|"Art of Unknown Origin Stolen for Blog"; Anonymous, Oil on Canvas, 1997|
To my roommate: Spot me a few bucks? Cool.
To Customer #7: Whoever told you that beard looked good was lying through their java-stained teeth. When you trim the edges every morning for that perfectly symmetrical look, do you use a ruler? A protractor, maybe? Also, this morning routine must give you ample time to consider your beard at length. Apparently, you still think it's worth it.
To literally four other customers who have entered since I started: Please explain to me the appeal of offbeat hats and poor facial hair decisions. Please. I'm so lost.
To Customer #15: You are cute. Please look at me again now that I'm sitting up straight.
To Customer #15's boyfriend: I will fight you right in the face.
To Rota Fortunae: Why do girls go out with clowns like him? What is it? I see more girls hanging off the shoulder of slouchy, half-awake, vacant looking dudes who kind of just stand there consuming oxygen. What are you contributing to the relationship, guy? You look like the kind of person who hopes McDonald's makes home deliveries. It's very perplexing.
To Wikipedia: Whoa. "Rota Fortunae"? Thanks, Wikipedia! I sound so cultured and smart.
To the girl blogging two tables away: I have no idea what you're writing about, but I will preemptively propose a truce.
To whoever wrote this "How to Piss Off a Park Slope Resident" viral blog post: Good show!
To the bro who almost walked in with his acoustic guitar: No! Get out!! NO ONE LIKES YOU!! WHATEVER ARTIST YOU ASPIRE TO BE LIKE SUCKS, TOO! Sorry about the caps. Typed too hard again.
To management: Please play something other than Adele. It's been like an hour and forty five minutes. C'mon.
To my snarkier readers: Not stupid by association. Just stupid.
To the lower-middle-class, blue-collar local making a modest wage who came in and ordered a... nah, just kidding. He's not allowed to live here.