Dear IHOP Waiter,
While I cannot recall your name, I can remember the day vividly. It was Saturday morning, and I entered IHOP. Mentally, I was preparing to order a spinach and mushroom omelette, because restrictive “limited edition” seasonal specials prevented me from obtaining the apple-ring pancakes I truly wanted.
You were there, hiding behind your seemingly innocuous apron and bright smile. You seated me at a booth by the window. Little did I know that you had seated me in my favorite place to disarm me. With one more cunning grin, you sounded the proverbial death knell. You crippled me with with three simple words: “Enjoy your meal.”
As the words “You, too” automatically flew out of my mouth, my mind crumbled under the weight of my faux pas. Of course you weren’t about to enjoy a meal, you were busy working. A deafening klaxon siren wailed in my head. Over all the din, however, I’m pretty sure I heard you cackle evilly at me as you turned away to seat someone else.
It has been at least four months since that incident, and I have had ample time to overanalyze the situation. I have determined that there is only one logical conclusion for my verbal blunder: You set me up.
That’s right. You thought that were slick, buddy, but you certainly aren’t. I’ve written this letter to tell you that you are rude and insensitive. First of all, you knew that I was primed for this automatic response. You had to know that I was prone to quick, thoughtless responses. You knew this, and yet you still told me to enjoy my food. I mean, c’mon, how many times had I eaten at that IHOP?
The answer is only once, but that is beside the point. Now, because of your inconsiderate request and my response, I’ll never be able to set foot in that IHOP again. Every time I think about entering that particular establishment again, my knees buckle under the weight of my shame and embarrassment. So, ha, the final joke’s on you. While I may drown in a pit of social awkwardness and humiliation, your wallet will starve from the tips that I shall never leave as a result of my self-imposed exile. Though that scarring event has probably not left such an indelible mark on your psyche as it has on mine, I can say that I’ve gotten payback in this respect. You brought it upon yourself. I hope you miss what you never had, sucker.
I don’t know how many other victims you have under your belt by now, but I hope that this letter shows you that your actions have a deep effect on people. Think before you tell people to enjoy their meal, because while it may sounds like a simple request for someone to savor their food, it is truly a trap designed to ultimately undermine one’s sense of social adequacy. I know I’ll never be the same. Thanks for that, waiter.
Sincerely,
The girl who told you to enjoy your food as well, even though you were the waiter.
P.S.: I know that you’re in cahoots with airport workers, amusement park ride operators, and hotel receptionists. You guys really need to stop. You have better things to do than get me to say, “You, too” and feel awkward.
