sports teams last night...where I also discovered that all the "Buffs" tee-shirts I saw were not references to nudity, but the CU football team. Now that I'm in the know, I actually plan on picking up a "Ralphie" buffalo toy for my Hubbell...he'll just love tearing that shit apart. Both he and I do not approve of team sports.

I managed to get the orders wrong of every single asshole yuppie who walked in the door, and I wonder if this was some sort of subconscious behavior on my part. I slid on a breakfast potato at one point and almost landed on my ass. I'm pretty sure I accidently gave caffeinated coffee to more than one pregnant woman. I still don't know the correct spelling of "omelet." I walked away with six telephone numbers: five from seemingly straight boys, and one gay boy who wants to take me dancing in Denver some night. And surprisingly, I was only asked twice if I was "having a bad day."

While I'm excited to have a bit of money to play with this week, I just don't know if I'm the right fit for your breakfast joint. Customers don't seem to want their pancakes served with a side of sarcasm, and I, unfortunately, know nothing else. Besides, if all goes as planned, I'll be in Big Sky, Montana by week's end...and if something gets in the way of that, I'm sure I'll have to make yet another snowman for my sister's front yard instead...because four snowmen just isn't enough.

xo.Mandy.