To The Gentleman Sat At Table 22 (And To Anyone Else Who Has Ever Been A Twat In A Restaurant Without Good Reason).

My name is Laura and I'm an Assistant Manager for a high street chain of Italian restaurants.

I have ten GCSEs A-C, I have five A-levels A-C, I have an NVQ Level 3.
And I’m in my third year of a Creative Writing Degree with the Open University, which I am studying for whilst working a forty eight hour contract at the above job.
I am by no means stupid, dim-witted or dense.
Please don’t treat me that way.
The next time you decide to visit my store and act like a twat, I am likely to tell you how rude, obnoxious and insufferable you are being.
And I won’t be polite about it.
I didn’t do that tonight because I didn’t want you to complain to my Head Office and I certainly don’t want to lose my job.
But on reflection, just because I am waiting on your table, bringing you drinks and taking your order, that does not mean you have the right to treat me as if I am something unsightly you have just stood in.
I am a person too.
With feelings… Believe it or not.
I may be smiling at you and being super polite, but that is my job.
I find it extremely loathsome that you find it acceptable to talk over me when I’m trying to take your order and your credit card payment.
Did you know that saying ‘Please’ and ‘Thank You’ will cost you nothing?
In fact I’d prefer you to use manners with me, than for you to leave me the spare change rattling around in your back pocket.
Tipping your waiter/waitress is a whole different kettle of fish.
If he or she has gone above and beyond to make your evening as perfect as possible for you and your party, you should tip away. Eight to ten percent is acceptable but to be honest as long as it’s a decent cash tip, your server won’t mind, and you have probably just left more than the hourly rate, so everyone is happy.
But whatever you do, never, ever tip on the credit card machine, ever. Your server will get taxed on the tip you leave, and the company will take a bit too. Not cool.
And one more thing…
If you come into my restaurant with a voucher or a fucking code for a free pizza, you’re probably not as rich as you’re making out to be.
Get a fucking life.
If you want to pretend to be someone you are not, please go somewhere else.
Thank you.