Hey, I know you...

Dear Birkoff,

OMG, I think I know you! 

Were you that guy in Red Lobster (the one downtown that's still nice, not the one on Mall Blvd that's got broken toilet handles and rubbery, overcooked lobster) who kept tapping away on his Android phone last night (Wednesday) while mumbling, "Dear Birkoff? Dear Bergdorf? Dear Birkoff?" over and over again to yourself?  I'm a waitress there, and I need some advice.

How long should you let an ugly dork with bad skin and questionable hygiene sit at a table in your section, sipping a glass of water and eating cheese biscuits and 1 bowl of clam chowder, before you can expect him to leave a tip?  3-and-half-hours is obviously not long enough...

I think you should change your name to Jerkoff.

Waitress Without Rent Money

The End

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