Bravo! It takes an uncommonly brave person to chant along to rap songs on a crowded bus in falsetto. Also, those two gold teeth you had looked absolutely smashing.
Well, they would’ve looked smashing if you were more than 14. And sang a wee bit (okay, maybe an octave) lower.
Dear Mr. Drummer:
Duuuuuude, get over it. You might be shy, or weird, or a bit high, but for crying out loud: watch the dancer when you’re drumming!
Dear Ms. Dancer:
Oh, boy. So many, many points of etiquette. For the benefit of my sanity I will assume that you are new to dancing. So listen up, because you are just a catalog of ways to get fired from a family friendly restaurant.
1) That thing where you bend over at the waist, grab the BOTTOM hem of your skirt (which is already slit up to the waist), and spin? Appropriate at Centerfold’s, not a middle eastern restaurant.
2) I do not care how well you know people in the audience – it is NEVER appropriate to just plunk down at a table after a set and start chatting. In full costume. Gracefully exit, PUT ON A COVERUP, and come back.
3) I did not see this, but I assume that in order to plunk down at a table while in full costume you also pulled all your tips out of the various recesses of your costume while in full view of the audience. You should never, ever touch money where customers can see.
4) And on the subject of tips, move it along already! Standing (not dancing, STANDING) at a table and chatting with patrons is fine, once you’ve (say it with me, now) put on your coverup and returned after making a graceful exit. That is the time to give out your life story and business cards.
5) Not a point of etiquette, but: the zils? Play them or don’t. But definitely don’t play them every once in a while when you remember what the painful elastic straps on your fingers are for.
It is fortunate that you didn’t come over to me after your set (how could you? You were schmoozing! In costume!), because I probably would have pointed out 1-5 to you not-very-nicely. Being made to wait for an hour before my set because the dancer before me (ahem!) takes half an hour to finish collecting her tips makes me cranky.
Yours in dance,
Dear Mr. “I have to change the settings on my laptop so nobody else in the entire building can connect to the internet with their laptops”:
I know being a rogue DHCP server sounds all cool and X-Men-ish, but there are currently dozens of disgruntled grad students who would gladly throw your dumb laptop off the top of the building, and possibly toss you with it.
Also, I am fairly sure you’re an undergrad, since the internet comes back when you go home at 5pm – and what grad student goes home at 5pm? So whatever might have been cool when you were dreaming about going off to college and scoring some chicks and drinking yourself into a stupor (that will hopefully result in you getting beer on your laptop, rendering it and its evil settings nonfunctional)…well, it’s just not cool now. See the chicks? Do you? I can almost guarantee, from your choice of school, that there will be no chicks. And the drinking? Go for it. I trust Darwin will remove you and your stupid-ass rogue DHCP settings.
Looking forward to hearing of your demise,
Dear Mr. Gnocchi Stealer:
I hate you.
Because you ate the gnocchi Mr. Fizz made for me; the gnocchi that brightened my weekend; the gnocchi that were going to make the thesis committee meeting after my Monday lunch a piece of cake. And you ruined it all.
I really, really hate you.