this'll just take a sec. I got run out the door in a few. A quick letter of indignation:

Dear Manager-Type-Dude:
Look, I like you. I mean as a person, you're all right. You and I are friends outside of work. I let you vent to me, because well, that's what friends do. But so help me Lucifer, if you tell me one more time that "So and so didn't give me enough tips" or if you run up to a big-baller table before the server has a chance and then sell wine out from under us, well, I am going to be forced to remind you that YOU ARE A MANAGER! If you want tips, wait tables. Because, as I said earlier this week, I know how much Steph gave you, and I wouldn't have given that much. You are hereby cordially invited to shut the fuck up.

Always,
Heather