1) Overly-aggressive tray-grabbing drones. Look, I went to college. I got used to having a tray under my plate. I'm probably not the only one. I'm guessing that some of your patrons (not to mention some of your employees) prolly got used to eating from trays in The Big House. It's just not that big a deal, so please fuck off, OK? I know you're only doing your job, which is to send me the unsubtle message that I should hurry the fuck up, eat my meal, and get the fuck out of your restaurant. Guess what? That's my goal too! I don't want to spend any more time here than I have to. So if you grab at my plate one more time while I'm still eating from it, so help me God I will stab you with my butter knife. And no, I don't want a fucking cookie either. Just leave me alone.
2) Stupid-ass soup ponderers. OK people, this isn't that hard. They have four or five soups available. Some, like the chicken soup, are there every day and others rotate on a daily basis. Do not despair, there's a sign which tells you what they are. Convenient, no? So why in God's name do you stand there like you just beamed in from another planet, desperately trying to grok the concept of soup? Grab a fucking bowl, ladle some soup into it, and get the fuck out of my way! Is that really too much to ask? And you, Soup Walla: you should have figured out on your first day on the job that the chicken noodle soup is the most popular. It is damn fine. So... keep an eye on the kettle, eh? If I have to ask you one more time to refill the soup kettle, I'm jumping over the little plastic barrier and throttling you with my bare hands. You have been warned.
3) Stupid-ass salad bar wipers. Yes, your patrons are pigs, and make a mess of the salad bar in short order. So here's a concept - maybe it isn't such a hot idea to fill the little bins so freaking high. You know already that most of your patrons just disembarked from the "special" bus, so why challenge them with little mountains of cucumber, celery, and broccoli when you know they're just going to fucking knock them over anyway? And when that does happen, being inevitable and all, for fuck's sake don't use your skanky old dishrag to brush the detritus back into the little bins. Bitch, that's just nasty. Nobody wants to eat anything that came in contact with that skanky dishrag.
4) Seating Nazis. I avoid you by avoiding coming in at peak times. Souplantation is much better when it's festival seating. I realize that's not always practical during the lunch crush... but Jesus Tap-Dancing Christ, is it really necessary for you to cause the whole salad line to back up for 45 minutes because there aren't enough of you to seat all of us? If you're going to insist on seating us, then for God's sake, at least do us the favor of seating all the squalling kids in one corner of the restaurant. In a truly random universe, in the absense of Seating Nazis, all the screaming-bloody-murder infants, like gas molecules dutifully obeying Boyle's Law, would somehow distribute themselves evenly throughout the restaurant. So isn't it amazing, in your perfectly Seating-Nazi-ordered universe, the same damn thing happens? What exactly *is* your purpose in life then? You know as well as I that the little bastards are going to wail at some point, so why not stick 'em all in the same section, since, you know, you're so intent on controlling where everyone sits anyway?
Thank you. That is all for now. And no, I still don't want a fucking cookie.