Rules for My Waiter
We don’t need a buddy
No offense, but I need you to be my waiter, not my pal. I don’t need you to squat down to get on my level. My neck can handle looking up for a half-minute. And don’t you dare slide in the booth with me.
You’re not better than me
Hey, Xander (that’s always his name), don’t scoff at me for not knowing what vegetable escabeche is. It’s your job to know, not mine. Oh, and you should know that I’m basing your tip on a complex algorithm I designed that factors in how ...