As she sleekly glides towards you with an apathetic glare, cheeks painstakingly sucked in and hair tussled in a way that still preserves a sense of elegance, the tray of drinks held in her left hand reminds you that this indeed is one of New York’s most fabulous conundrums: The Humble Waitress is a Dying Breed. You thank her most politely, and she, in turn…smirks.

You shan’t be defeated. You’re enjoying your meal, enjoying your company, and enjoying your life as a 20-something year old girl in New York, so you try to share your buoyant, yet appropriately restrained, exuberance with your waitress. Perhaps she is simply having a difficult night. Being that your silliness is generally contagious and thus appreciated, so comes forth the second attempt, “Might you leave the water bottle on the table? I’ll suffer more being that I’ll have to wake up to pee roughly 4 times tonight, but it’ll save you the pain of having to refill my glass like every 15 minutes… unless, of course you especially enjoy our company, in which case, you’re more than welcome to join us for dinner!”. It wasn’t meant to be the most amusing comment ever, but said merely to get what I wanted while also being empathetic to her situation. I was once a waitress myself, after all!

You guessed it…no smirk this time around. “Do you know what you would like from the menu” is about all I got, alongside a look that seemed 50% perplexed and 50% disgusted by the comment which referenced my bladder. Oh well. You can’t win them all, and I’m not saying that waitressing is a less reputable job than any other random job, but people, please have some perspective.

Well, I prefer people with a sense of humor about themselves, but I still left a 20% tip. – K.B. (contributing editor)