God, it killed me to see my classmates come to school with orange rubberbands on Halloween, and like, rainbow ones just because, and black ones because they were really feeling the new KoRn album.
I was assured — no, promised — that, by the time I reached 18, I’d be writing in cursive. Guess what never happened: by age 18, I was writing in cursive.
But beyond just making the waiter’s life miserable for the hour or so spent in the restaurant, this person clearly holds service jobs in general in extremely low esteem — something that should essentially be punishable by death at this point.
She saw lots of safe people and she fell asleep and had a dream… And all the safe people woke up and the old man said “Shush, we’re sleeping.” And then everyone, everyone, everyone turned to mustard.