Dear Customer from Hell:

FYI, you know how you go out on weekends and have fun? You know all those people who make sure you have a fun time, bartenders, waitresses and such?

We don't have a weekend. Ever. And we don't usually get to go out and party the way you do. Know why? Usually, it means our place of business is CLOSED, and it only closes when there isn't enough business to make being open worth our time. Which means all the fun businesses like ours are also closed. Which means we don't get to go out and party, because all the good places are closed.

So if you decide to complain about how nowhere is open on Mondays while you're giving me a five dollar tip on a fifty buck check and I KNOW I gave you better service than that? You're an asshole.

Also, unless your girlfriend is foreign and failing her ESL classes, stop ordering for her. And by that I mean stop talking about your woman like she is 1. your dog and 2. not in the same room when she is sitting right across from you. I'm already 90% positive that you made her stop eating because you finished your entree and wanted to leave. At least let her pick out her own fucking dessert. I know I could be wrong, but watching you two interact while you eat has been creepy as hell.

Okay. Clean up, move down:

On the weekends I don't exist. Only the restaurant does. Sometimes I feel like chanting "There is no CW only Zuul (Name Of Restaurant)" when I set foot in that place. And it doesn't help that the wasp infested banana tree has ended my sting-free lifestyle yesterday, within five minutes of setting foot on the property. I used to think that I was merely imagining the pain potential. I was not.

This is why booze was invented.